I’m falling, failing, faltering. Looking in from
the outside, I’m sure it appears I’ve given up. Maybe, for a little while
there, I did.
Climbing up is more difficult than falling down.
Ambition doesn’t mean much when you’re covered in mud, and tears only make the
climb slippery. So you grit your teeth, you feel your muscles tearing, and you
just hope you can stay where you are…and not fall further down. Getting higher
up is impossible, it hurts too much. Somehow, it’s nobler clinging to this one
spot, than to take the hand of anybody offering help. I’m staying here on my own, don’t need no help.
It’s all bullshit, of course. You’re not taking
care of yourself covered in mud, wanting to cry but not willing to show you’re
in honest trouble. It’s not even that you’re lying to your friends and family.
The guilt comes from knowing the lies you tell are aimed at you. The guilt is
understanding the epicenter of all your woes is…you.
I’m fairly certain this is some form of
depression. I’ve gone through it before, but not for this long. I also know
that if I get just one win, in this case, a paycheck that doesn’t bounce, I’ll
bounce back up.
I’m not telling this story to garner sympathy for
the boy who just can’t do it. Instead, I want others who feel the same to find
this, read it, and realize they aren’t alone in that pit. That’s what it is,
the pit out of which you’re trying to climb…rather, a pit you’re trying not to
fall further into and being impaled on the spikes below.
I want to get out. I want to be happy. If you’re
in that pit with me, let’s talk. Maybe you have a stronger rope than I do.
Maybe I can tell you stories that will embolden you to start climbing. Or, we
can just hang here and simply not have to be alone anymore.
James Neal writes fantasy, both novel-length
(Of Blood and Blade) and shorter stories (Paints the Invisible Eye
and Divine Right).
He’s also on social media, so are political
candidates, but we digress. Click to join on:
