Hello world. Hello Imaginary Friends.

I return to you more whole than when we last visited.

I was lost in an ocean of myself. I assure you it was a pretty fucked up place to be. Imagine that 2000 vehicle The Cell directed by Tarsem Singh. You remember it had Jennifer Lopez and, she “believably” portrays a psychologist who enters the mind of a serial killer. Okay so she goes there and befriends his innocent side which if you know shit all about psychology is not how the human mind works at all. I took several years of it (it being psychology classes not watching J Lo pretend to be a psychologist. ) until I could not possibly take several more; (child abuse cases simply do not agree with me and there were far too many things that I will never not see for the rest of my life.) until I eventually decided to change my major to English, chasing a career as a writer. Your mind is not for all intent and purposes a hotel where certain aspects of yourself all hang out and play merrily until you end up getting molested or beaten; thus birthing a demented aspect who dresses babies up as Rhianna and punches them for some alpha male power play all the meanwhile drinking fancy wines and using a literal organ grinder. (best visual bar none though) Nice metaphors and imagery but, in my opinion it falls short.

So back to my own metaphors. Imagine the mindscape presented by the film The Cell. Just the bare bones though. The human mind in my opinion is far too busy while it is alive for there to be time (existing as we perceive it) for moments of sullen silences. Even the bleakest depression you are thinking something. Not something you like for sure but something. So that blank mindscape we started with, our tabula rasa if you will is clear; super zen shit. The way I think it would actually be filled if it were presented in such a way is more akin to film versions of wall street and the stock market. Incoming and outgoing thoughts shooting parallel to each other. Emotional cues darting around each and everything. Go a little deeper and we can anthropomorphize this and those concepts are individuals moving like people on wall street. So you have this overly crowded room full of yourself coming and going, feeling and being. They all wear some sort of heather grey suit perhaps some are sweaty and wearing headsets. Fuck it whatever.

This works though. Mostly anyways. Sure a few might show up on disassociatives or drunk and stoned but they show up and function and the mess works. Depression is like well and I swear on a stack of Sit the fuck down Susan Quarterlies I did not plan this it just sort of happened, it’s like when the “Great Depression” hit! Only instead of losing their jobs, all the workers here become withdrawn and confused aspects of you. They question everything and everyone and they are moving in less than organized ways. You are still in the center of our mental wall street trying to make it rich but and, don’t hit me but it works to good not to use it; you need a NEW DEAL. FDR would be fucking proud I swear it.

Depression for me works this way.

It is maddening and interesting and I do not even know.

I am for the moment outside of it. FDR is swinging his keys and chomping a cigar strutting around. I leave for Atlantic City tomorrow night to meet my brothers for the first time. My eyes are bleeding with excitement. Literally bleeding. I wish I had more to say to you. I will soon I swear. I will have such sights to show you.

I am Kevin.


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