THIS Rhett Butler Will Never Die

i'm migrating south for the winter. moving to Norway. got the itch to go live there when i was in England the first time when i was 19 and saw those fair skinned kin in person for the first time - recognized them right off the bat before i even had any genealogical proof that i was from that land. i remember meeting a few of them that were vacationing while spending afternoons in St. James's Park and talking with them, and feeling as if they were brothers and sisters... we looked so much alike. why are my thoughts drifting here now? because of how out of place i feel in this soul-arid place... because i have no souls i connect with here, no kindred souls, no family, no friends, no friendly people, not even enemies, no one that cares about or hates me... i just create disinterest and fade into nothingness here. it doesn't even make sense what i said about wanting to go to Norway except that I do really have kindred there. i did some genealogy research and there are blood rel...

And he's back on the downswing again. I did good for two weeks, wrote everyday and got about 20k words added to the novel. Then made some weird, unfounded decision to go off my meds and replace them with drinking St. Johns Wort. Except that I lapse on drinking it when I should. I lapse in doing anything when I should. Like eating, or sleeping, our exercising. No system in my life at all right now. Screwing up on being friendly with anyone right now too. No, I'm way of key.

things have changed since i wrote the last entry, already. i really do have the very best friend in my life now, the very best I've ever had and I am deeply in a mysterious swoon of spellbinding connection with her. we had a long talk last night about "things", and she helped soothe my discontent, in ways that I believe only she could have done. i had been in a sliding path of doom, and even though she was still around and hanging out with me, it took the soul-breaking despair that i fell into to be able to confront it. now i feel reawakened and have swung around back into place where my plans of a hopeful future are alive. i have a desire of a plan and by god, i'm gonna do it or die.... later, hahaha

i'm not doing well. this should probably be a private posting, with the feelings i'm having, and the thoughts i'm considering sharing. but i don't care. if i write this privately and no one knows about it but me, how will any energy from the universe come to rescue me... i am so starved for love and affection that it's close to killing me. my thoughts just about an hour ago were, "once i finish writing this novel, i'm done. gone. over with all of this." i will have created my legacy with my photography and i will have completed the one story that i've poured more heart and soul into than anything else i've done in this lifetime. i just don't have any strength or imagination left for what i could go on to do after this is finished. the misery of feeling like a reject from society and of not being loveable enough to attract someone to come close into my life, it just makes this all feel like i'm in solitary confinement in a prison in a ...

i cannot break my addiction to visual art. i need to see it all the time. i don't how to explain it other than to blame it on my ocd-ish type of attachment to being told stories visually. it's why i'm also addicted to watching film stories. does this addiction/attachment/need suit my own artistic endeavors? it does, it can, but the element of enjoyment that i experience from this stimulus goes into the realm of triggering my depression. when i consume art and stories i'm not making my own stories, or art. i know how the pattern of behavior plays out, time after time. when i am unable to do photography, for whatever reason, i obsess over using my Tumblr account. that can happen during a phase when i am fully engaged in my "photography seasons", but have a lapse of creative projects to work on. and it happens during the phase i'm in right now, where i have decided to put the camera away and go back to my writing. several weeks ago i felt it was time to s...

i can't do anything but sit here and write. writing is the only way to get the shit out of my head and heart into a processing machine that will help it all make sense to me. cafes and writing, that's all that there can be for me. there is no other church or therapy group that could serve me like this does. i don't have to talk to anyone, i just have to sit and concentrate. push the buttons and let it all flow out.. i am one day closer to my goal of "Portland or Die". yesterday was one of the worse times i've had the experience of becoming immobilized by the depression. i'm half ready to blame it on the juice fast, but not fully. for the most part, i do not feel hungry during this fast but it still seems to lower my ability to stay fully energetic and cognizant. so last night after i drank my evening juice i retired to my room and sat up on my bed. i did not lay down. but it didn't seem to matter. all that happened for the next 4 hours was me sitting...

i wrote that title some time ago, but never made an entry, so i'm just going to go with it and start to talk about what is going on now. soo very much has happened since December - the time of my last entry. i will continue to say that i have a very good life. i may not be in the ultimate position of joy that i was in when i created that title before, but i am so solid in my friendship with her right now that there is very little possibility of anything ever becoming unworkable again. we figure everything out, just by talking. honesty, frankness, and a willingness to ask for help is all it takes to keep things fresh, nurtured, and growing. we have grown so much closer to each other too. we rode the train together from the bay area to Portland, Oregon (almost) a month ago - 3 weeks i guess it is now! the experience of achieving this trip together was the greatest thing we've ever accomplished. we learned so much about each other and have become entirely comfortable in each oth...