An empty room answers.

When do we know that we've hit bottom?
How low can things get in the world before it's ok to give up?
Do you want to climb out this time? Or just stay here, there's some comfort in misery, and it's such a long way back up.
When do people start to care? It's not a cry for help, it's a scream from the bottom of a very deep well. It may be faint, but you hear it. Does anyone reach down anymore? I know I have to save myself, but I'm not sure what I'm saving for... What's even up there worth the climb? If the world keeps spinning, barely notices I've been removed... Why bother?
It's dark, and quiet. Somehow it's sad that I'm not the sickest person here. It's infectious, the darkness in a soul can spread and latch on to others. I may not even be here if misery didn't love company. Even insanity can't properly be gauged without a test group. A comparison to healthy living... The sterile, white, plastic life you see on television. Well, I'd like to try my lines again. Can I get another take? I'd certainly leave this scene on the cutting room floor. There were some great moments, but no one realizes it until it's over. Happiness is in the rear-view, so what lies ahead?
A lifetime of fucking things up, fixed, in one determined flash.
It replays in my head, like some 8mm projection against the wall. There are light leaks and dust, but it's still there, preserved in memory.
When do I lay back, let the waves envelop? Let depression and sickness win? I don't have the strength to try again, and if there's nothing left, why am I here?
An empty room answers.

Hurry and shop. Why won't this light change? We need to get this over with quickly. 140 characters or less.

Breath. Be here, be still. Let calmness wash over you, let it fill you with it's light. Don't rush, enjoy the ride. The world will still be spinning, no matter how much you worry.
Life will happen, with or without you, so you choose: participate or always spread your thoughts so thin, that no moment is ever genuine.

The need for approval. The dependence on habitual behavior, even when the habit is stripped away. We're all creatures of habit, and day to day life is a circle of similar circumstances. Stepping outside of this circle is usually reserved for a "vacation" a special event that allows us to be comfortable in something new.
I cuss. I masterbate. I look at pornography. I drink alcohol. I consume tobacco. I eat to fill a void in my life, a void that can't be filled. I buy in to the idea that society has placed, that I should feel shame for all of these things.
I'm afraid. My anxiety has taken over and paralyzed my life. I'm lonely. Bored with routine. I can be pompous, arrogant and jealous. I dwell on the negative, which usually causes me to overlook the positive. I'm severely anti-social, unless I drink or take medication. I've almost died mixing the two. I am lazy, I procrastinate and blame it on things that would become better if I didn't. I'm an insomniac, though my medication causes me to sleep to much. I waste entire days, weeks... Passing time for something that's not coming.
I dwell on the negative, so how do I fix this? I create positive, tackle issues and accept that some are just flaws, I can try to overcome them, but shouldn't hate myself if I can't. I'm lonely, God, I'm lonely.
I treat others with respect, I try to be selfless when it counts. I try to recognize weakness and evolve. I cherish knowledge, music and art. I'm emotional, but that's a good thing, men can act like robots, even though they care, they're just scared to seem anything other than tough. I love, I laugh. Engaging conversation is addicting. I question the very fabric of existence. I dream, and I dream. I'm a recovering narcissist, that causes me to he too hard on myself. I don't like me, even though I try to be a really good person. I show my flaws, I don't misrepresent who I really am. People over-think me, I'm simple in all of my intricacies. I could be just as comfortable talking about existentialism, lucid dreams, or hearing fart jokes. I don't like bullies, especially mental bullies, or ones that squish my head. People shouldn't force what should come natural. Not everyone is famous, and they should stop trying to be... The world needs janitors, thinkers and line cooks all the same.
I'm ashamed of how shallow our world has become, beauty above brains, conformity, dependence on technology, addiction to cell phones and celebrities. Fuck twitter. I have always been a self-confessed electronics junkie, but I don't hold that with the same pride I used to. I like the ability and convenience to express myself in the most natural and accessible way possible, but similarities in society have led to rooms full of people talking to people that are not present. Look up, see where you are, or where you could be. Even though I'm writing this, I hope you're not reading it, instead I hope you're jumping in puddles, reading a book under a tree, falling in love. This is my therapy, it doesn't require an audience, if you've read this far, you may have missed out on something great, or you may have learned something. Put your phones in your pocket, talk to the person next to you, be in the moment, everything else can wait, in fact everything else can just vanish, and we can all share this moment... And this one.

A plague upon our house.
We can move, we can rebuild, but it's always there.
I do believe it's spread to me, I just internalize everything. But she has to break completely, and all we can do is watch.
Heaven must hold a special place for those that know so much suffering in this life. What cruel deity would allow so much pain and ruin? Little cracks, over time... 33 years of life, and most spent in the presence of illness. It chips away, until it has consumed it's vessel.
How do you justify madness?
I can't even relate what I feel correctly. This is the third time I've written this, and it's either too vague or to exposing.
Why must my family feel shame? The only options presented in recent years are extreme, and unthinkable. We've already sacrificed our personal lives, what else will it take?

The world has grown cold once again
And with it your heart will too begin
I feel you pull away
I'm in pain
Though neither of us are to blame
The snow touches your face
You break my heart everyday
The snow touches your heart
Somehow we've grown apart

It's falling fast now
(failing fast)
And oh so cold
(you've grown cold)
Patches of white start to form
(you're empty heart beats no more)
The trees have died, leaves have fallen
(our love has died, left forgotten)

Autumn dead, winter we now know
(warm red will spread, and melt below)
Soon to leave here, miles to go
(to leave you here, in the snow)

There are only two pure things in this world. Even those can birth misery and shame, but as a side effect or wrong choice, not of themselves.
The love a parent has the privilege of knowing, and art. Being a father taught me more, in a short amount of time, than anything else ever has, or will. The span of a child will test you, from crying for no reason, terrible twos, to apathetic teenagers, you will love them even in the most trying times.
Being an artist, shows you how huge the world can be, and how tiny it really is all at once, yet it allows you to make it bigger, by creating something that didn't exist before you started. It's never mastered, if you're content with where you are, then you've lost the joy of a challenge. If you look at where you are, and it's where you wanted to be a year ago, then you're a success; however, even in that moment, you're planning where you'll be in a year. You find yourself amongst the greatest people on earth, and you're drawn to one another to gather and share the wonder of creativity and imagination. Dreamers have the distinct honor of seeing that things can and will get better.
Shame. You don't get to be where I am in life without the burden of shame, and yet the point of it all is to shed the ideals of a past generation, and move forward as a person freed of the distraction of societies view. The more one is scrutinized, the less they (should) care. Shame builds cities, and societies, it guides the hands of the weak, to obey something they see as stronger than them. I can't go to the grocery store without being judged, which is two-fold in itself... I'm aware I don't look like you, I'm aware you may not accept that. It is not my problem, it is my right, to be who I want to be. People are usually kind and curious, but some get angry the second they see you. That's not my problem, I am kind and well-spoken in public, it becomes my problem when they choose to become irrational, and it's ultimately their social taboo, their unkindness that causes bad situations. I can accept whispers, glances, and a bit of ridicule, but move on, accept that you can't change me or my mind... Believe me I was the first in line to judge me, so you can't, in five seconds make a better judgment call on how I should live my life, because I'm the one stuck with it everyday. So, I try to be respectfully shameless, I am strange, but I respect that it was my choice to become what I am, and you may not accept it so easily.
Love. In the past few years I've learned not to externalize my belief in love. The way I feel for you, is never going to be the way you feel for me. A decision is made here: to either show my love, no matter how it's received, it should never factor on how the person will receive it, but that you gave it. Which leads to a lot of hurt, until you let go, and feel love, without our tendency to want a return on that love. It's completely up to the other person, to accept, reject, or return that notion. The second option is to quietly love, harder still to capture and accept... To know that you may not have the ability to improve someone's life, with your companionship, but to still see that their life grows in a positive direction, even if you are having to sit back quietly and watch, and nurture. To allow them the freedom to make the choice to not be with you, but to still wish them the best possible life.
Jealousy leads to the ugliest side we can show of ourselves. It's not ones actions, but how we react to those actions, that determine what you will have gained from knowing that person. We are all unique, and cannot please everyone, all the time, not even ourselves. When jealousy is introduced into a situation where someone is attempting to better themselves, no one gains anything. It's easy to be jealous of something; it's mature to commend it, appreciate it... And then if it's something you want to attain that badly, find your healthy way of attaining it. Do not take it from them, because they got it first... Earn it, only then will you appreciate it.
In situations with loved ones, double-back to the idea of putting love out there, no matter what is returned and feelings of jealousy will dissolve; be patient.
If I could stress nothing else in life, I'd say have patience. Given my anxiety, I have to wait, and spend entire days, not feeling well. But to accept this, and allow this time to pass, you grow a new understanding of being patient. Everyone is always somewhere else in their head, being a photographer and performer, I had a special relationship with seeing how people are either never in the moment, or oblivious to the great things right in front of them. It's easy to lose grip on something magical, but that's what makes it worth holding onto in the first place. Being behind a lens, it's easy to be so caught up in capturing a moment, that you lose it entirely on a personal level. You go to a concert and film with your phone, then share it on your social network of choice, all to prove you were somewhere amazing, yet you're tied to this tiny glowing screen while something amazing is happening right in front of you. Thats a bit askew of the original point, but I didn't have the patience to finish that thought I suppose.
Overall quality of life really breaks down to these separate ideas and how you choose to handle them. I'm a huge supporter of living life to the fullest, but I also know that some days it just rains. We can dance in the rain, and embrace the chaos surrounding us, or we can break down in our lack of control over our world. I stopped typing a moment ago because the pain in my chest is so severe I couldn't handle it, but I know it's just anxiety, and it too will pass. In stopping, it worsened, while if I just type and forget about everything else, I'll find myself transported to a better place.
And who am I to give insight to anyone? I'm trapped in a dark room with chest pains currently... But I won't always be. Most won't get anything from what I type, instead they will either learn the hard and painful way, or be reflecting on how they arrived at a similar outlook. Just remember that change and growth are always possible, you'll want to forget this in the darkest hours, but those are when you should be clinging to it the tightest. Always love, because hate is just a waste of time. And when people hate you for feeling that way, let them, or they're wasting your time. Find passion, if it's on a microphone, a pen, or a brush... Find something to take you on a journey, always learn from it, and always share it.

He suddenly realized, he'd been asleep a very long time.
"Wake up." His natural internal dialog barked in response. It wasn't going to be so simple, a pinch or reality test would not suffice he quickly realized. The truth of it was, he'd been asleep so long that this was reality, he wasn't asleep anymore, he had become the dream character.
Now one would stop and think; "logically, I just resume my actions, and eventually I will return to my waking life." What if things had grown so abstract however, that you were forced to question the very fabric of what you had just a moment before, accepted as reality? When reality stops being real, what are we left with?
"Wake up." He once again told himself, force of habit, not really putting power behind the idea. A small shift in the periphery of his vision, a glitch he thought; something he could expose to escape. Further investigation actually led him to notice what once seemed solid and logical... All around him, was now fluid-like, and resisted to sit still. The familiarity of it all washed over him, how nonsensical things he had accepted yesterday were so obviously mental faculty, his mind was working overtime, to make the world he now inhabited. "Wait!", he thought,"How long have I been asleep? Has time passed differently because my mind can move faster than reality allows?" Which, sadly led to more questions, each more profound and slightly more horrific in nature. His chest tightened, as the air thickened and the light in the room, dimmed. Everything grew a bit smaller as he asked: "Have the relationships I've grown so accustomed to even been real?" Suddenly when he thought of her, her face was blurry in his mind. "This is natural." he took a deep breath, the room seemed to sense a shift as light grew a bit warmer. "I'm only struggling with this, because I'm over-thinking it... Of course I know her face." To reassure himself, he reached in his pocket, he withdrew his phone. You can always rely on technology, to remember things you may struggle with... Right? It felt empty in his hand, almost as if it's capacity to hold information was determined by it's physical weight. Then he noticed something that disturbed him. "This isn't my model of phone, is it? This is what I was using a few years ago. How would this even get in my pocket?"
Suddenly his reliance on technology shifted, "Of course I can't depend on this... If it's in my dream it's part of me, just a symbol; an idea of what was in my pocket." His realization however did not hasten his resolve to continue forward. He opened the device, which now did actually seem like his phone, the time was wrong... "Or have I lost this much familiarity with the outside world?" He pushed on, forgiving the odd time display. There, finally a picture of her, just as he remembers her. Encoded in 1's and 0's an answer to his base question. "Of course she's real, and here is solid proof!" His deliberate verbal confirmation did little to ease what he knew however... Even as he quickly shut the screen off, the manner in which it lagged simply did not feel mechanical. The image almost bled to the corner as he shoved it back in his pocket. "Pockets, a mans portable identity. Pockets, what else do we have? As he rummaged he could almost feel keys, and change, though as he grasped the pockets seemed much larger than he'd anticipated. Everything seemed to slip through his fingers, a recycling of what he expected to feel, cold, almost familiar objects, but not what he was looking for... "Wait... What am I looking for?" the room grew dim, once again in response to his emotion. A sinking feeling of lost washed over him. He stumbled a few steps, meaningless really, and thought: "My wallet! Back pocket. Always there, always help define." Even as ge reached back, and submerged his hand once again, his eyes gazed at the painting on the wall.
His face was wet. Had he just fallen? The rain was slowing as he gained his composure. The street was silent, the sky a dull gray, an endless cloud of moisture. Reflections of the lights danced on the street. "Wait, what street is this?" The street lights seemed to flicker the answer. "Oh of course! I use this road almost everyday, so familiar I hardly even give it a thought... Right there is.... Well, it doesn't matter, I know where I am." He thought it odd that he was walking, when he usually drove. Given the time of day, maybe he'd a couple too many and decided not to drive. "Only a couple blocks that way and I'll be home." He sped up his pace, with confidence, the last few hours may have been confusing, but it didn't matter now.
Faint car horns and muffled engine sounds reflected off the cold, slick pavement. Such a funny time of day, it can almost be difficult to know whether the suns rising, or just set.
He dropped the pencil on table as his body shook. "Damn, dozing off again, I need to get this done..." As he reached to scoop the pencil before it reached the edge, he felt an urgency, but for what again? Something he needed to finish... Or remember?
He looked at his scribbles on the paper, an obvious draft, half pictures and jotted words. He appreciated how under the incandescent yellowish light, the shades and shapes almost formed a layer above the paper, rather than resting on it. He adjusted his glasses, that seemed to help focus. It was her picture, a crude version of the one in his phone, scribbled off to the left, a simple, "wake up."

He sat up in bed quickly, and gasped, the air hot on his face. "What's wrong?" Asked a detached voice, coming from beside him. "Oh God, of course! Brilliant" He thought, a small grin draped across his cheeks. He muttered a simple,"Nothing babe, just a screwed up dream." He turned half-way to press against her, he reached for her hand. Nothing, a cold pillow sat beside him, a hint of her fragrance lingered.
Wake up.