Waiting For The Stars To Heal
Just kinda sitting here catching up with the Angels Of Madness. They’re real. And you wanna know something? They’re not cool. They don’t give me an excuse to wear dark clothes and black eyeliner. They’re horrible, horrible, beings. They remind me of how fucked I am and how I’ll always be fucked.
Take today for instance. I woke up in my amply comfortable bed. The weather is gorgeous. But I am unable to communicate vocally. All I can do is gesture and type. Think of me as Lassie, only I am 44 years old, suicidal, and enveloped by the blackest depression you really couldn’t imagine.
I take pills. They really do help. But they’re not 100% guaranteed to not make every day ungood. Yes I am suicidal, but I don’t have a plan. I am safe. I’m not currently contemplating suicide. Even knowing I will never get better I am still doing my best to live as fulfilling and meaningful as life as possible.
You can’t explain mental illness to someone who is ignorant. There is no cure. It’s something you live with. Thinking positive thoughts doesn’t work. Getting out and “taking walks” and “doing things” doesn’t work. I don’t just lay around feeling sorry for myself. On the contrary, I remind myself as often as possible how fortunate I am. I have amazing friends. I love them. I love their children. They reciprocate.
I won’t ever take my own life to end my problems and only begin everyone else’s. This is hard for some people to believe but I bring substance into their lives. This world needs me. You need me. I am responsible to give you things to think about. That is my purpose in life. Whether it’s through my music, my writing, or just my mere existence. I have a responsibility and an overwhelming debt to life.
For those of you who suffer from depression, I understand. I may not understand your other personal problems, nor do I have a right to act as thought I know what it is you need, but I do understand mental illness. I do understand depression. I do understand that I am down to my last two pills and all the red tape it’s going to take to get them refilled. I understand I will have to make phone calls. I’ll have to leave my room. I’ll have to leave the fucking house even. I don’t understand what I understand.
I got the bass tracks done on my new project yesterday. I played along with them. Everything is sounding good and magical, just the way I like it. In September I’ll be recording with Prentice Man. Just he and I. He’ll be playing the drums and I’ll be doing the bass, guitars, and vocals. Then we’re going to assemble a band from that.
I sincerely hope you all have a good day and there is plenty of love and light in your life.
P.S. Please don’t offer me scholarly plagiarized advice or well wishes. Just think of me in a positive light. I promise I’ll get the message.