On the Other Hand;

On the other hand, I wonder if I really do need this?

I don't think that I've ever known a time when I wasn't like this. Does depression constantly get worse as a person ages? What about whenever I'm an old man?

The thought of being an old man is depressing enough.

What if I walked out on my chance?

What if this is just another tactic from the government trying to keep down the people in my income level: leaving me addicted to yet another substance that I can't seem to let go of.

Tonight at church we did an illustration of asking for help. Everyone was blind folded, and in a square that was lined out by tables. They were told to find their way out, and if they needed help all they had to do was ask. After the "lost" tired from searching their blinded way out of the "maze", they asked for help, and the blindfold was removed.

I didn't participate; I facilitated it. The way it makes you feel whenever you have to present a message that you can't demonstrate yourself.

So, yes I understand the parallel, but...

outgoing/\/\essage;;;

how do I ask for help, Lord? One thing that I've come to understand about faith is that, Things are rarely what they seem, And there is more than just action required. But even if I were to do it so nonchalantly, The heartbeat of this message is to say, "Lord, I need you help!"

101; the digital age; & antidepressants

Back in the summer of 2010, I started this blog. "This Intangible Existence," dressed in a classic serif font floating atop my brand new place to write.

At first I only wrote transcripts of my journals. Then followed formal essay type entries, and blurbs about pop culture. At that time I was primarily creating and writing in a more traditional since, e.g., wall hangings, journals, instant film, & discs. I tried earnestly to be an analog artist.

Despite my efforts, my artistic and spiritual journey has led me to a digital realm; it's a lot like the place inside of me from which all my work pours from.

With the burning of my books, which happened shortly before I began hosting my words in this space, it seems my work has taken a different highway towards the digital medium;

this intangible existence.

Today is my fifth day on the drug Viibryd. Today was the day that I knew this drug was bad [for me]. I broke down at work and had to leave. I called the doctor, and he said to stop taking the drug, and see him on Monday. I see Tim that morning also.

More sorrowing than the depression is the realization that I'm actually going crazy, and this is an attempt to take control before its too late. I don't know what that means exactly, but this is not what I expected my way out to look like.

A line runs through my mind that is parallel to that of People's Temple & Heaven's Gate; Am I in the line with the citizens if Jonestown, awaiting my glass of Kool-Aid handed to me by some American conspiracy to control the masses in a George Orwell novel?

Or-

Am I really sick, and is this the best decision that's I've ever made in parenting myself as an adult? Maybe I should move to Colorado, Washington, or California. Maybe I should run back to Jesus; these are all attempts to fix myself, and the truth is that I am not God.

A very sad day this has been [for me].