The Past

I don't know how to cope with what's been pounding around in my head lately. There is a lot for me to focus on at the present moment -- moving back home, my Dad's health, work, and just riding the waves day-to-day -- yet, I am killing myself over the fact that I flat out can't shake the past year off of me completely.

I read an article about Joey Votto of the Cincinnati Reds yesterday, and it brought back so many nightmares from when the depression was eating my life away last year. And I think I have said it before, but, my darkest days now are when those thoughts flood back into my head. It's a living nightmare....Perfect example is when my Dad was in the hospital. He had apple juice on his breakfast tray, and, the cup looked identical to the apple juices that were at the hospital I was admitted to. It triggered me, and I had to go to the waiting room and cry it out, breathe, and try to clear my head. Just visualizing that now still makes me sick.

Anyways, in the article Votto talks about how he couldn't be alone during his depression, and that he always had the phone ready when he was alone, so he could call the hospital or friends and family. It is an absolute impossibility to describe what that feels like to anyone that has never been there. I am in tears now just thinking about the suffering of Votto, myself, and others who I have been blessed to meet in the past year that have suffered with depression.

You need the phone on your nightstand for a few horrific reasons. 1.) in those depressive episodes, getting out of bed seems like the hardest thing anybody in the world could possibly ask you to do in that moment and 2.) that phone, that damn phone, needs to be there so you can call the hospital, the suicide hotline, and anyone close that could save you when the darkness dominates your thinking and you're just ready to end the game.

It would be amazing to just want the phone close because you're watching a movie and don't want to have to get up and get the phone if it rings in the middle of the movie. Nope, the phone becomes a suicide prevention device in those moments. I tried to call those moments scary moments, but, scary is an absolute injustice to the writhing around in tears, screaming, racing thoughts, zero self-worth and lack of desire to keep living. What boils inside of you can literally not be described in words...I wish I could...

People-wise, I've washed my hands (or have I?) of caring about the people who've not understood me, judged me, and talked shit about me behind my back through all of this. As every day ticks down to me coming home, I worry that those other people have the power to fuck up everything I want to do when I do get back though. It baffles me how anybody who has never taken a minute to get to know what I've been through can tell people I love and care about that I'm not worth it. It happens in every facet of life, on a much more small and insignificant scale (like when I get mad at Brandon Inge striking out yet again, but don't consider that Brandon is a loving, caring husband and father with a lot on his plate off of the field).

But the common thread is there. We only truly know those who we are completely intimate and open with, yet people judge so clearly from the outside when in fact they have no fucking idea what it truly going on. I have a lot of friends, and I love the hell out of all of them, but for me I could count the people who I feel truly know me and understand me on one hand. Still, some folks who I haven't seen or spoken to in months upon months are what I am worried about? Why am I letting this happen?

And that's why I - the apparent "selfish asshole" - have to just make it about me, my ideals, what I want and to go from there....but I worry that I'm flat not wired that way. I still identify that idea as being selfish, but I know it's the only way to be if I want to not relapse, and ultimately lead a good life and achieve personal happiness.

I'd love to come home in July, and just worry about finding consistent work, and starting a life. If those were the only things on my plate I'd be loving life, but I know there are so many mini-battles waiting for me, that I wonder if it's even fucking worth coming back. I'm blindly, and maybe foolishly, optimistic that my inner-strength has solidified enough that fights prompted by the words of ignorant others won't take the toll they've taken in the past. I just don't know if that's true.