I have felt this suffering that I could not quite name since I was a child. I looked for the source of it inside me, on the assumption that I suffered because I was somehow wrong. I thought I found it in an eating disorder, in alcoholism, in being gay, in Depression. It kept coming back and I kept losing to it. I tried to “cure” it with sobriety, with psychotherapy, with recovery groups, with service to others, with meditation, with Buddhism, with prayer, with art, with writing, with friendships, with psychotropic medications, with insight, with understanding, with acceptance, with gratitude, with ritual, with exercise, with diet, with grief, with love, and a hundred other things. It kept coming back and I kept losing to it.
For as long as I have struggled with this thing called Depression, I have felt shame. I have hated who and what I am. This, I think, is its most painful and damaging aspect. I am weary from doing battle with myself and I don’t want to fight or run anymore. I am not sure where this leaves me. I don’t want to live and yet, for as long as I am alive, I know that I will continue to try.
I had an idea to post a truth about my experience of myself everyday for a year. It’s a personal experiment and it’s somehow related to shame. I know that these things I call truths are not absolute; they are illusory. They are moments of time that pass. Yet for the moment they are here, they are what I know.
I don’t know where this process will lead me or if it will take me anywhere at all. I can’t tell you with absolute certainty why I am embarking on this endeavor. It is just what I am trying now. I don’t know what else to do.