September 6, 2000: Oh God…another depression

Getting hurt is what makes the mud for my log cabin. Once created, I shove it between the cracks. It blesses me with a more peaceful sleep. Gone, is the chill of my many angry bites—now just a nibble. Turning to my creator, I thank the almighty mapmaker, pathfinder, and healer of all wounds so deep… For I am blind—the mountain, six feet away isn’t seen…yet I hear the roar of the raging glacier falls, as well as the pouring of air from my lungs into a world so large…my existence instantly disappears. Am I so foolish to believe this man I’ve become fits within the scattered puzzle? A creative caught between the blizzard whites of a canvas—so many answers but not enough questions. Coward? Victor? Who will I hurt first?