Apr 12, 2018
He would never obtain a diagnosis. He would never obtain answers. He would never get anything more than a vague notion that his therapists knew exactly what was wrong, but were withholding information.
It was as if they refused to consider that what he was telling them might be true.
It was shortly after termination of treatment that he would begin to disassociate with reality.
data.stats.symptoms = [ - agitation - regret ]
So beneath the sight of God
Shall I forever more plunge deep into the pines and find my place in the all.
In the everything, might I just overcome?
But what of you, my dear?
O', what of you, my love?
O', how I’d hate to see us part.
But I must deceive you again.
I’m sorry but the voice that calls me rings inside my head.
It pains me so, the visions torment amidst my fears and sins.
But nothing wagered, nothing earned.
And for this, I leave a rose beside your head.
Our crown of thorns.