Faith, journeys, ​and progressions

Every day we have the opportunity to solve our problems.

We have a chance to stand out in the world for who we are, what we want and whether we’re going to do what’s needed to accomplish our goals.

Today, I sit in a better place than I’ve been in a long time.

I still struggle with depression, though its no longer a constant.

In the past, I would blame others for my failings. I would stoke fires of hatred towards those who I believe wronged me.

In this life, our journey’s and endings are determined by how hard we work for what we want.

I never thought about working hard enough to achieve my goals. I never understood what it would require.

There were times when I’d have little glimpses of what I thought it required. Those glimpses allowed me to narrow my focus.

Understanding the journey and the faith it required in myself created a radical change in how I approach my writing, life, and daily challenges.

I use to hide from what I wanted. Expecting it because I believed I deserved it.

Nothing comes to those with those beliefs. The only way to get what you want is to work your ass off.

Today, I understand that faith in myself and my writing will bring m to where I want to be.

I understand the journey I’ve been on has led me to this place.

I believe the progress I’ve made in recreating who I want to be has made all of the above possible.

We can get through life without failing ourselves. We can understand that our faith will guide us to where we are required.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, we’ll reach the place where we’re needed.

Move Forward

There’s a point in life when you’re tired of the bullshit, tired of talking about what’s happened and you must step forward and move on.

You must forgive, you must remember what got you to where you, are and find a new way forward.

It’s when this happens that freedom comes. It’s this moment that you’re available to get your head out of your ass

It’s this moment that you’re available to get your head out of your ass. You’ll stop and get past the bullshit, you’ll stop, look in the mirror and stare at the person you’ve become and then you can understand the truth of how you got to your current situation.

Hold on to this moment, write it down, work through it and do what is required to move on.

Your writing will push you forward, you must listen to it. You must listen to your heart and the breath coming from your lungs.

The voice inside is no longer a viable concept. If you listen to the voice in your head you’ll falter, you’ll fail and become on of those who gives up.

Don’t give up, it leads to misery. Misery leads to finality and you’ll never dig yourself out.

Get through it, put your head down, get the words out that you need.

If you push through to the other side you will thank yourself later.

Move forward, always…

The Fight…

I’ve been circling the pit lately.

I hear the voices from within its muddy walls and the world stops.

I get those panicked breaths and I wonder what’s brought it on.

Staring down from my cliff, waiting for the tendrils to pull me in I wait on the rim.

I wait for something worse to happen, I wait for a lost job, a tragedy to befall my loved ones where the tendrils pull me back.

I feel the pillow over my face suffocating that smothers the life I want and takes away the life I have.

I stand at the rim looking in, hoping for something to bring me back.

But as the tendrils reach I put words on the page, for that’s my only solace.

The words count at the end of the day and the fight back the monsters.

The words push me away from the rim, away from the tendrils as their claws rip at the muddy precipice of the pit.

Writing, Depression and Staying Away from the Cliff.

What do you do when the cold runs in. When the snow comes to your shins, or higher, and you think…how did this happen?

I see there are things we have in common. I once felt that the snow, ice, or whatever weather you prefer was rolling in all the time. I felt my life had been switched with a meteorologist on some backwoods station, but alas, it hadn’t.

I’d experienced the cold. Had things happen in my life that I didn’t or couldn’t do anything about, but I’ve also done things where I didn’t accept responsibility for my actions.

There are many reasons for this, the biggest being I wasn’t mature enough to understand my life was in my hands and I should stop making excuses for what I’m doing and stop blaming others for my screw ups.

Well, the cold came, it came in a torrent one year ago. I felt it run down my spine, into my soul and wrap every molecule with its frosty embrace. The truth a year ago was I was afraid to be who I wanted, I knew that who I was wasn’t what everyone wanted.

I wanted to be this free spirit. I wanted to care about the people around me who cared about me and to hell with the rest.

In the last year I’ve been down the drain of depression, felt the exhilaration as I reached the top of the cliff and stared at the little ants, and they had no idea I was standing on the cliff. They didn’t understand the cliff was closer than they thought, and possibly myself as well.

When I was able to step away from the edge, find myself and let everyone know what I’d been through, I felt ashamed that I’d stood on the cliff. I didn’t want anyone to know how close I came, hell most people believed I was the sanest person they knew.

The cliff is still out there, waiting for its chance to surprise me. Indeed it surprises me that I’ve even told my story of depression and coming out of it.

I’ve wanted to be this other person for so long, the one I am now, that trying to be the person I want is harder than I thought it would be.

I want to write as much as possible, but I’m like a dog in forest filled with squirrels.

When I tell myself, “You have to write” something happens, whether it’s a distraction or something else. I find that my time away from the keyboard is one that I don’t often like, but I do it, for the weirdest of reasons. I’m afraid to show some of what I write for fear that it would either make people afraid, or my wife would have me committed.

I see that I’m becoming who I want to be, without the distraction of caring what people think about me or my writing, and I’m finding that living in my world is getting better as long as I don’t climb the mountain and get near the cliff again.