Inclined Chronicles of Indulgence

Google search Last night I pulled out the King James version of Bible from the shelf and put it on my bedside table. I was not in a very good state of mind. I did not do so because I was afraid to be shunted to hell if I killed myself. If God was merciful he wouldn't inflict the curse of depression. May be he is mythical. I don't exactly also disbelieve in God's existence. It is just that an entity with such powers will have to franchise responsibilities to others. Back to the Bible. Being a long-term (if two years count as long) depression patient, I have found that I need an anchor outside my head to hold on to life. Often it is my dog whose unconditional love keeps sticking to this painful side of life. I have been keeping away from her lately. I am afraid she will contract depression. And that is something no mother will ever want for her child.  I keep diverting from the Bible. If it cannot hold my attention when I am blogging about it, then I doubt how much ...

Death. I don't discuss death. I talk of life, of after-life, but never death. Death is an event, and living is the process. This event just suddenly turns big tables upside down in a moment's time. I believe while we are living, we are also marching towards the final salute. In this letter to you, my love, I want to tell you how I feel about it. Firstly, any-x that keeps me away from you is the means of my death. When you return to our nest and don't find me opening the door for you, just know that that time length has taken its toll on me. You would be delighted to find my corpse in our closet with our sweet picture in my arms. Secondly, please know that I am really scared of that last obvious event. Your beautiful consolation of after-life sounds to me like the aftermath of a disaster. And in this disaster the tears won't be for people you don't know. I have the surety of this one life; I want to make the most of it. I want to prepare the fitt...