My latest offering in this series isn’t a very positive one. The prospect of worthlessness is very much a fact I’m having to face far more than I wish I had to.
In recent times, my depression appears to have deepened. It’s deepened to a level I really hoped it wouldn’t. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic or cause concern, but it’s deepened to the point where I’ve found myself wondering what the point is in being alive.
I would like to stress that I would not ever go through with ending my own life. I couldn’t possibly do that to Caellum. There isn’t a chance that I would voluntarily cause myself to miss seeing my son grow up.
Suicide might not be a cause for concern; the fact I frequently feel I’d rather not be alive is. There are a multitude of factors as to why I feel this way. One of the main ones is that I haven’t achieved anything I hoped I would have by now and am still nowhere near making it happen. Sure, we can only really look forwards and looking back is something we should only do sparingly. The issue there is I’m sick to death of forever looking forwards. Everything I want seems always to be down the road and I never arrive there. At some point in that circumstance you’re going to look back and wonder if you made a wrong turn somewhere or even jack in the journey altogether.
Leading on from that is rejection. I’ve had my fill of it. Whether it be a girl I like, a job I attempt to go for, or a literary agent, I get rejected so much that I genuinely feel like giving up trying for anything at all. They say you have to be in it to win it; if you don’t try then you definitely never will succeed. I rebut that sentiment by saying that I never succeed when I do try, so what’s the difference if I don’t? At least, if I don’t try, I won’t have to worry about someone telling me I’m not good enough for what I’ve attempted to gain and condescendingly wishing me well for the future. Like you care!
I genuinely feel in myself that I’m good enough, more than good enough, to be doing so much better for myself than I am. I think I’m one lucky break away from starting to feel better about life, about myself. I might as well be waiting for a rocking horse to take a shit! The lucky breaks I get are very infrequent, extremely small, and always absolutely pointless. A decent paradigm of a lucky break for me: I go into a shop to buy a pint of skimmed milk and there’s only one left on the shelf. That’s it. That’s my luck used up for the next few weeks.
I don’t like feeling sorry for myself. I really, really don’t like it! I want to slap myself around the face and scream, “Shut up and get on with it!” I’ll give myself credit because I have got on with it in the main and continue to do so. I still write even if a large part of me has convinced myself that I’m not going to achieve the goals I’ve set for myself. I carry on regardless. It’s human nature to have those moments of feeling down and worthless.
One part of my feeling of worthlessness is pointing the finger of blame at others. It’s something I wish I didn’t do, yet it happens. I question why people, good friends and family, don’t appear to be paying any attention to what I’m doing. I question why I’m being left to do it all on my own. I wonder if they actually wish to see me fail if they can’t be bothered to do even the simplest of things to support me: a view; a cursory like; a “Well done. Good work”.
Then I remember that the world doesn’t revolve around me. I remember that my family and friends have their own goals to aspire to that require hard work. I remember that they probably feel exactly the same way I do. My friend Ian; he works full time, is fighting serious health issues, and trying to raise his profile as a photographer. I’m delighted to say he’s garnering fruit from his endeavours. It’s taken him a while, but he’s getting there. More to the point, he works damned hard at it. Do I like every single post he puts up? Do I go out of my way to ensure he keeps getting shown the support he needs? Nope! Does that mean I’m not rooting for him? Of course not. I’m just busy.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is why logic will always top trump emotions in my mind. The latter might well be a regulating essential; logic is what should always be the frontman in any situation that requires thought. I’m too busy with all my stuff to show Ian ceaseless support; Ian is too busy to show ceaseless support to my endeavours. It’s called life!
My sense of worthlessness is rooted entirely within myself. It has nothing at all to do with the actions of other people. They value me in exactly the same ways that I value them. Some people show it to me more than others, much in the same way that I show more support to some people than others. It’s just the way it goes. I have to find worth in myself.
I don’t know where my writing journey is going to take me. I have no idea if I’m ever going to reach that destination at the end of the seemingly eternal road. All I know is that I’ll keep on travelling along it in the hope that I eventually make it. At this stage, it’s all I can do.
Written on 4th December 2018