Cowabunga

I haven’t written in a while. I hadn’t lost interest. I hadn’t lost the passion. I simply felt that I could not share because everyone would know who I was talking about. At some stage, I realised, well, that’s not quite fair on them now, is it?
Nope.
I’m 26 now. It feels like years have passed. I feel older, wiser, and a third thing.
Did you know humour may not age?
I don’t – apparently I’m not funny.
At least not until I ask someone why on Earth they’d fall in love with me, to which they respond by casually listing ten things to try to highlight my value. I may not be funny, but she – she’s hilarious.
We know better, y’know. We know what we are. We know we are funny, intelligent, hard-working, scarily honest, mature, wisened, comma-splicing people.
So?
I find it hard to explain how I can want to be dead, but don’t want to die. I’m not about to go kill myself because I’m in a low, but I sure as hell could wish death would end it.
Hey, they said we should we dreamers. Let me dream.
How do I explain to the people I care about and love, that I would be okay with dying even though they’re in my life and I value them? How do I explain to them that for me, with my trusty friend major depression and side-kick anxiety disorder, that nobody will ever be enough? Because that’s about them, isn’t it? Not about me.
Everyone wants to be enough, Love.
Take the time to think about why people keep you, Random Person, around. We may have the most amazing connection to date, but the choice to let – yes, let – you stick around is based on finding value in our interaction, and the effect you may have on my space and energy.
It is selfish. We are a selfish kind.
We have to be.
If I felt, ultimately, based on my living my experience, that death would be the more beneficial route for me, despite anyone having the impact they do, that is something that should be respected.
We know better, y’know.
How can you tell me what’s worth it? You don’t think, feel, cope, or manifest in the same way I do.
I’m sorry to disappoint. I’m not chemically built to please, really.
Anhedonia is real, Love.
And, guess who has that too?
Funny, how difficult it must be to be faced with someone who is bubbly, happy, loving, emotionally intense, driven – all the things – and have them turn to face you with genuine disappointment and confusion, then ask that goddamn question.
Why did I survive?
Yeah, I almost died. But almost, so big whoop.
I have a job I’m passionate about, a life I do care about, a large capacity for love I don’t hold back, friends that make me wonder what on earth friends were before, a fucking fantastic family and two really strangely adorable dogs.
Pugs.
I bleed life, Love.
The questions are existential – not present, not past. There is a part of a person I don’t believe any person can truly affect to full mask. The serotonin dips when it dips.
I ain’t going nowhere.
I am happy, love life, love yous.
Ride the wave.
I am.

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