I reached in the only and best direction that was left, and found that my intuition knows the best.

it makes biological sense that crazy people make art, how else would we get others to procreate with us when we walk around like crazies and prowl like animals?

This on the heels of having sent a piece to someone who says that it makes them almost cry because it is the opposite of everything they have become. A jolting reminder that perhaps I am alive and have a purpose. Perhaps that purpose is to make art that makes other people remember that they are also alive. That is what art is about, no matter how much else gets twisted into it.

Right this very moment, I believe that I can find ways to trick myself, learn from this, teach myself, lean outwards, reach in at least some right directions, be a little better, survive. It is talking to good people that makes me feel that way. Still, what happens in another hour or two or four or six, when I've again exhausted my reserves and find myself scared, scary, pushing away the ones who matter, blunt, comatose?