In Des Peres

I need help, of the clinical variety, and soon.

I didn't know what to make of it, when I arrived in St. Louis; I assumed that it was just a passing thing, nothing to worry about, part of the ebb and flo of my tattered psyche. A week later, I see that I've got a problem that only drug therapy and the medically trained can solve. But who, among them, will listen?

Yes, since arriving in St. Louis, I have been trailed by the one thing more ominous than a dark cloud. I find myself under no cloud at all, and it disturbs me. Happiness (shudder) has crept into my life, and I don't know how. I don't think I've let my defenses down, nor have I introduced myself to any new things. All week, I've done nothing but homework, taking breaks only to brood in my room. I've rejected social engagements and spited those that made attempts to reach out to me (behaviors which have reliably supplied me with the bitterness and bile that keeps me going), but instead of self-righteousness, what do I feel? Regret?! Hells bells, you greasy-fingered blog-biters; have I lost my knack for unsolicited hatred?

I went to my fortress of solitude this afternoon--Westfield--and was yet uninspired to hate. I sat and watched hundreds of bubble-headed consumers float from store to store, consuming and constructing a better self out of manufactured wares, but I felt nothing. I could talk your ear off about how their conspicuous masturbation is slowly killing them inside, but it would be without feeling. The fire is gone, or, at least, dampened.

I expect that the University psychiatric department will cast me aside, so I've begun looking for the school's best and brightest young philosophers. This is something that only a healthy dose of nihilism and existentialism can cure. Who could smile, after all, knowing that there is nothing more than that smile's physicality, and whatever arbitrary meaning I may attach to it?

But my philosophical knowledge is too shallow for my purposes. I'm looking for a man who has stopped shaving, bathing, eating and sleeping; and I'm looking for him to imbue me with whatever has destroyed his will.

Until then, who knows what I'll do...