Everything’s going to be all right. Things will look up. These are words that are said to me when I’m feeling depressed. These words are worse than saying, “Your life’s a complete disaster!” I’d rather someone say that instead. Give me the truth instead of sugar coating the bare facts with mere insincerity. No one’s there to help, they’re only out to give their two cents. And what is it really worth? It’s full of lies. “You watch, tomorrow’s going to be a better day.” No. Tomorrow is going to be the same day as today, the same day as yesterday and the day before that. “You’re PMSing.” No, not all month. The majority of my days here on earth are days filled with too many tears – days filled with heartache and the scars that I keep holding from the past. Am I moving on or am I still stuck in some torturous limbo waiting to be released? What is this? Is this a life? I can’t move and I can’t get to where I want to be. All my hard work has done what? Sure, I can give tons of advice on my website and write books that encourage people – but what about me? Is it selfish to think that I want something good too? I prayed and prayed for God to grant me a gift of some sort. Anything. I hear His answers, but they’re small – yet not insignificant of course. I want more. Didn’t God say that if we ask for something in His name that He would grant it? I want to go home.

I guess the docs in psychotherapy can call me ‘clinically depressed’. But the thing is, they can’t ‘call me that’ because they don’t see it in their office. They don’t see the gazillion tissues in their wastebasket. They never notice my puffy eyes that have spilt a ton of tears the night before because I put on too much make up to look half way decent when I walk out of the house. To some people, I can’t even ‘get God’ because I’m gay. “Oh you have to repent in order to get the great gifts of God!” Repent? Repent from loving someone of the same gender? I’ve rehashed this on my blog ten billion times before and proved my point that being homosexual isn’t a sin. We all sin – regardless. But loving another human being isn’t wrong. I’m angry and upset because everyone thinks they know how to live your life. They think this is best for you or that’s best for you – yet they don’t lift one finger to even try to help you. No one truly cares about your well-being. It’s all a self-motivated world. Even relatives, friends, lovers, whatever – they care to an extent. At least that’s how it is in my life. Am I being too critical of how others treat me? Maybe. But all I know is, I’m at the end of my rope right now. I’m done crying for hours. I’m done sleeping too much or sleeping too little. I hate that I think alcohol may cheer me up. But it will…only for a moment. I know I’ll feel like shit afterwards though, but I still reach for that drink. I want to go home.

I could blame my depression on anyone or anything that has happened in my life. “Oh it’s a chemical imbalance that needs to be fixed with medication!” Screw that! I don’t want some chemical in my system that’s going to make me gain more weight than I’ve already packed on from the depression. They really want to see me out on a ledge somewhere! I don’t want to end up in some psyche ward bouncing my head into a padded wall feeling sorry for myself. The thought of those weird nurses with the thousand-mile stare giving me my medication on a hourly time clock rubs me the wrong way. They want to see you walk around like a complete zombie. You never get better once you’re in one of those clinics. You only get worse. They make you into a whole other creature. They put you in rooms with other people like yourself or even worse – and you feed off each other. You learn how to be psychotic yet another way! You learn how you can be depressed yet another way! No! I won’t do it. I’d rather kill myself before reaching that point. I want to go home.

Prayer. You know what’s funny? All the preaching I do about prayer is true. I pray and pray and I receive answers from God. He always hears me. In fact, today I was praying to Him asking for success in my writing or whatever I come across. He said that success comes from God – and that I can’t do it alone. I read it in the bible. It was confirmation that He was listening to me. Then out of nowhere, a beautiful dove perched right outside my window cooing the most beautiful song. I mean, this is not a coincidence. I believe so much that it’s practically knowledge! I have faith that God’s right here with me right now – but I think His plan is a bit different from mine. Maybe He wants to use me as an example. I haven’t a clue. But why can’t He make my life better? Maybe if my life were better, I wouldn’t write as much and wouldn’t have an impact on some of my readers out there. Maybe I can relate better to people by being in this damn predicament. Yes, I’m angry and I feel horrible about it. I feel tons of guilt, yet I tell other people to throw that guilt away – it’s from the devil himself. If I didn’t go through these episodes of depression, then how can I help those who are depressed? Like an alcohol instructor who has never touched a drop in his/her life – how would they relate to the other alcoholics sitting in front of them? They couldn’t. So, my theory is, God put me here to suffer and to relate to those who are suffering. I hate it – yet I want to see others happy and feel relieved that they’re not alone. It’s a double-edged sword, isn’t it? I want to go home.

Our purpose in life is unknown and unpredictable. People expect so much from us yet understand so little. They never truly know what you’re going through, until it happens to them. Then they start asking you questions, as if you were the pro to the whole ‘depression scene’. I hide my disease under a welcoming smile. It’s tucked away underneath the laughter you hear when I’m out with my friends. It’s scattered in the midst of a crowd as I dance my troubles away. It never leaves me – it just goes everywhere I go. I realize it’s following me whether I’m happy or sad. It’s like the psycho stalker who waits for the right opportunity to strike! Prayer and being close to God is like having the police around you 24/7. That’s the only thing that saves me. The more I pray, the less my depression attacks me. But I have to keep at it. I’m so fatigued at times that I can barely think. If I forget to pray, then the worldly things that sadden me hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s a vicious cycle. I want to go home.

If any of you can make me laugh like this - I will be forever grateful!