People don’t understand what it’s like to live with depression and anxiety. Especially when you’re a man you’re expected to just man up the anxiety and depression and just move on.
As if it were a chore or a video game that you got tired of.
At times it gets hard to find a reason to be alive when your only thought of living is a death note to summon words that have been hinged to your heart. Opening and closing for a voice of remembrance, hope and comfort, compassion and love just to make the day right.
But still, the daylight comes and the search party hasn’t found that voice that once raised kids and taught meaning to a world full of charlatans.
But at this age, I try to rekindle that boy or man I am or was, with concerns about how the ground would feel about my steps as I walk through it with paperweight feet an inch off the ground and an inch off to heaven.
And here I am, with my inharmonious high definition voice of hope, wishing I could find a way to my soul’s cornerstone of impeccable strength and faith.
I just might make it this year.