Robert: Here goes...

I look towards Polaris
Contemplating the divine
Vega Altair and Arcturus
Round out my June night sky

I'd learned the invocation
From the ancient key
To master the clandestine
And steer my destiny

The demon taught me his secrets
Things I asked to know
Things that now are my burden
Have been branded into my soul

His voice in roars and bellows
Sent shudders down my spine
Every question answered
Helped deconstruct my mind

And he asked his own questions
Guiding me to his own ends
Made of me his servant
And willfully I did depend

I saw forgotten memories
I saw the end of days
I saw the fabric of life
Shape the primordial clay

I learned the nature of time
As he pulled it's strands apart
I glimpsed the face of god
Reflected in my heart

Though now my heart is black
And harbors only death
The ghost that dwelled within me
Has withered. Or has left

My gaze still affixed to the polestar
Letting come what may
Will my Demon's revelations
Be worth the price I payed?

Morning Rambles, Project Thoughts

Demons in the morning. Cat trying to knead them out of me, or knead into me?
I feel like dogs are the antithesis of demons. Protectors of humans.
Cats are funny.
Dogs make me nervous.
Maybe because I'm the demon.


That dirty spider, Steven writes me,
we stick our cocks in
Beehives


Poetry in text messages.


And I wondered: are people the demons or is sex the demon?
Conversation last night got me reeling about what demons want with us.


A love spell, (I'm told whenever there is a love spell, it's not that we want the person to fall in love really, we want control over them) demanding two offerings. And, also, it's making deals. Tells me the demons asks us to do things they wish to do but can't because they lack physical form.
Smoke cigars.
Have sex.
They can live vicariously through us. Perverted parents.
Not possessions, I'm told, a consenting temporary cohabitation. Just for a bit, to seal the bargain.


"Can I stay with you?" this guy asked him, the new friend no one could see, and he said yes. & he hung out, this new friend that no one could see, and did little favors, here and there.
"Can I live in you?" he asked after some time. The guy said, "fine," and everything went black.
Sometimes he was in control, sometimes not.
Found Jesus after backed his mother into a corner with a knife. Woke from a daze.


End up losing more control then you gain, I'm told.






I'll admit I'm spooked by these conversations. Afraid I'm calling out namesnames.


The stone folk told Oblieo that you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. I need to stop reading into things.

Invite

Antidepressants

I want you to know, I want to live. I want to fight. But there is a part of me that wants to die. And this part of me gets in the way from the wanting to live part. 
Mom asked me the other day if I still think about suicide. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. She told me she read an article that kids who stayed up late were statistically more likely to be suicidal when they grow older. I used to stay up late to work on projects. Write stories. Draw little pictures. Nighttime was when I fely most creative. Still is. 
When my therapist asked me, several months in, if we should start about medication she mentioned there are cultures where depression is normal. I thought of this picture in a sociology textbook which discussed the Amish. In Amish communties depression in males is documented because they do not mask the disorder as alcoholism. Common in my culture. I was told in the French culture no one admits to being depressed but only says, "je fatigue."


I've been depressed for a very long time. I started taking pills more than a year ago. The pills I take are called Citopram. It stimulates my neurotransmitter to release more serotonin. I take 20 mg in the morning with my iron, B12 and Omega something something. 


When you are waiting in the waiting room for your doctor they have you fill out the 


Goldberg's Depression Test. 
It says things like:
I find it hard to concentrate when I read. 
I think I am uglier than most people. 
I feel like a failure. 
I find it hard to do trivial things. 
I find it hard to make decisions. 
I feel I am being punished.


You grade the answers based on your level of agreement. 


I had my dose doubled to 40mg a few months after the initial assessment. The doctor told me I might feel less empathy. 
I'm continuing to take the original dosage. I break them in half. It means I only have to go every 6 months. 


When I told my mom I was on medication she was disappointed. In High School, when I would say i was depressed, she would tell me to say I was sad. 
I was sad when I should have felt happy. Like accomplishing something. Finishing a project. Standing on the mountain top.


I told my brother and sister first. My sister seemed annoyed.  My sister gets upset when I tell her I'm sad. She tells all I need to do things that make me happy. Go on vacation. My Dad tells me my friends or job isn't good and I should get new friends and a new job. 


My brother said the only thing anyone has ever said about the issue which had made any sense, "I have no idea what you're going through, I have no opinion." For Christmas he bought me an inexpensive laser tag game and Memory game. 


My doctor says my hypothalamus is like a raisin, shriveled up because of a lack of serotonin. The medication would help make my hypothalamus become fat and juicy. One day I wouldn't need to be on medication.  


Camus says suicide is the one truly philosophical problem. 


Every once in awhile I will stop taking the pills. Sometimes I forget for periods of time. Sometimes I want to see what happens. The same things happens every time. It takes a couple weeks. My life becomes overwhelming. I feel guilty. I don't feel ok around people, I don't feel ok alone. I don't feel ok at all. I don't want to go to yoga. I feel guilty for not going to yoga. No one likes me. I want to eat all the time. 


There is a deep well of sadness - like an underground lake. Dark blue and cold and beautiful. When I am depressed I am in that place. It is difficult to explain. I feel buried under a thousand feet of scar tissue. When I am here, on the shoreline of this lake, I want to die the most. I hate being here. With all my heart I hate this place. I am all alone here.


Taking pills doesn't mean I'm happy. Taking pills means I don't have to be in that place. When I cry, I cry until I forget, like a baby. I get distracted. I stop crying. I make tea. I cry when I jog alone. I get a few miles from my house and punch a tree and say, "FUCK YOU WORLD!" and cry and cry and keep running. 
To be crying all the time with no tears coming down your face is hell. To be crying and wishing to not be alive anymore is hell. To hate life is hell. To hate the vessel you are in for no reason besides you are breathing is hell. There is no why. It just is. Maybe a bad habit. I don't blame it. I just want to get away. 


The frustration that comes from explaining depression is defending it as not a choice. To pin something that is a feeling or emotion outside of the realm of choice makes people uneasy. From a philosophical basis, it skirts free will and our ability to create ourselves. It makes claim that we are a confluence of circumstances. It skirts responsibility from the individual to make themselves who they are. 
Is taking pills taking a way of taking the responsibility of creating my life? Am I cheating myself? Am I cheating nature?


I find talking about depression is easier when I describe it as a tumor. When I describe the depression as not being a part of me but something that grew and became attached and I can live without. Something that grew and became rather than always was. 


Talking to my therapist a couple months on the pills, she tells me I am still myself. The pills did not change who I am. Being who I am is still my responsibility. 


But I'm afraid. I'm afraid I am cheating. I am afraid I am really supposed to die. That the universe has called me to take my own life and I am cheating. I am being selfish. Killing myself weighs heavier in my thoughts than going on vacation. It is on par with my life options as is getting into a new relationship. Buying a car. Moving to a new city. What right do I have to use modern pharmaceutical technology to extract my responsibility from answering the fundamental philosophical questions, to live or to die? 
It's easier this way. It's easier to help people. It's easier to work on projects. It's easier to feel good about myself when I accomplish something. It's easier to talk about sadness when it's not so deep it hurts to touch. There is still a heaviness in my understanding, having been to a place of sorrow. 


I haven't lost my empathy. I am still me. I want to live.