I came to the forest to determine why. Why life? Why death? When depression sucks you down like the Le Brea tar pits, you can no longer see the ground warmed by the morning sun. You see those who have come before you mired in the sticky, intractable black ***. The skeletons of those who didn’t make it are all around you. Charles Boyer, Vincent van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf. Robin Williams, so close, you could almost touch him. A delicate balance…when pain exceeds coping resources.
For the prosecution:
– 41 years of depression
– Crimes against humanity committed to me
– Committed […]