All posts tagged confessions

  • For Your Reading Pleasure

    I doubt this is much of a revelation for anyone, but I’ve been neglecting this space. Badly. And badly is perhaps the largest understatement I’ve made all year. It’s been over a year. I’m too embarrassed to actually check, and I’m not going to put in some note for me to fix this post later with a more accurate length of time.

    So what happened?

    Well, to be blunt, I got a Job. A real, grownup big person job with health insurance and a pension and all the other things that make a job a Job. And having that Job made me want to die.

    We aren’t supposed to talk about that. I can hear my mother already hissing into my ear about how You can’t say that on the internet! What if you need some other Job in the future? What if they reeeaaad what you said? Which, I suppose that could happen. But does it really matter?

    I had a Job. And having that Job made me want to die. That is not an understatement, nor is it hyperbole. The Job that I had seriously made me consider taking my own life. It made me feel trapped and discouraged and like the person I am didn’t matter.

    I’m doubly not supposed to say that because that Job was teaching. Like, little kids. Like, this is how you multiply numbers together and why you might want to read for pleasure. I’m triply not supposed to say that because, despite everything, I like teaching. I might even want to do it again someday.

    But my teaching Job made me want to die.

    I have struggled with depression for more years than someone who is only 28 should. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t struggle. Suicidal ideation is as novel to me as eating cereal for breakfast.

    What if they reeeaaad what you said?

    Yes, what if they read what I said. What if someone finds out that I struggle with depression. That I have pondered the various ways I could end my life, both in absurdly creative manners and in ones so cliche they’re boring. What if they read what I said and realize I dare want to be around children. Around people. Around life.

    To which I say: that’s exactly the fucking problem.

    We live in the era of social media. We are to curate our lives into this rosy, perfect package. We project our best selves. We are eternally successful and happy and doing exactly what we’re meant to do.

    But what happens when you suddenly find yourself not living your best life? It’s not enough to curl under the blankets because it is just too much to get out of bed. You cannot just hide. You must disappear.

    And so I did.

    I carefully stopped talking about myself anywhere. I neglected this blog. I let my business venture die. I stopped responding to email. I ceased updating Facebook. If anyone asked, I said I was happier living my life than documenting. Never mind that I was barely breathing, let alone living.

    Saying ‘I am depressed’ is the unspeakable secret. I’m not living the best life. I’m not doing okay. It’s not so much that I want to die, I just wish I didn’t exist.

    What if they reeeaaad what you said?

    I think being a grownup with an important Job is the loneliest I have ever felt. It brought me the furthest I have ever been from myself. The depression that settled over me was unlike the depression I have come to call ‘normal life.’ It sucked every ounce of desire from my body. I no longer cared I hated my life. I no longer cared the artist in me was choking. I no longer cared to be seen. I made myself smaller. I stripped away everything, including the thing that has always been my greatest asset: my voice.

    And fuck that.

    What if they reeeaaad what you said?

    Fuck all of this bullshit. I don’t want to be silent anymore. I don’t want to sit here, biting my fingernails, worrying about what if someone reads something I wrote.

    Isn’t that the whole point? Isn’t that the whole goddamn point?

    In case you’re wondering, I feel a lot better now. Now that my Job is not my job. I am slowly finding my way back to a place where I can confidently say my name and say I am a writer.

    Mom, you don’t understand. I am not ashamed of myself anymore. I want them to read what I said.

  • Writing Dot-to-Dot

    Every once in awhile, we stumble across something and it’s like meeting an old friend. These are things that we used to do or enjoy, but have somehow forgotten completely about them. And, at least if you’re me, you then feel like a complete and total idiot for being such a tool. Eh, it happens.

    This happens to me a couple times a year. I have hereditary forgetfulness passed on to me from my Absent-Minded Professor father. It happened again to me last week. What was interesting was that it involved writing, so it’s pretty embarrassing. You know, the whole being a writer thing makes forgetting something about writing a pretty horrific thing to admit. But I did.

    Read more

  • The Boogeyman

    The first rule of depression, is, well…

    I’m not going to lie. I’m not going to sit here and tell you I’ve had a marvelous past few months. That would be lying. The past few months have been really rough. I’ve battled a life-threatening bacterial infection, had to come to terms with a body that doesn’t always want to cooperate, continue to get sick due to a suppressed immune system from the previously mentioned bacterial infection, and I’ve had to return to my high-stress, low-pay job.

    Looking at that list, I’m ashamed. I feel like I should be coping better than I have been. That shouldn’t be all that it takes to knock me off my even keel. But it was. It did. It has.

    Read more

  • Finding Ways to be Kind to Myself

    It has recently come to my attention that I’m very good at projecting a version of myself that is intimidatingly confident. Which, in light of the stereoscopic version of Wren that I get in my brain, it is kind of hilarious.

    Yes, I revel in my weirdness at times. And yep, I definitely pretend at times that I am the most awesome person ever. Let me reassure you, this is to compensate for the giant sucking sound that is the black-hole of my actual self-esteem.

    Read more

  • Why I Stopped Listening to NPR in the Car and Will Never Go Back

    Confession time: I love NPR. A lot. I’ve been listening to their podcasts (Science Friday, what up!) with a devoted regularity for over five years. I look forward to Mondays because they mean new This American Life.

    Some people really hate NPR. I do not understand these people, and may secretly harbor pity for them. The reporting is sharp, the stories interesting, and you’re pretty much guaranteed to learn something new. It’s the holy grail of radio.

    Read more