I was improving significantly. In fact, certain aspects of my head space have improved. Unfortunately, I've relapsed into an inconsolable depression. This is so bad that I see little point in living. I must immediately qualify that to say that I am not in anyway suicidal. I'm a freakin' Leo. Leo's do not commit suicide. The thought is repulsive to my core.
When I am in a state like this there is no talking to me. I cannot hear other perspectives. I view them as soft bread around a shit sandwich.
So, a friend of mine, who has patiently be returning my favor of listening to her whine, has been listening to me whine. She suggested I read a book that she read long ago, Steppenwolf. She claims I am the Steppenwolf and that something in that book may be of use to me.
My reading tends more towards The Dresden Files, Terry Pratchett, and the Darkside novels. Though, every once in a while, I read a classic that is very educational or thought provoking. This is the case with Steppenwolf.
I am having a hard time focusing enough to read but I have slugged my way through 30 pages or so. I can see why my friend thinks I am the Steppenwolf. One passage talks about how the Steppenwolf must always hurt the people that love him. Some are attracted to his higher nature, his ideals, his lofty dreams for himself, friends and humanity. These are hurt by the wild and untamable lone wolf within him that hunts, runs through the forest and chases female wolves. This brute too disturbs the higher nature of the man. Others are attracted to the untamable wolf. This wolf detests the hypocritical nature of humanity, its social lies and cannot understand its entertainments. It views as folly these things as they deny nature and find natural things an embarrassment. These two sides of the man are constantly on watch for the other. For either side would devour the other.
The book says this all much better than I. The actual plot devices are not of me but the underlying theme seems to be pretty close. Maybe there is something in there than can help.