I intended to start writing again as a means of coping with depression and anxiety because the Demons are back in my life.¬†That said, why would I give up the every thing that is supposed to prevent¬†me from feeling ill? Quitting pills isn’t always smart.

I recently found myself without a voice, without a personality. I became Josh, sweet guy who may not have it all together yet finds a way to be helpful when needed. Many say the pills numb them, and I can attest to this.

I’ve been boring.

No, I was no longer the protagonist of my own story. I have even been the antagonist for the stories of some others – there are about… a dozen or more folks that aren’t too keen on my name right now. Of course, what do you do in this situation? Antagonists die off or fade into obscurity after their defeat. That’s fine.

Ultimately, I had become somewhat of a side-character for everyone else. A throwaway character, as it were.

In a way, I feel like I’ve been asleep for a very long time, but I overslept, and I’ve just now awaken to a world of self-inflicted chaos. The alarm clock I spent $23.99 plus tax is smashed in half, I’ve lost my job because I wasn’t at my desk at 9am, and there’s a wasted cold cup of coffee in the Keurig.

I’ve taken a mental break since 2013, when the pills were first prescribed.

At that time prior, despite the Demons who I believe lurk at the foot of my bed and ride passenger side in my car, who once used to whisper, “swerve, swerve, swerve,” I was a proudly active writer, unafraid of any creative challenge set before me (anxious, yes). I fell into the mold shortly thereafter, not putting myself out into the public eye. Could it be the death of my grandparents? Split of my parents? Loss of a girl I was passionate about?

Probably.

Or… it could all be fucking bullshit.

These things happen. They will always happen.

This is not the poetic filmmaker/writer with a hardened soul and a dark side. There’s no monkey on my back, and I’m too afraid to let myself become an alcoholic.

The depression and anxiety are real. The negative events that happen to us in life will always happen. There is no correlation here.

I’ve been screwed out of about $5000 in the past couple of years, I’m still a college dropout, and there’s no longer a woman in my life. My body is out of shape, my head still scrambles from time to time, and I don’t have my shit together.

Bad things happen. Time to buck up, I reckon.

 

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