For a few weeks now, I’ve thought about how I would reintroduce myself to my own blog. Nothing seemed right. And until today, this very day, I didn’t feel like opening myself up.
To be honest, I didn’t think that anyone would notice that I wasn’t around. Part of that can be attributed to me initially not thinking about writing or doing anything. But then as a few probing “where are yous” found their way to me, I felt surprised. How would anyone even know that I wasn’t on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook or here? How could one little person ever be missed? Seemed impossible.
It has been months since I’ve been around here. And as some people who have reached out to me wondered – was it because I was off exploring and having a great time? I wish I could say, yes. But… it was quite the opposite. (If you aren’t interested in non-motorcycle stuff you can stop reading now.)
My struggles with depression haven’t been a secret. Since the end of April, I have been in the fight of my life. It is only in the last few days that I have started to really re-enter the world where the clouds are parting. It is just now that I am being reminded that life is indeed worth living.
I don’t say that lightly or to be dramatic. That’s where I’ve been. It has taken a toll on me and my family. They’ve suffered greatly. An irrational tornado is destructive to everything in it’s path. I’ve scared them with my behavior, my dark ideas, my forgetfulness, my insomnia, my crying, my arguing, my repetitive questions, my seemingly being someone completely different.
Unfortunately, I’m filled with regret for things said, actions taken, things not done, and I couple that with a heaping dose of shame for being mentally defective. I have done irreparable damage to other people’s feelings. This is a burden I can hardly stand and the worst part of it is that I have no one to blame but myself.
During these last few months, I have completely isolated myself and cut off communication with everyone. Somehow I still managed to go to work, though I wasn’t able to function there without anti-anxiety medication. Things got… messy. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read a book, doodle in my sketchbook or write a post, I didn’t leave the house when I didn’t have to work, and I’ve watched more TV in the last few months than I have in my entire life. So no, I haven’t been out gallivanting. I’ve simmered in a state of crippling anxiety and depression.
I have never been so overwhelmingly sad in my life. I have and to a smaller degree still feel utterly hopeless, worthless and unloveable. There have been many moments when the pain was just too much to bear and I wanted to quit. The despair has been overwhelming. It’s felt like I would never be able to escape the prison of my own mind in any other way. I was sure that I would never get better. It’s a strange thing to be rational enough to know that you’re being victimized by your own mind but to not be able to pull enough mental resources together to hang on to hope and know that everything could be okay.
Since July I have been taking meds, going to therapy and am working with a psychiatrist. I am trying to get better. I want to get better. This has been hell.
Rest assured that I love each and every person who reached out to me through email, text, cards, tweets, messages – all of it. Though I am the world’s shittiest friend to everyone else, so many of you have been so beautiful to me. You don’t know what a light in the dark you’ve been. Thank you.
See you soon.