I learned recently that September is Suicide Awareness Month, which is awesome, I guess. Awesome in that one exists, terrible in that one is needed. I learned this from a lengthy post that’s a year old. I identify so much with the majority of his post that I was tempted to just reblog it, but I didn’t. I do think you should all go read it, though.
I’m just one of many people out there, suffering, struggling with depression and feeling suicidal. I’m okay, at the moment, so no worries about me. At least right now. But, in all honesty, whatever this thing is, it’s chaotic, it’s not always obvious, even to me, till it hits like a freight train out of nowhere. Sending me blasting off with energy, or making me want to topple over dead as doornail. That’s just how it is for me, as best I can describe, in brief.
That paragraph in particular is poignant to me this week. As some of you may have noticed, I haven’t posted a lot of content this week, and this is despite having 5 posts I’ve been trying to write for some time. (One is a review of God’s Not Dead, because apparently I hate myself.) That situation arose in part because I was hit by that freight train this past Sunday evening.
I was trying to talk with my boyfriend about finances or something, and I realized that I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing. I can’t keep up with my job and spend enough time writing to make writing my career. Unless he finds a job, I should give up on writing and focus on my programming career.
I broke down into tears when I realized this. I sobbed for hours. I ended up taking a day off Monday just to take naps and be sad.
I feel completely alone in trying to make my dream happen. I don’t have much in the way of a support system – finding a job meant moving 100 miles away from anyone I knew (although I eventually got the boyfriend to move in with me). I can’t exactly go to my family for help, especially as the main thing I need is money and I’m making the most income out of all my immediate family (read: the ones I talk to more than once a year), at least once you factor in children. To top it off, no matter how talented I am, no matter how much effort I put forth, and no matter how many hours I pour into stringing words together, I may never be successful enough to make a living off of writing. One need look no further than the success of the Twilight series to realize that popularity, not talent, is all that is required to make money as a writer.
Success as a writer requires other people. My ability to make my dream come true depends a lot on me, because I can’t be famous for a novel I never write or a book I never finish, but even when I finish writing my book or books, they may never sell.
What am I hoping to accomplish? How can I possibly convince myself to keep trying long enough to have a hope of making it?
This blog is, in part, an effort to gain some popularity. I hope to turn at least some posts I make here into books or chapters of books. Is it working? My view count says no, not really – I’m lucky to average a dozen views a day.
Blah. Enough. The point is, the situation is fucking depressing, which makes it worse because then I can’t write even in the few precious hours I’m awake and home, so it becomes a vicious cycle. And then I waste money, increasing my debt load and making the financial situation even worse, like some idiot.
I’ve been sitting for months on the 100 Happy Days Challenge. Weeks like this one make it feel impossible to be happy for 10 days in a row, let alone 10 times 10. I still want to do it, but I’m not convinced I can. If I do, maybe I can report whether it seems to help with depression, as it’s pretty much a given that my biology will make me depressed at least once in three months.
Finally, I want to end with this picture, although I disagree with the first part, because the second bit is spot on: