Sick Of Being Sad

It's been a while.

Longer than I had hoped. I'm sorry about that, but I'm here now.

The past month or so was kind of hard for me. I wasn't happy. I wasn't in a good place. I didn't feel like myself most of the time. My depression was kicking my ass—which is no different from any other day, but it just seemed to escalate all at once.

I thought I was doing really well for a bit. I thought this year would be my year, and instead I felt more confused and helpless than before. One second I would think I'm good and in the clear, and the next, I just would have no motivation. I wouldn't want to do anything or go anywhere or see anyone.

I simply existed.

I wasn't writing anything. At all. Not on here, or for my books. I don't know if I was feeling discouraged, or if I was just giving up altogether, but I didn't seem to have a purpose.

That's why I felt the need to take a break from it. From my life. From everything. I needed to get away.

And as much as I'd like others to believe, I've never been that incredibly spontaneous person. Don't get me wrong, I definitely could be one day, but I'm much too poor and concerned with what other people think to truly be that person in the current moment.

My escape was set into motion in advance. We had planned the trip a couple of months ago, and everything was thrown together pretty quickly. Initially, it was meant to be more of a fun vacation, a chance to explore somewhere new.

I wasn't aware of how necessary it would be for me. Now, I'm extremely grateful that the idea that we had come up with, wasn't just an idea.

It came at the exact time I needed it. Everything—the dark thoughts, the depression, my shitty home life, my loneliness. All of it was building up, and I had found a way to temporarily escape it. And it was great. Man, it was super fucking great. I didn't have to think about the things that made me sad. I didn't have to be around people who would constantly put me down. I didn't feel unsafe or uncomfortable.

And that's a huge thing. Massive, actually.

The fact that I wasn't comfortable or safe at home. The fact that I had to go as far away from my life as possible to feel a sense of safety and comfort.

It sucks that my reality is a mess. That I have to find purpose and meaning from a fantasy. That I have to imagine and run away and hide because things have been bad for so long.

To quote one of my favorite Paramore songs, Brick By Boring Brick:

"You built up a world of magic, because your real life is tragic."

It never really occurred to me how much this song truly meant to me until now. When I was in high school, sure, there were some tough times, but I honestly didn't have as shitty an experience as I thought. My current life was much worse.

As someone who prides himself on being creative and making up worlds in his writings, I finally felt the weight of that lyric. I created this magical, beautiful place where I wanted to be free and where all of these things that wouldn't normally exist do. And I did it to protect myself. I did it because my actual reality was utter bullshit and just too horrible for me to bear.

So, yeah, that's the story of how my favorite band decided to attack me.

But, beyond that, I do see some sort of light. A brighter day coming after the storm. And I do mean storm. It's been rather rainy and cloudy around here. The San Diego sun apparently went on a trip of its own.

That's beside the point. I've been given a random wave of optimism again.

The first time this happened was at the very top of the year, when I was super confident and ready to take on whatever was to come. Now, the positive vibes have returned—of course, after I got emotionally broken by everything this year has thrown at me, but better late than never.

Maybe it's naivety, or a last-ditch effort. Whatever it may be, I'm here. I'm still here and I think that's one of the most powerful statements I could make. I'm still here. I'm still breathing. I stuck through it.

And I'm still willing to stick through it.

It's much easier to focus on the positive things. It does really help. I've met so many cool and interesting people this year, I've reconnected with some, and I know I'm supported and loved by a lot of them.

I also have a lot to look forward to. I believe I've been given opportunities that can help me grow and get to the place I want to be. There are some big steps that I'm hoping to take this year, and there are so many more adventures that I'm excited to discover.

Personally, I just need to stop being so fucking hard on myself. I disappoint myself on a daily basis and that's no healthy way to live or do anything. I need to be happy and proud of me each step of the way. I can't continue to put time restraints and impossible deadlines on myself or I'll lose my mind.

I think that's partly why my blog was so dead in the month of February. I had given myself specific limits on when to write all of these themed pieces for Black History Month. To be honest, I had no idea what I was going to write about, but it had to be that theme and I had to do it by the end of February.

When that didn't happen, I tried to rush myself during the last few days of the month. I almost bullshitted 3 different articles because I put these outrageous deadlines on myself.

And then I went to this extremely dark place. The night before I left, I was starting to write an incredibly somber post that would've definitely raised some concern. So, I'm glad that I didn't end up publishing, or even finishing it.

I'm not saying that I'm 100% better. I still carry some of the feelings and insecurities. We all have some sort of weight that we carry with us, and some are better at hiding it. I thought I was doing a great job, but quite recently I've become somewhat of an open book. (Must be the blog.)

In my opinion, hiding those feelings doesn't make you better. It's a defense mechanism and it seem like the right thing to do at the time. But it's always best to face those demons. We shouldn't have to hide who we are or how we feel based on fear or worry.

I spent the past year not saying anything, even if I was uncomfortable. Even if I was hurting so badly, I chose not to speak about how I was feeling. And I did that because I thought that people didn't want to hear what I had to say. I did it because I was afraid that expressing my thoughts and emotions would cause people to leave me.

And that's no way to live. Especially, because it's not true. If people don't wanna be around you, then that's on them. That's their choice. It doesn't really have anything to do with you. Don't beat yourself up. Don't censor yourself. Don't change who you are for them. Or anybody.

Take back who you are.

I guess... the moral of the story is that I am trying to get back to me. I want to feel like myself again because I haven't seen him in forever, and I'm ready to be him again. I've been sad without him. And I'm so fucking tired of being sad.

So, I'm gonna try and find me again. I don't necessarily know if that's the secret to me finding happiness, but it's a start.

As for the blog, I will continue to update as often as possible, but I also don't wanna over-promise.

Let's just say... whatever happens, happens.