Well, I said I was going to get back into writing. When was that? A month ago?

Now let’s see. This blog is not only a place where I can connect with people, it’s also a place where I can be honest. I think I’ve made that clear before but, if memory doesn’t serve me, I am making it clear now. It would be a lie to say that my depression returned. It never even left. It did worsen, however. My family has either never believed I’ve had it if they knew or didn’t know I had it because they didn’t care to stick around and find out. This is why I haven’t been writing. Well, it’s not like many people read this anyway. I doubt my viewers even hit the double digits. This is only my second post, though, so I don’t know what I was expecting.

How do you pull yourself out of a grave that was made for you by the one thing you are always supposed to be sure of? My mind has betrayed me just because it had a couple more of some chemicals and a couple less some other chemicals. Constantly living on the brink is the worst thing for you. It’s hard to pull yourself out of that place and sometimes it cannot be done. I’ve done it before but there were times were it seemed like it was impossible and the, as the people say, “unthinkable” almost happened. Four times.

No one in this position, or, at least from my experience, most, do not want to be pitied. We want someone to understand. Some people want to be saved, and some want you to be at their side as they try to save themselves. I’m the latter. I try to live in my dreams, to forget, to remember, and to protect myself. This can offer some security and happiness, but only for awhile. Then reality grabs and drags you back.

But, life wouldn’t be the same if it didn’t, now would it?


Weekly Writing Challenge Response (December 23rds)


It was cold, and I mean cold. My house is always under 60 degrees, even in the dead of winter, because my dad refuses to let us turn up the heat. “It costs money,” he asserts. It didn’t bother me, though. While my mom was running around preparing for Christmas Eve dinner, and my sister was busy talking to her friend on the phone, I was still in bed. My eyes glazed over the dusty blue walls, the rusting trophies, and the dark floor. None of it matters, I told myself.

I’d been like this for awhile, and I knew the name of it. I wouldn’t dare say it, though. Then it would be real. That’s silly, I said, Of course it’s real. It couldn’t be more real. There were a million reasons why I was depressed, but I neither had the energy nor the desire to figure out which one was the main culprit. My sister yelled from downstairs, imploring me to be helpful. I knew I wasn’t actually needed, she cared about flaunting her helpful nature over my supposedly selfish nature. She screamed a second time.

I rolled out of bed, not caring about where the linens fell. I trudged to the mirror and looked. I looked past the grime of hardened makeup on the edges of the mirror and past the flecks of gold in my eyes. It took another screech from my sister to pull me from the trance.

A year later, my cat, by opening my bedroom door, woke me up. I laughed and turned on my phone, nearly blinding myself in the process. “What are you doing in here? I thought I let you outside last night,” I questioned my cat. Once she got a kiss on the head she sauntered out, hoping I’d follow. I shook my head, walked over to the mirror, and picked up a brush. The blue walls surrounding me were a little lighter. After brushing my hair I searched for my mascara, it was always getting lost. The trophies to my back were still a little rusty-that was irreversible-but shone in certain spots. With my hair in place and my mascara on, I opened up my door, letting the hall light shine in.

The First Draft


I decided to make a blog after reading a scathing article about why no one should become a writer. Writing is really the only thing that I’ve ever been sure of. It’s the only thing that I’ve had as a safe haven, if you will. The article was terrible! It destroyed the small smidgen of hope I had been clinging to. But, then, I got thinking. Sure, it’ll be hard. I knew that before. But that doesn’t mean I should stop trying just because an article pointed out, quite candidly, what I’ve been harboring inside my mind for years now.

The article got me thinking. I definitely know I don’t want go into business, finance, or really any  boring, typical jobs. I’ll fantasize about being a marine biologist or something like that but I always come back to writing. Writing lets me be me (I don’t care how cliche that sounds). I love telling stories and thinking of them in my head. I want to share my stories, my imagination. I’m sick of living in my own world and being too afraid to let it show. I’ll be honest though, I want to be a successful author. What writer doesn’t? But I want it, I need it. I don’t care how pathetic this sounds but, I need to be validated. Long, sappy story short, I need it to show those who have hurt me that I am worth something.

That article, though. It pierced my heart. If I didn’t feel completely worthless then, I definitely do now. But, I’m glad I came across that article. It started a fire inside of me that has launched me out of my slump and back to the pen and paper. I’m going to prove that article and its writer wrong. And, I think, everyone should to. Crushing someone’s dreams by writing about how no one should become an accountant, a firefighter, or whatever, should only propel that person forward. Doubts can fuel success, if only they are directed in the right way.