Journal

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Putting My Queer Journey on Paper, a Leap of…

So it’s Fall and it’s decision time whether or not I’m going to go ahead with this blog.

It’s not that I don’t have the time to write every day, it’s simply a matter of am I gonna stick it out or not. The subject matter is difficult and not 100% pleasant to talk about. It’s going to take a lot of time just to get it set up. A little money, but not a lot so that’s not an issue.

The trouble is, with the mental illness I’m suffering from I seem to put the things that I really love to do aside and don’t just do them anymore. 

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Childhood Trauma

Why do I hold myself to blame for my first years of existence? 

I need to stop.

I was born in 1957, in late March to be exact.  The third and last son of a career military man, who was sent to the Korean conflict 2 weeks after my birth.

For 3 years…

Maybe he wanted to stay away, maybe he was needed there.  Who knows, and everyone who might have known why are long dead.

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Sliding down

I find the slide downward to be too easy.

I compare fighting depression to the struggles of a poor ant that stumbles into an ant lion trap.

The ant lion is a small little larva of the damsel fly.  It’s jaws of death two long pincers that serve 2 purposes; one to make the trap, one to kill it’s victim.  Death awaits below, if you hit bottom.

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Depression

I really need to find that handhold to pull myself back up. 

Do I seriously believe a journal that should have started 67 years ago will help me to understand why I am at this place in my life?

Maybe.

Maybe it will all make sense and I can leave it lay.

I will say that the course I took was far from “normal” but who ever is?

I need to keep in mind my “oneness“ and being a unique individual there was only one path, and actually lived perfectly.

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Chronic pain

This pain is very real.  This anguish is near unbearable.

I‘m losing this war,  where the pleasures in life are short lived, and so few and far apart it’s like they don’t exist.

I’m in mourning.  It’s like when I’ve lost someone that has become a part of me is torn away.  My brother, my mother, my best friend,

and now myself.

I quietly reach out for help, but no one is there.

For the last seven days I’ve awoken crying. Upon opening my eyes they immediately fill with tears.

Am I crying because I know what the day will bring?

Or crying for all those days past? 

I am screaming out but no one hears.

Or they hear but don’t listen.

This needs to end

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