mental illness

Existential crap

My life is a bundle of messes all wrapped up in Christmas time gift paper that makes you think something cute and endearing like a tiny kitten, or puppy, or duckling will pop out. Instead you find a haggard mutt, once the runt of his litter, nestled into pieces of trash. Upon closer inspection, you will find the trash is actually discarded sketches and writings.
My past hopes.
My future expectations.

The spit from my soul.

I feel wrecked. Superannuated. Potentially unusable.

Potential. Do I carry any now? Or has it all faded?

I know these things are all in my head but they’re hard to ignore.

They’re easy to trust, to masochistically cherish.

Do I want to be awful? Crazy? Beyond the reach of God?

No. Not really.

Not really at all.

Sometimes I think I am.

I think I put myself there.

But no, not really.

Not really at all.


I’m the worst. By which I mean awesome.

I have a million things running through my mind going at a frantic, non-stop pace that should probably qualify me as asylum worthy but for some reason has yet to visibly imbalance me that much on the outside. That or I’m so crazy I don’t realize that this isn’t reality and I actually am in an asylum. But I’m also really happy with my scatter brained existence so I guess I don’t care? Is that bad? Shouldn’t I care if I’m actually insane? Oh golly maybe I do. If I’m genuinely insane then I could wake up at any moment and everything here will go away and my life is really going good at the moment so I really don’t want that to happen. Oh gosh I hope this is the really real reality because if it’s not then I’m going to miss my fiancée so much and it’s going to really freak him out if I start acting like we’re engaged in this other actual reality if we aren’t in both.


This is why myself and 90% of the world’s population are probably concerned about my impending marriage. I still do things like climb on roofs just to prove I can and graffiti the notices around work to change them from things like “Amanda Wisely bought a 5 Cheese Pizza.” to “Amanda UNWisely bought a 5 Cheese Pizza.
And I sprayed spittle all over the youth Pastor’s husband just because he told me not to.


I’m getting married in T-Minus 41 days.



I started this post really differently but all I really wanted to say is that depression is really shitty.

I have a lot of trouble speaking eloquently about it because I‘ve been there. THERE. there in the black hole of feeling empty, sad, nothingness. Or obnoxiously loud fear. Constant doubt. Self-beration for anything and everything.

And you know, I‘m doing good now. A lot better. But I‘m not always totally sure how. I know it took a long time. And a lot of prayer, more from other people than myself. And I know it was weird. And long enough ago that I can say something. Just a small, ineloquent, badly written something. But something. Seriously who reads this anyways?

I guess I don‘t know what I wanted to say. Just that I wish I knew what to say?

I hope one day I can be cool, like TWLOHA or Bob Goff or something, but until then I guess I‘ll just settle for writing lame little things saying this:

If your in the midst of a really bad bout of depression, or dealing with mental illness, or even just really bummed out I‘m thinking of you. And I wish I could love you with my actions, with being the buddy that takes you out for coffee or bakes you cookies, or that guy that helps you move. I wish I could be that one random thing that makes you laugh, maybe hysterically, for the first time in forever. I wish I could tell you “I LOVE YOU” and it be okay and have you really believe it. I wish I could be that one person that encourages you that you believe. I wish I could give you a hug, or maybe just squeeze your hand gently if hugs aren’t your thing.

I guess maybe I‘m the only one who reads this, but even if just one other person sees this who needs it, it‘s worth it. I wish I could show you I love you. I really, REALLY do.