The Dark Trespasser

There are times in this depression journey of mine, that it feels as though I’ve already ruined my life. That I’ve gone too far. That I’ve passed that jumping off point, the point of no return. It feels like the only possible solution is to kill myself and end the suffering.

The trouble with that, is it’s not true. It’s merely another lie told to me, by me. The man who tells me these things is a liar. He’s deluded. His lies are fantastic and entirely believable, at least to me. For he is my darker side. A stowaway. An unwelcome guest. A trespasser that knows me intimately. That’s where his power comes from. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t know me better than I know myself. There’s no doubt he’s attuned to my weaknesses; my every insecurity.

Well…he’s a fucker, and I want him gone. He doesn’t pay rent. He contributes nothing helpful, and quite frankly, I am tired of listening to his toxic drivel and lies.

He tells me I’m not good enough, that I’m unloveable, that I’m broken, that I’m better off dead, and that this life is absolutely without meaning. He tells me that all of humanity is corrupt and that we are all doomed. He tells me I should just start drinking in the morning, do my best to sleep the day away, drink again, then go back to bed. What’s there to be awake for anyhow?

I do my best not to listen, not to believe him, for I know he is a liar. Yet, when he speaks, I take every word as gospel. Why do I do that? Why can I not resist? Patterns, habits — I suppose that is why. I’ve fed him, I’ve clothed him, I’ve invited him to live with me.

Trouble is, I don’t want him about any longer. I am no longer interested in self destruction or martyrdom. I want to live, to be free, to love, to chase my joy. As long as I’m tethered to him, the man who lives inside my brain, I can have none of that.

Well, I won’t have it any longer, You are hereby evicted, and if you come back, I swear to God, I will kill you.

But, how does one go about evicting a dark spirit; one I’ve invited in, one I’ve lived with now for decades. How do I get rid of you?

I hope I can. I hope I’m strong enough, for I cannot take your presence any longer. I’ve suffered enough, and I say, let the bleeding end.

Let the bleeding end.

I will make every day a new day, and I will forget the slips of yesterday and yesteryear. Every day, for a time, I will slip up. That’s okay. Of course I’m going to fuck it up — I’ve been a depressed since I was eight years old, maybe earlier.

I am forty-three now. It will take a little time to rewire this brain of mine.

I’m strong and I can do it. I know I can. The important part is not to give up. It’s all too easy to give up, but I refuse. I am ready for my better life. I am ready to give more to my wife and to my family. I will never quit.

If I think I can change through the power of positive thought and self realization alone, then I am mistaken. We have a physical form, and maybe that’s part of our folly, but maybe it’s also part of the solution. To get out of my rut, I have to actually climb out of it. I need to do new activities.

Do different things; experience different results. That sounds pretty good. Sounds like it might even be true. I’ll try it.

I have to do shit different if I want different shit. Simple as that.

Now, I don’t always have the proper motivation or energy, but I’ve got to try. And when I do have the energy, go nuts. Or maybe just semi-nuts. Don’t want to burn out after all.

There’s a light at the end of this tunnel. I’m going to find it, and I’m going to light it. This world, this life, is mine for the taking. It is what I make of it. I can sit on my laurels and cry about it, or I can reach and strive for something better, something more. I choose the latter.