I wrote last December how I wanted to end my own life, because of how bad things had gotten at my job....and earlier this summer I shared a comic that I was writing for an anthology where there was the possibility of me taking my own life. The first person that I showed it to asked me if I had seriously considered taking my own life, to which the response is yes. Yes I did. Had that thought a lot of times the last few months.
These last few months have been some of the worst I've ever had. Being in a small community of artists and creators has been great in many ways. But at the same time, extremely isolating. I've had trouble figuring out where I belong, what my steps were, and who I am. I never quite found my groove with most people. I had made what I thought was a good friendship that would last a long time. Someone that I felt comfortable sharing things with, things I still haven't told other people. But that friendship ended horribly through actions of both of us. I didn't handle it as well as I could have, affected by more feelings of isolation, not understanding what happened, and having left a horrid situation behind in Georgia to have this happen so soon again....
And then the summer got worse. Rumors about me hurting my exfriend, lies and half truths running around, other rumors, being told that no one wanted me around and that people didn't feel comfortable around me, being accused of having a second twitter account to interact with people that didn't want to interact with me, and on and on. I think some of it started for a sense of protection of the exfriend, concern for them. Which I get. Some was because not a lot of people know me well. I don't make friends easily and I've confused people and made them uneasy because of things I've done or said, even when no harm was meant. And I get that too.
I write this post, because I need to write it. Not to point fingers or blame, but because I've tweeted and posted about anxiety and depression, I haven't shared why really. I haven't shared what caused it, because I didn't want to act like I was pointing fingers or anything else. This has been a horrible last few months and I'm not sure people realized that. Or maybe they did. Maybe they were trying to protect themselves. I don't know.
What I do know is things are much the same for me right now as they were a few months ago and I've realized its because I haven't talked. I haven't shared. So this is my story. I'm still here. Battered, bruised, knife wounds dug deep, arrows in the side, and cuts that will never heal...but I'm still here. Somehow.
