The icy tendrils of depression are slowly creeping into form, manifesting themselves like a timid maelstrom, quietly churning and building to an eventual crescendo within my being.
I've been sort of walking two diverging lines lately. I've been incredibly busy with real life. Work, trying to buy a house, legal matters, and some internal struggles and debates. Because of this, I've been bubbling over with creative impulse and inspiration. My ideas book is overflowing. When I empty my pockets at the end of the day, I find them full of scraps of paper with short phrases or ideas jotted across them. And I have no time to act on it.
I don't think I've ever felt this much stress in my life. Not even while deployed overseas in the military. I just about had a nervous breakdown yesterday - in my congressman's parking lot - when my wife wrecked my truck by trying to park in a spot that was obviously too small. I want to break free. I want to write songs and poetry again. I want to spend quality time with my cameras and in my darkroom and building models and drinking beer with my homeboys. In short, not only do I not want to grow up, I want to un-grow-up. But that can't be.
I have three dreams in life. I've already let go of two as a matter of practicality. Now, each day that passes seems to be another tick away from the third. I'm so incredibly scared and I can't talk to anyone about it. Those that know and understand are part of it. Those that aren't can't possibly understand. The only person who can make a difference - my best friend and brother - is nigh impossible to spend any time with outside of the prying eyes and ears of those I no longer trust. I'm losing my family. I'm losing myself. And having already survived the suicide of my ex-fiance, as well as my own gestures, I don't feel like I have the strength necessary to do what I know is right.
I've been sort of walking two diverging lines lately. I've been incredibly busy with real life. Work, trying to buy a house, legal matters, and some internal struggles and debates. Because of this, I've been bubbling over with creative impulse and inspiration. My ideas book is overflowing. When I empty my pockets at the end of the day, I find them full of scraps of paper with short phrases or ideas jotted across them. And I have no time to act on it.
I don't think I've ever felt this much stress in my life. Not even while deployed overseas in the military. I just about had a nervous breakdown yesterday - in my congressman's parking lot - when my wife wrecked my truck by trying to park in a spot that was obviously too small. I want to break free. I want to write songs and poetry again. I want to spend quality time with my cameras and in my darkroom and building models and drinking beer with my homeboys. In short, not only do I not want to grow up, I want to un-grow-up. But that can't be.
I have three dreams in life. I've already let go of two as a matter of practicality. Now, each day that passes seems to be another tick away from the third. I'm so incredibly scared and I can't talk to anyone about it. Those that know and understand are part of it. Those that aren't can't possibly understand. The only person who can make a difference - my best friend and brother - is nigh impossible to spend any time with outside of the prying eyes and ears of those I no longer trust. I'm losing my family. I'm losing myself. And having already survived the suicide of my ex-fiance, as well as my own gestures, I don't feel like I have the strength necessary to do what I know is right.