After that, I come home and try to pump even more words into the universe. My goal is to capture my essence in one, long, stream of thought over a continuous time period of productivity. If you've ever read one word of this blog, know that there are thousands more that no one has seen yet. They are piling up, just like the lost information of the overstock. I wonder if it is productive or not. I physically work with the abundance of literature that exists. Nevertheless, I've been submitting stories to publications, and (as I've mentioned) the rejections are starting to trickle in. Sometimes I think about how each book that I work with at the store is a huge success story for its author. Every one of those books is some forgotten celebration. So, with as many celebrations as there are in the store, it can't be that hard, can it? But is it responsible of me to try and add to the heap, especially when I know about so many beautiful words that are already available to read?
I had cause to celebrate recently in that I received my first personalized, scathing rejection letter. I saw it as a right of passage that every writer must go through. An editor reads your work, is so repulsed by the sloppy junk that you have wasted (in this case) her time with, that she personally tells you about it. For me, it turned into a huge motivation, because I politely replied that I was grateful that she had taken the time to read and respond to my work. Of course, the gracious editor then set me on the track of some amazing resources to improve my writing and continue my efforts.
I realized that people still care deeply about the art of the written word. I've toiled so long in dying mediums that sometimes I forget the passion that remains. I was a projectionist towards the end of the days of film. Then I worked in a video store in the age of Netflix. I did theater when everyone was making movies, I made a movie while everyone was turning into a youtube sensation. Then I was a pessimist in the time when it was unacceptable to be sad. Now I help out in a bookstore and fancy myself a writer in the digital age. All in the hopes of finding some combination of ideas and presentation that resonates with others. There is a delicate balance of feeling inspired, finding motivation, feeling worthy, and cultivating an audience or community. I've never had all of that work together, but I feel like I'm closer than I've ever been. I used to be a fairly well-received performer, but most of the time I hated myself, you know? Now I've got my end worked out. I feel like I'm producing worthy material from a good place. And I'm doing plenty of it, now it's just a matter of connecting with people again.
Then, there is this blog. More specifically, my last blog. My blog on my suicide attempt. It got more than three times as many views as anything else I've ever posted. I wonder what caused that? I know that from my end, I just said what I had to say on an issued that I know affects a lot of people. I was honest and I tried not to shy away when it came to the nitty-gritty. And I guess that I have some first hand (or, wrist) experience with the subject matter. But why that one? Why not any of the stuff I've done lately about adventure or happiness? Are we still just living in a world of curious morbidity?
In any case, the whole thing made me feel a little raw about a few aspects of it, so here are a few notable things that I left out of the last post in order to make my point (and write something that wasn't too long for the internet):
1. The specifics of my own terrible behavior that led people to distance themselves from me. I wasn't the victim, I was very much at fault for my own misery. A lot of the people that don't communicate with me anymore have good reasons for not doing so.
2. The fact that I DID have tons of help. People reached out to me. Especially the comedy community in Albuquerque. Stand-Ups understand depression better than anyone. Also, random people that I didn't know very well were overly supportive when they had no need to be. That went a long way.
3. Other people reached out as well. My family helped me unconditionally after my attempt. Even those that I'm not particularly close with. My boss rehired me time and again, much to the chagrin of other employees that had to deal with my constant absence. People on Facebook continued to deal with my shenanigans... and still do, I suppose. And lots of people HAVE give me a chance again. I'll remind everyone that I live in the town that I do because one old friend reached out in a big way when I took my leap of faith to get here (thanks forever Ryan). I have a pretty well-rounded group of people who care about me now, including a girlfriend that is so marvelous that I can't believe I almost entirely missed out on the chance to meet her. Most of them, at this point, never saw the person that I was, and I hope that they never will.
4. The point of the post was to say: Hey if we're going to talk about this shit, let's talk about it. I just don't think that 'We've all been there' is a good enough thing to say to help anyone. I know that there is a line of decency and privacy, an unspoken rule on social media that you should always try to put your best foot forward, that it's not appropriate to discuss certain things in a public forum, and that those who don't follow the rules get put in the 'oh, that poor thing' or the 'what an asshole' box. But, obviously, I've never quite understood that balance, and it's a hard line to walk. So I suppose that I'll use my online presence to present an oversharing air of honesty that, while outside of the norm, seems like it might finally be finding a balance. I know that a large part of some people's 'social interaction' is done digitally now, and I also know that presenting an air of 'I'm fine' while suffering silently will kill us. I guess most people use their online persona to exude awesomeness while keeping their shadows private. I just do the opposite. I toss out my dirty laundry publicly so that my daily life is awesome. The writing that I do helps me to keep my head clear of crap, toxic crap. In real life, I have rebuilt strong and healthy relationships with the people who matter to me, and that is really what is important. Anyway, I digress.
5. Lastly, never forget that the reason I am able to do all of this, the reason I am able to wallow in self-appraisal, the reason that I was able to come to a point in my existential over-analyzation where I had the means and the time and the opportunity to attempt suicide, and (largely) the reason that I have been so humanely treated in the aftermath, the reason that I can travel and get jobs and find new friends and family and love, the reason that I have the time to write and post ANYTHING is because of my overwhelming comfort and privilege. And I am one of the lucky ones. I know there are a lot of people who don't get the opportunities I do. I realize I don't have any real problems. I am a white, heterosexual male living in America in the digital age. My dissatisfaction is largely a product of that environment, a lack of appreciation for my fortunate situation. My misery was caused, for the most part, by my shame over having it so good and feeling like I wasn't doing anything with my natural opportunities. There are people who deal with a daily struggle, up to and including (and beyond) a fear of walking to work, who don't have the luxury of having the time to write an ultra-long 'poor me' blog about suicide. Those are the kinds of people that I would count as 'brave' or even helpful.
Okay, that's it. I'll wrap it up with this: This world is complicated and I don't understand it fully. I do get a lot of the bigger stuff now, and I know that the bigger stuff is regulated by our moment to moment decisions (and vice-versa). Every second we have the opportunity to decide if we are going to be a productive good guy or a mean-spirited asshole. For me, I am happy with my friends at the bookstore, and my moments alone with this keyboard, and when I look into Em's eyes. I'll tell you from my own experience, nothing is futile, every little bit helps, and it's just easier to be kind.
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