begin again

This feeling.

That I need to explain myself. That I don't want this blog to be a depression blog, a pity blog, and in order for me to write even when I am not unhappy, certain things must be said. Like shit, and fuck, and even cunt, and sex, and drugs and all the things that are in my life and my thoughts and so will be here.

That I want to censor my writing as little as I want to censor myself. Cuiusmodi sum - whatever I am - this is what I will write.

This feeling.

That religion just makes me angry. Jesus Christ and God as he taught him are the most beautiful things I have ever heard of and I want, so so so badly for what I believe in them to be true. I want there to be a love that strong and that pure, I want that passion to exist. But I can't find it, because whenever I get near all I hear is hype and hypocrisy, and so many amazing people, so many amazing friends who I love and who love me but none of them can quite help me to understand how this religion is in anyway related to this God.

This feeling.

That I let every one of those friends down every day that I fail to see the world as they do.

This feeling.

That my grandfather could die at any moment and I will never see him again. And this, I have come to realise after a decade of denial, is just the way it has to be.

This feeling.

That the man I knew as a child has long gone anyway.

This feeling.

That I hate my degree and I feel like I am wasting my life.

This feeling.

That my job makes me feel hopelessly inadequate because no matter how hard I try I always fail and I have not got the sense of self to separate the way I view myself from the way my bosses view me.

This feeling.

Of trying to think of another feeling that warrants a mention so that I can delay the inevitability of the next sentence which I know is coming but I am currently too scared to write.

This feeling.

That depression is not something that just goes away. And I haven't been feeling low because of some weird after effect of the drugs or the pill or even the illness itself. I am low because I am still ill, and if I don't take some kind of positive action soon I am going to deteriorate and by the first anniversary of my love affair with anti-depressants I will be back there again.

There. The bad place. The anxiety and insomnia, the nightmares and occasional hallucinations, the sadness so crippling that sometimes I couldn't even move. Literally, physically, could not move.

I don't know much but I know that I cannot go back there again. You don't win against depression. Every day you feel ok is a tiny little victory but the battle is not the war. Perhaps the war will end someday but I realise now that I am going to fight again.

And to fight, I need this blog. That might sound awful but I do. I need this outlet, this space, because I only realise now that every time I created something out of a terrible feeling I won. Just a little bit, just for a little while but that writing that I put on here and the strength it gives me now to read it back and the comments I received - they are each tiny little victories against this bastard feeling that wants to defeat me.

This feeling of how much I need those little victories.

This feeling of wanting to fight.