I’ve made a lot of plans in my life that I didn’t see all the way through. Many instruments, goals, hobbies and destinations glimmer in a foreseeable future, only to be stamped out by a dark cloud over my head. My future gets muddied among the damp and cloudy internal monologue that resembles both a war zone and an eerie silence. The reason why I am writing this entry is because my blog, among many other things, has been neglected. I feel the need to inform this small group of people that read them why I have stopped doing something that for a short time gave me the boost of life I required to survive.
Getting sober has allowed me to conquer many things I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. For that, I am thankful. I am healthier physically and my sobriety has given another chance at life. However, something has happened that I couldn’t have anticipated or prepared for; I am no longer able to mask my depression with a substance. It has free roam over my existence and fighting it with different avenues or aspects of my life has become my daily routine. To no avail, she persists. I often change the meaning of the burning phoenix tattoo on my chest to match what current mental state resides within myself. The small figures flocking to the bird of rebirth take different form depending on my mood. I am naked to this illness. The Greek words translate to “darkness no more” take a different tone as I imagine a tattoo that resembles my actual mental state; one that does not claim present peace or serenity.
I will not be posting every week like initially intended with this. I cannot find the energy, motivation, or even purpose to continue this work. “Work” being the key meaning with this thought. At first, during a momentous high and happiness, writing was fun and exciting. I had plans for the blog and plans for blogs and blogs and blogs. It was a fun idea to challenge my ability and pursue writing progress. Now, however, it is work.
There are many people who have it worse than I. I don’t intend on making this blog post a “feel bad for me” piece of bullshit.Fuck that. I just want to let the people that love me and tell me that I can talk to them know that I DO know that I can talk to them, and I appreciate it. This is mostly to vent. I’m not suicidal. I’m not self-harming myself.
I haven’t given up on this blog. It’s just to the side of me, among the other hundreds of things I’ve decided to pursue in my life that quietly fell by the wayside.
Fuck depression and fuck anyone who speaks of it as if it were a small stepping stone. If you’re struggling, you aren’t alone.
If someone tells me to pray the depression away one more time I’m going to freak the fuck out.
Take it easy,