A continuation

Hey there, thanks for stopping by

I’ve always had the urge to write. I love the idea of storytelling… of being a storyteller. But it’s hard for me. And I want to explore why.

When I’m driving and a long way from home, I have so many ideas. It’s such a beautiful time to sit with my thoughts. I’ve started to wonder if it’s the constraint of those times that helps the creativity spark – the knowledge that I can’t do anything in that moment, so it’s okay to let my mind go further than if I had to be constrained by reality.

But don’t we make our own reality? Nah, that’s what the capitalists want you to think. But maybe letting ourselves play around outside the realm of reality is a good way for us to get some relief from the realities of the day. A peacefule refuge in a sea of so many troubles.

Stories. They’re always right there. Everything is a story. And no story can stand alone; it’s inevitably intertwined with another. And another. The stories we tell have a beginning and end, but no story truly ends. Its ripples go on. That’s why it’s important for me to help other people make their stories better.

So much of my life was robbed from me. That sounds so dramatic, and I don’t mean for it to, but that’s the only way I know to describe what I’m looking back on. Depression is a nasty lil shit. It will sneak up on you, creeping in day by day, year by year. Then one day you realize that something isn’t right. There’s no light around you. No hope.

But there is. It’s always there. But that asshole depression will convince you it’s not. And then someone comes around and helps you learn who you are. A friend you never knew you needed; a partner you realize you don’t want to live without. Who I don’t want to live without. And you hold on to that person. And together you learn more about yourselves.

If you think about it, a story doesn’t really have a beginning either. So many other stories had to happen for a new one to come along. And at some point, we mark the beginning. But I know that’s not all there is. A fantastic coincidence to be here, now.

So I guess, in that spirit, this is the beginning of a story. A story that my depression didn’t want me to tell. Fuck that. What’s life if we can’t share it through stories?