Football Season is Over.

That was the title of Hunter S. Thompson's suicide note to his wife. In the last words ever written by the father of Gonzo journalism, he notes that 67 years of life was 17 years more than he wanted or needed. Why?
Why do artists of great stature end their own lives?
Hunter S. Thompson
Vincent van Gogh
Ernest Hemingway
Sylvia Plath
Nick Drake
All great artists. All gone. Is there any tie between their success and their suicides? What's more, is there any connection between their respective talents and their suicides? By no means am I trying to say the arts are a bad thing. I like to consider myself somewhat of a writer. I love to immerse myself in either writing songs and stories, listening to music, or reading books. They are my release. My escape from any worries that the day has undoubtedly brought, but with that comes a great concern also. In these times of relaxation what am I really giving myself to? What am I allowing to influence my thoughts, my emotions, my actions? That is the real question I am getting at. These people all had great abilities to move others emotionally with their perspective on the world around us, but where were they drawing these abilities from? I can speculate with inferences that I have taken from reading their Wikipedia pages, but I am okay with the fact that I may never know the real influences of these people. For now, I will figure they were probably pretty bad ones.
So what hope does this hold for a community of artists trying to rise to a worldwide platform these days? Do we have to give ourselves to things that may ultimately destroy what they have made us into or is there something else? Something that can cultivate our blossoming gifts without the possibility of taking control and killing us? I believe that there is. I believe it is God.
For anyone reading this and you do not know me very well, I am a Christian man and I look at many subjects from a spiritual standpoint. I have no choice in the matter. When I was younger the Lord met me in a way as real as any encounter with a friend, a family member, a stranger in a coffee shop. Suicidal thoughts had plagued my mind for years. Depression was the strongest of all my emotions. The details of why are not important now. I was ready to die, before I had even found what my calling was. There were no thoughts of God, no concerns of an afterlife, just a decision that death had become better than life. In the supposed last few moments of my life, a phone call came that changed the course of the future. From this phone call salvation came bearing hope, joy, and peace. To describe it all would take hours that frankly I have neither the will nor drive to spend. Just believe me when I say that God/Jesus/Holy Spirit is the reason I am still alive.
Sorry to make such a weighty post. It is more of a praise to God for His grace and mercy on my life than anything. This topic has been eating away at me for quite awhile now and like I said earlier, writing is my release.
More laughs and good times to be had in future posts so keep coming back!