How the heck to I title something that I’m not sure I’ll publish, that I’m not sure why I’m writing, other then the fact that I just feel I should?

I could write about the beast again aka Depression The Monster. Thankfully, if I were to slip into that story mode again — I’d be exploring some new part of his lair, someplace close to freedom, with drafts of fresh clean air wafting in, bringing smells of spring and sunshine. Hoping that escape or release is near. Or something like that. But it’s not. It’s an illusion. And I know it. I’d likely write it, look at it, re-read it and hate it for how fake and forced it sounded…and then delete it.

I could write about me. But I’m just …. here….

I’m somewhat shocked and surprised how fast the last 6 months have flown by. A broken shoulder. My brother-in-law’s suicide. A fast decent into my own depression, deeper then I’ve ever been. Slow incomplete recovery — both of my shoulder and of my mind — and boom….suddenly it’s Christmas, and that’s gone, and now…. 2015 is rapidly drawing to a close.

How the hell did that happen?

Do I really zone out on life that much? Was the last half of 2015 that harsh, that traumatic, that I struggle to remember any of it? I remember snippets. And try as I might I can’t really remember a whole lot of anything.

Walking home on a sunny day after going to physiotherapy. Releasing balloons and Chinese Lanterns after Abe’s funeral. Many walks trying to clear my head. Rain on a window. Trips to Winkler to see a specialist for my shoulder. Phone calls with my lawyer. Wasting hours fiddling with my phone, so the time passes so I don’t have to think, so I can go to bed and eventually sleep and pray that my dreams won’t disturb me to the point I wake up again. Walking, partly hoping I get run over, partly hoping for the courage to jump in front of the next semi-truck, and partly hoping I can keep those damn thoughts out of my head and that I don’t jump in front of the next semi-truck. I do remember going to Winkler to visit my parents while my sister and brother-in-law (and their boys) were there. I don’t remember specifics of the visit — just taking pictures on the front porch before I came back home. I’m bothered that I don’t remember anything else. I’m positive other significant events happened. I’m sure both good and bad things happened that should have a firmer place in my mind. But they’re not there. Gone, like a puff of smoke on a windy day.

Is this reality with mental illness? is my brain that scrambled from this shit that I really have such a poor memory? Hell, even short term memory is often an issue. I’ll supposedly say something and have no memory of saying a phrase or completely forget whole pieces of the conversation.

All I can say is this sucks. I was having a few good days but I’m so tired and exhausted mentally that I’m just tapped out physically.

Speaking of which, I volunteered myself to help a friend move tomorrow. It doesn’t sound like there’s a lot to move yet but I’ll go help anyway. It’s better then wasting a whole day at home doing absolutely nothing.

which reminds me. I need to get laundry done tomorrow, and possibly do dishes too. The kids should be doing it, but I’m pretty positive they won’t. Their mom shouldn’t have to remind them, and I’m sick of being the “bad guy” who’s always negative and pissed off about something. How about just doing what you’re asked when you’re told (or even before) instead of arguing the damn point?

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