For as back as I can remember I get ideas in my head, horrible ideas of things happening that will never happen. I was probably 8 or 9 when my mom asked me if she and my dog, Grumbles, were tied to the railroad tracks, and I could only save one, who would I save? None of the bizarre questions ever asked seemed bizarre when I was young. They only do now, because they still float around in my head. I obviously answered that I would save my mom first.
But Grumbles, my Boston terrier with one blue eye, and one brown eye, slept in my bed with me, and I laid and wondered if he knew how I answered, and if he loved me less now.

I have an over active- over inquisitive mind. I got put in the "bad kids" room at a church when I was 5 or 6 for asking why we were Thanking God for the cheese, shouldn't we be thanking him for Cows? I remember people started laughing, others were saying "awww" and a woman telling me to follow her as we went into some room that had stale glazed donuts, and two other little kids.

I started thinking about all of this, because my depression didn't "fade" away.
I would picture myself drowning and had deja vu in everything going on, to the point where my dreams were catching up with my reality that it was fucking with my head. I felt like I had been left for dead somewhere, beaten and torn, crawling out of the Ocean I was walking... straggling back to the shore, back home, and Stridulum II happened to be the soundtrack of that happening.
One day I woke up and was too busy to realize that my depression was getting better, I knew that it was, I knew I was strong the whole time, I had given everyone else the power to take control and pick apart whatever was left on my bones.
Mostly my depression was caused by my being mad at myself for giving others that power, and they took advantage of me, and I couldn't retaliate because I was too afraid to stand back up, being how brittle I was feeling.
I look at pictures of myself, and it could look like the most beautiful photo of me, but I see the emptiness, the dark calling in my eyes, where I can see my fingers then my hand, like slow motion emerging from the water.

It passes in my mind, one of those nightmare thoughts that seize me at times where I'm laying staring at the ceiling when my mind is reeling.
What if I'm in a coma right now? And at any moment I'll wake up, to the bright blinding lights of a hospital, hoping that when my vision clears I'm in Heaven instead...
I'm more delusional that I thought evidently...
I rather be able to reflect on this, than erase it.
I don't want to erase anything. I want to create from it all. Like a dark almost dead tree that moss has taken over, one day getting small buds on leaves start form, slowly.
Or in my case, over night, and blooming with beautiful blossoms.

Fucking hell, this better never end.
I'm in the most beautiful psychosis.