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I never knew why I needed to write.
Just that... I needed to.
It gave me purpose.
It gave me clarity.
It gave me... peace.
Simply everything that the rest of the world and the people could not.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m forever grateful to all those in my life who’ve impacted me, along with the experiences that have wiggled knowledge into my mind and soul.
But there’s just something about writing.
About letting my fingers just do the talking and not stressing over how I sound or what people think.
Writing is my own personal escape.
I think it actually started when I was younger with reading. I loved books. I loved escaping into another reality. I loved having someone’s words leave me feeling all sorts of ways.
I still do.
But now, I love doing that for others too.
I don’t know what this is. I’m just in a really happy place and wanted to record it down.
Update: Its a week later.
I had a bad mental health day. I didn’t feel good. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Just a giant blob of depressive nothingness.
Those days suck.
The worst part? I can recognize what’s happening now. I know why I feel/think/talk a certain way. I get irritable. I wanna cry. But I don’t have the energy to do anything to fix it.
And I know it’s my depression.
When my depression hits (which is not nearly as often as it used to) it comes out left field. It’s a sweltering miserable static that attacks my whole being all at once.
No saving grace.
Core rippling, heart tearing, mind breaking pain.
Writing wasn’t even able to save me that day. Because, like I said, no energy.
My only bit of light was binging my favorite series on TV. But even that became dull.
So then my only other option is sleep. If I fall into my dreams, maybe I can wake up feeling better. It sucks when that becomes your only option. But at that point, I didn’t know what else to do. Rather, I knew.
I just couldn’t.
Maybe one day I’ll record my personal experiences with depression/anxiety and self esteem. I often touch lightly upon the subjects, but I feel maybe I can help others if I delve deeper into my vulnerability.
Either way, still don’t know what this is. Just an update to... a memo? Maybe.
Well, I’m back with another update. Because I guess that’s what this note is for me.
I got a call today, that my grandpa had a heart attack. He and I have always been close, ever since I was little. He’s a hero in my eyes through and through. And this hero has had to fight off enough in these recent years:
Multiple types of skin cancer
Surgeries. So many.
Pain all around, up and down.
Not to mention all the emotional trauma that comes along with everything.
But I guess that wasn’t enough.
We had to add heart attack to this list too.
I got this news as I pulled into work. Which means, I have to work 12 hours with this constant nagging in the back of my mind. However, my coworkers and management have been more than understanding. Some have been asking how I’m doing/feeling.
I’m angry. This man has been through enough! I get that we all have tests, trials, lessons and such. But fuck. Enough is enough.
My grandpa is veteran. He has done so much for our country and for his family. Why does the most heart wrenching things happen to the best people?
And let’s not forget to mention the turmoil on my grandma. She’s being strong. So incredibly strong. But you know underneath she’s got to be breaking. We all try to be confident and calm when our loved ones are facing such scary things. But I can only imagine how it is on the inside for her.
My grandpa will make it. He will get through this. And he will stand up, his hero cape flying as he fought off yet another life altering villain.
Because that’s what hero’s do.