Years of depression punctuated by obsessive creativity brought him closer to the inevitable. Alcohol became his chosen poison. Lacking the proper nutrition and suffering from frequent bouts of insomnia – it only propelled him deeper into the black abyss. The delusions which led to his self-mutilation only further supported the theory – he was mad, and he felt all alone.
He had lost everything of value to him. There was an empty canvas on the easel, his colors, and tools. What would he paint?
Nothing. He was at his self-inflicted end. “The sadness will last forever,” were Vincent’s final words.
The Reluctant Poet 
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