I've spent most of my life down in that murky pit of depression. It's too long of a story.
In September of last year, after having just graduated from high school I was living in Boulder, CO with a couple of friends. I was miserable. I've never had very many friends -- just two or three close ones, and then a whole bunch of meaningless acquaintances. It's not necessarily the way I want things to be, but I can't really handle people in general so I'm not really trying to change things.
So, I lived in Boulder for about two months, and near the end of it, my three best friends had a falling out. Us four, who were so close for five years disbanded. It couldn't have come at a worse time. I was incredibly depressed, and had no direction. I was living on my own for the first time, and I owed money to one of my good friends. I had no job, and everything just sucked. On Halloween morning, my cat was hit by a car. I moved back home that night.
The whole week leading up to that climax, everything and everyone was just spinning out of control. I came so close to ending my life that week. I've never considered suicide. I always hated the thought of it.
This is already getting long, and I have a lot to say...
The very first day of 2009 was incredible for me. My life completely turned around. You can read all about it here and here.
Basically, I thought I'd really kicked depression out the door. After spending my entire life being "severely" depressed, I was finally, consistently, TRULY happy. Fuckin' a.
Of course, it didn't last. And that's why you're here.
Somehow, that wonderful person who I was so deeply in love with cheated on me. And for a month it's been this grueling, exhausting back-and-forth thing. It has drained me of energy and happiness.
I have nobody left. All my close friends have dropped off the face of the planet. I'm stuck living with my brothers, and the house is a fucking pigsty and a nightmare. Having to be in close contact with your family when you have no connection with them is horrible, especially when you have nowhere to get out of the house to.
This asshole who started handling booking at the venue I've been playing at for 4 years won't give me a gig, even though I'm a better performer and musician than him, and instead gives himself three gigs a week.
I don't have a job, and I don't have money to make the record I so desperately need to give to the world.
Watching hopelessly since the end of July, my bank account has dwindled to nearly nothing.
My dad is depressed, and I fucking hate that.
I can't write for the life of me, even though I feel so much inspiration and have so many goddamn ideas.
I have a crumbling electric guitar rig, and no money to fix it.
And so in a month and a half, I've gone from the happiest I've ever been to more depressed than I've ever been in my life.
But wait, there's more.
My dog. My best friend for ten of the roughest and most important years of my life. My most cherished and beloved Golden Retriever, Riley.
Eight weeks ago, he swallowed a corn cob. Since then, he's been throwing pieces up. For about two weeks he'd be fine (happy and ageless; a fucking puppy) and then he'd get lethargic and throw a piece of corn cob up. This happened about three times over the last two months, and yesterday morning he threw another piece up. He was lethargic, and couldn't keep water or food down. We took him in because three weeks ago, we thought he'd gotten the goddamn thing out of his system.
The surgeon said he wanted to do an x-ray before anything. The x-ray (unlike the other x-rays over the last year) revealed a cancer in end stage. Some kind of heart cancer that causes internal bleeding. It had spread to his lungs which were full of blood, as well as the sack that surrounds the heart. At any moment over the last week he could have dropped dead. We took him in for a check up, and they told us we needed to euthanize him, or let him die slowly over the next couple of weeks with a high chance of it happening any minute, even though he had the energy of a puppy, and never, ever showed any signs of pain.
They told us at around 6:30. My mother was in San Francisco for work. She flew home and got in around 9. The doctors took some of the blood that had flooded the sack surrounding his heart to make him more comfortable for the wait. They had to do it twice. Once at 6:40 while I was there, shortly before telling him I'd be back, and then again two hours later. While I wasn't there. He died. Before my mom landed. While nobody was there for him.
If it hadn't been for him, I'd have killed myself when I was thirteen. He was my childhood. He was all I ever had. I feel so empty today. Numb. After so much pain and suffering, and self loathing. And not being right fucking there, holding his head and scratching his ear... I can't feel any of the soul I've felt slowly disintegrate over the last month and a half. I can't feel anything anymore. I just can't believe I wasn't there with him.
I fucking hate September.




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