Depressed. Wavering morale. Spirit-crisis comes striking like a sledgehammer at a very wrong moment. 

I find myself very much entangled with imbroglio in self-defining. 

Feeling depressed in assigning myself to the fact that,

repetition in the usage of certain impeccable potion will somehow vitiate its expedition in healing the wound. The wound has been immune to it already, since way back when, a time can't even i remember.

 stil got a long way to go.

somehow, i have to gird myself for all the oncoming rains, rocks and  pitfalls.