To Be...

Shrink:

“If you have already buried yourself, then no amount of medication will help.”

“You have to wake up believing that you are accomplished and successful and that you deserve everything you want. “

“A house—things—do not make you happy.”

“Fight for life.”

“You are not depression or disability.”

“Your relationship [with T.] is over so what is the problem?”

All of the above was said in the context of an hour-long conversation. This man knows about depression and true tragedy. His grandparents were in the Holocaust and he, through much perseverance, escaped from behind The Iron Curtain and was granted Refugee status.

I travelled 900 miles to see this shrink. He’s the best shrink I’ve ever had.

He says I can try a different medication.

But I know.

I fucking know.

It’s not medication. It’s not T. or memories of Asshole.

I need to make a decision and come to peace with that decision about My House. And, I need to commit to life or death.

Until I decided to live or die, I will never get out of the well.

I won’t decide whether to live or die until I make a decision about My House.

Is my future in Henry? (The town My House is in)

I don’t know.

I cannot get unstuck. I physically can’t do it. Or, do I not want to do it?

I am so tired of having these conversations with myself and whining on the blog.

I may make more money on disability than working a part-time job.

In The Holy City I would be getting ready for Pie Day.

In School the bell rang three minutes ago—I’d be in the hallway “monitoring.”

I sit at Mom and Dad’s blogging. I woke at 11 and had “breakfast” at 1 p.m. Fucking pathetic.

In My House…in Henry…I don’t know.

I want to give up. But, I’m still here.

I want to scream and I can here, but I haven’t the motivation. The sun is out and I don’t give a shit.

Johnny says I get better every time he sees me. Fucking delusional.

I do this to myself. I keep myself in the bottom of the well because

“…why would fardels bear to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns puzzles the will and makes us bear those ills we have than fly to others we know not of…”

My Undiscovered Country is Life.

To Be or not to be…

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Thank you Saint Francis.

PPS: God, talk to me or talk louder please...

PPPS: I will email G-Pa and let him know that I am thinking of him.