introduction, kind of.

I have depression so it’s hard for me to gain motivation to do much. The effort it takes me get out of bed and get ready for the day already has me exhausted by eleven in the morning. 

“Coffee. And food. I need food to live, isn’t that inconvenient?”

The milk is sour and I look at the date, it’s passed even though I swore it was last week at this moment. I dump it down the drain and I throw the dry cereal away in the trash.

At least I intended to eat today.

My room is still dark as I take my seat in front of my MacBook that always has at least three tabs running. I click through each of them, back and forth. Scrolling, sipping, enter button. 

I should start writing again.

My notes are filled with words not good enough, sentences that run on and abandoned poems that don’t invoke any type of thought.

“Why can’t I be like the books that inspire me? Why can’t I make people think about their perception on life?”

I don’t want to make people think the way I do. Maybe a little bit. Maybe I just want people to feel some of the hope that I do now since it had been taken away from me for so long. There were months when I thought that life just sucked and I was going to die.

The truth is: Life does suck. We are all going to die.

So f*****g what?

Life has always sucked since the dawn of time. The dinosaurs didn’t deserve that meteor that annihilated them but it happened. If it didn’t happen, we probably wouldn’t be here so maybe it happened for a reason.

But I know all too well that some things don’t happen for a reason at all, they just happen. It isn’t the universe trying to send a sign. The universe doesn’t give a f**k about you, how great is that?

How freeing to know that it all doesn’t matter? There is no greater purpose, there is no final answer because life isn’t a puzzle to be solved. It isn’t a check list. It’s nothing. It’s all you have though, so that makes it everything. 

I don’t know s**t about anything. I only know what I have personally been through and how it has affected me and my own life. I cannot say what has worked for me, will work for you. But giving people hope, giving people something to think about, giving people a different perspective, that is worth it to me. 

I am so grateful for the books I have read, the people I have met, the stories I have heard for helping me change my perspective.

I started being better once I learned how to shut the f**k up and just listen. 

Words have been a comfort to me ever since I can remember. I wrote stories that teachers praised in elementary school, essays that got perfect marks. English teachers who always asked why students couldn’t be more like me because I could write a three paragraph essay in fifteen minutes and the others always struggled. I was praised a lot growing up. I think that fucked with me. 

Years later and here I am, still wondering how to sound like my favorite poets. Why I can’t string words the way they can, so seamlessly. 

Maybe I don’t need to sound like them, maybe I need to sound like me. 

But thats the problem, who is me?

I have depression. I also have anxiety. There is me with depression. There is me with anxiety. There is me with both. Where do my mental illnesses end and where do I begin? Who or what is my voice? Is it actually me writing, or is it them? 

All I think isn’t always me. My thoughts aren’t me sometimes and that f***s with me because if the voice inside of my head is lying, who can I trust? Do I actually believe in what I’m saying or am I just in a manic episode? 

I’m a god damn human being. I’m complicated. I change my mind so much I get dizzy from it. I say things I feel like I mean but sometimes I also say things because it makes me sound smart. 

I just want to be heard. 

So I talk and I write and I say things that maybe don’t make much sense but I’m filled with wonder and heartbreak every day. I feel things so violently that I feel the universe shift. 

I like to make outer space metaphors. Nothing like comparing life to a big, empty, vacuum that is suspended in an unknown amount of space that is just there without an explanation. 

I’m also not very good at endings because I’m not good at shutting the f**k up, but I’m learning to. Specifically at telling my own self to shut up because sometimes she doesn’t know what shes talking about.