2019 wasn’t exactly a prize year for me. How I wish that by just replacing the calendar I could just turn things around and forget about everything that happened in 2019. Hit the reset button, as it were.
But I’m still suffering terrible depression — my situation may have improved, but that black dog is still nipping at my heels. I’m having trouble focusing, I lose interest in things very easily, and it’s hard to concentrate. I have suicidal thoughts daily, served up by my sub-conscious as the answer to pretty much everything.
I’m still not healthy. My breathing is still all fucked up — but, good news on that front: the doctor has referred me to an Ears/Nose/Throat specialist, and he says I’ll need surgery to repair the scar tissue on my trachea, caused by the emergency tracheotomy back in May in order to save my life.
Really, I’m trying to be positive, though. I really am. My mind just keeps running me into brick walls; telling me it’s not enough, that I’m a failure, that I’m never going to be able to get back on my feet. It’s frustrating and demoralizing. And the suicidal shit has definitely got to go.
I wish I could accurately explain how it works with the whole suicidal thoughts — it’s like my own mind is trying to bully me to death. And the problem comes when I start consciously agreeing with that part of me.
I thought that getting a job would give me hope. Instead, I just fear that I’m going to screw things up; that it’s not enough, that I’m not making enough money to support me and Sarah, that I’m never going to be able to afford a car, etc…
To top it all off, I think I’m sick. Scratch that. I am sick. I was retching this morning, and I feel like hammered shit.
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to write.
If you’re reading this, please ignore my bleakness. Have a happy new year and let’s start this new decade with optimism instead of cynicism.