Get Over That Depression, Dude!

Hello yet again. My boy Timothy is ringing me but I’m busy writing this. He suffers from depression. He gives it too much credit in my opinion. I want to slap him across the face, hold him upside down, and shake the miserableness out of his bones. He’s too powerful with it, it rubs off on people. He gets hurt over nothing, he’s too overly sensitive, I wish he would man up and say something like this: “I am not getting depressed anymore: Depression is bullshit.” But he doesn’t. He says: “Depression is king. I’m depressed, and so will you be.” Or something along those lines. He doesn’t say that exactly, obviously, but that’s what I infer.

He’s heartbroken over the loss of his Indian mother. Her death devastated him. I wish she would appear to him on the edge of his bed and share some quality spirit time with him, to let him know that she’s okay and that their special love bond is still strong between each other, as it should be. Maybe a visitation from the other side would stop him rambling on about how crippling the effects of degenerative mental illness can be. Andrew Tate says that depression doesn’t exist to him, that he refuses to accept it. Timothy says that that is because Tatey has a Bugatti and loads of women. To be honest (tbh), I don’t know whose argument holds the most sway.

The creature assassin under my bed appears to have gone. Maybe an operative took it out. (We’re not talking about factory operatives here.) Maybe it was in my mind, though I doubt it, because it stank the whole pad out. Rodents and other beasties that slither and crawl move quicker than the eye, they are always one step ahead, so it’s hard to determine. You must think I’m mad, not knowing what’s real. I think it comes down to what our minds can accept as real. Did somebody really put a genetically-engineered lab-created assassin monster into my apartment to kill me, or did I imagine it all off drugs? When put like that, the drugs option seems like hokum. Imagining scenarios off drugs…! It’s real, man! IT’S ALL REAL!  Get over it, deal with it, and move on. There’s no such thing as psychosis!

I dream of meeting another TI (Targeted Individual). Are you one? That would be sweet. We would get along like a house on fire, I know it in my soul. We could share our afflictions and try and discover who has had it the worst. I think that’ll be me, but I’m extremely open-minded about your plight also. I’d enjoy hearing about it. We could discuss the severity of our demises over some alcohol, with a smoke or two. I’m trying to give up smoking.

Ah well then, it’s time to wind up the blog post at its typical length. It’s been a blast as is per usual with you, My Precious White Voider. Have a bash at the White Void yourself. Even better, let me know about it. Via your mind or another method. x