Your mind is constantly playing tricks on you. Every night when you find yourself alone with your thoughts your mind races. You allow yourself to think of a million different things you’re going to differently tomorrow that will make all of this go away. Something, anything that will make you snap out of this funk that never seems to end.
Case in point I just republished a post that I wrote last night hoping it would be cathartic. I woke up this morning and deleted it. Embarrassed of the things I had spoken about. The thing is that what I wrote about were things that have happened to me in my life. Nothing at all that I should be ashamed of. But I was, and to be honest I still am. But fuck it, I’m leaving it there. If I can’t think of anything else to write about then I’m going to force myself to write about whatever fucked up shit is playing over and over in my head.
The sad part is that I used to make my living writing. I loved it. I gave it up for a fantastic job working with great people. I had just had my daughter, had a beautiful home, a beautiful wife and things were good. Then they weren’t. I can’t explain it and it didn’t happen all at once but once it started it felt like the bottom would never come. Maybe it still hasn’t but I certainly hope it has.
It’s easy for people to say just snap out of it. Unfortunately my depression has been accompanied by a series of health issues that have required a number of surgeries. I’m scheduled for my last (hopefully) surgery on the 24th of this month. It’s a big day for me. I’m hoping it’s a turning point. I know that’s probably a pipe dream but I’ve been slowly inching my way back. I’ve been eating healthier and exercising more when I can. Sure, those are small things and things you’re supposed to do but for me, they’re big.
I’m hoping to start writing again and find a way to make a living from it although I know that will likely never happen again. I have other things planned to try and get back on track in lieu of that but until then I’m going to be here at this blog with the crappy name banging away. I may post two or three posts in a night or I may post none. When depression is present in your life finding something that you are passionate about is really fucking difficult. And, at least for me, passion is a huge part of my writing.
For anyone that has taken the time to read this thank you. And for anyone that knows me, I’m sorry I’ve been a huge pain in the ass the past couple of years. I’m trying to see a light at the end of the tunnel and I believe I may be seeing it. My daughter is a constant source of unbridled pleasure and makes me smile and cry more than I thought possible but I need to find me again. I can’t live my whole life through her as nice as that sounds. I want to be someone she is proud of. I want to be the strong, proud provider I was before this river of shit rained down on me. I’ll get there. I will get there.