​My beautiful broken brain’s insight from therapy:

People tend to lean on cliches when they don’t know what to say or they don’t say anything at all….particularly in response to a depressive due to people taking the person at face value… A non-recognition/understanding that a person who doesn’t look ill is actually ill.

There’s Inner mind stuff,

Personal physical connections

and Transpersonal/Personal external world obligations.
Depressives have a hard time shutting off stuff of the inner mind because inner mind is what needs to heal from illness. No one can see this. Depression is not physically noticeable except for self-mutilation and dissarayed personal & transpersonal functioning.

Difficulty in shutting off the inner mind is why personal physical connection and transpersonal/personal external world obligations are overwhelming for depressives. They have to take on the added sphere of simultaneously figuring out how to stabilize inner mind, meanwhile typical people do not.

Depressives are often particularly creative (as well lacking in reason/logic). It is this inclination along an artistic or musical avenue that must be channeled productively to relieve the impetus and balance the chaotic inner mind.

 Typical minds are no where near as complex as a depressive. They are not stricken by such creative impetus to the degree that the depressive is in desiring to contemplate and act upon myriad ideas. It is this blow to time management that’s likely to inhibit a depressive from thoroughly advancing in any given sphere. This is why typical minds function reasonably & abidingly within confines of society.  
There are different severities of depressives.

Depression is influenced by many factors: upbringing, extent of trauma, physical health/genetics, development & usage of skills, social interrelationships, circumstances, etc.

Not all depressives encounter severe hardship in necessarily every sphere of life, but the spheres effected are by far suffering. Some are depressed due to specific circumstantial reasons, but they placate circumstances because they have no other option to survive.

A person who grew up with an accelerated development can function up to societal standards, albeit they may be depressed because they hate their job, but need to keep working at it to support their self & family. 

A person who grew up with an arrested/sheltered development differs in severity of depression & functioning. That person is simultaneously doing work on the self from the implications of poor parenting/minimal exposure to physical social world. He/she was not adequately prepared during their formative years to get along in life as an adult (severe example: a feral child/human). Thus, adulthood is complicated by internally learning how to parent the self to coexist within civilization. Meanwhile, adults who grew up around healthy parenting and support were modeled how to meet their own needs, and the needs of their offspring. 

The depression an arrested development experiences is a sadness that gradually & painfully learns to accept the loss of time & voided nurturing that was supposed to be their window of opportunity to meet developmental milestones toward sound mind & bright future. It is sad because they have to meet those milestones on their own in adulthood, all while constructing realistic discernment of what potential & opportunity are left for them to achieve quality inner/outer states of being.

 Indifferent, indignant, & discouraging social relations provoke insecurities, fears, & comparisons that inhibit progress. As well, the older you are, the less potential & opportunity you have left to deal with it & live a quality existence. Thus, that is one reason why suicide exists: out of the hopelessness people experience from believing/discerning that they don’t have the chance to fulfill the love, goals, & desires they haved aspired… Meanwhile, the same love, goals, & desires just came naturally to typical people who were raised to possess the internal foundation to make their love, goals, & desires happen to live a quality existence.



I’m walking with my shadow

around the block.

She’s taller than me.

Then she fades into a rock.

She reappears around the bend,

only to fall behind

over the pavement’s end.

As I walk forward–

straight down the street,

she resurfaces

to the right of my feet.

Once again, she grows taller.

Then, soon enough,

the night engulfs her.

Now, she’s gone.

No trace of her in sight,

until I converge, again,

with the light.

From the boredom of sentience

This is life. 

This is damaged essence still breathing

upon plush paisley couch cocoon–

meshed weakness of drive.

That confused boredom of sentience–

quicksand paralyzer.

Lackluster soul, sore core–

Trying to animate life

under inanimate conditions.

Sighing roots deep

& falling branches to sleep.




She can be his Heroine.
We can be your Seraphim.
I can be your Heroine.
We can be your love within.

You have the strength
to fight away your Heroin.
You have the strength
to climb closer to Heroine.

There is no love in Heroin.
But there is love in Seraphim.
There is love in his Heroine.
There is Love within.

Then, years later, we find,
he was Heroine’s Heroin
that entire time.
Addicted to an addict,
she let go to make the climb.

the only medicine



​Identity Moratorium

I’m the cashier at the store.

I’m the janitor mopping the floor.

I’m the passenger in that wreck.

I’m the victim with bruises on her neck.

I’m the flagger in the construction zone.

I’m the banker who approves that loan.

I’m the homeless man holding cardboard signs.

I’m the meter maid leaving fines.

I’m the barista serving tea.

I’m the addict who O.D.’ed.

I’m the old man in the ambulance.

I’m the photographer at the dance.

I’m the stripper at the club.

I’m the bartender at the pub.

I’m the waitress at the inn.

I’m the doctor delivering twins.

I’m the college student with midterms.

I’m the lawyer at the law firm.

I’m the kid at the laundry mat playing in a basket.

I’m the corpse from the morgue laying in a casket.

I’m that face you see passing by.

I’m that face who never says “hi.”

I’m that ghost you feel passing through

because I very well could be you.


Meek Fleas


My Living Ghost