I want to tell a little more of my story, give a little background, let my make-believe audience in on how this website came to be and what I thought it might mean. I don’t know anymore what the purpose of this site is. I had some vague notion when I started it and I keep thinking, this was supposed to be about Depression, about what life looks like for someone who isn’t going to kill his/herself but also doesn’t particularly want to live. So I guess part of me wants to steer it back in that direction. Maybe because I think it will somehow mean more if I do. But also because I realize that out of context, I don’t know who much these posts mean. Does it change them if you know that I’ve had hundreds, maybe even thousands of moments of wishing that I was dead? Or that I had never existed in the first place. Does it alter anything to know that I spent the past two decades in various degrees of self-loathing? That for the longest time, it hurt to breathe?

Suddenly, I want to run my cursor over the paragraph above and hit delete.

I feel stupid right now. I have this image of myself curling into ball beneath the blanket laying beside me and trying to gain distance between me and this feeling currently making my chest ache. I think it’s shame.

I’ve mentioned before that I don’t want this to be about writing or what other people think. I just want it to be as transparent a reflection of my lived experience as possible. Because I don’t think we do that enough. I don’t think we’re honest with each other enough. I don’t think we lift the curtain often enough and let other people see where we feel the weakest, the dumbest, the most foolish. Where we wish we could change who we are. Where we hate ourselves so much that we actually wish we had never been born. I’m so tired of pretending to be okay when I’m so clearly not. I’m so tired of pretending like it doesn’t hurt to be alone in this world when it does–some days almost unbearably so.

It’s like my days are just whatever time and space I can put between myself and this reality that’s way too painful to get near. And I hate that we don’t talk to one another about it. I hate that for the most part, the only guidance I get is from people who are already awakened and therefore, people to whom I just can’t relate. I wish we pulled the curtain back more on the process of living. I wish we talked more openly about the grief, the sorrow, the Depression, the pain of being on a spiritual path. Because I know I’m not the only person out there for whom spirituality is not best described in terms limited to oneness, gratitude, love, nurturing, connectedness, and all other things light inspired. Yet it feels like I am at times.

Depression for me right now, at this point in my life, is not something to be healed or fixed or gotten over. It is an apt reflection of the suffering being human can sometimes entail. It is real. It is honest. It is not something that I am at all ashamed of anymore.

This is my process. That’s the truth of these posts. At least, I hope it is. The process is sometimes going to seem ugly, and I’m going to want to hide it when it is. It’s much more comfortable to only show what I think to be the good stuff. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want comfort to be my main objective in this life. I want more. I want to be undefended in the world. I want to let my guards down. I want to be utterly open-hearted.

I want to be free.