Reboot

Where do you start to put a blog entry together when you cannot even put thoughts together in your mind a lot of the time?

I thought long and hard about retiring this blog.  However, I have decided to carry on.  I may have shielded some of the effects of my depression and anxiety on me, and that is mostly due to how I would think people would perceive me.  Both personally and professionally.  The reason I say this is due to the fact I have been treated differently because of my illness.  Not necessarily in a negative way but even the positive differences (for want of a better phrase) make me feel, well, different.  Make me feel somehow a lesser person.  Someone that maybe should be treated like glass.  Yes, a lot of this may well be in my mind since I tend to overthink things (and then overthink things again!)  However, I cannot help how I feel.

The problematic thing is though that if I didn’t come forward about the extent of my illness, I would, more than likely, not be here now.  So, it was a good thing I did even if sometimes I don’t see it that way—the feelings of “what if?” occur to me more and more these days.  Somehow the world seems like a much smaller place to me right now.  I still believe there is a lot of stigmas attached to people who have depression which, in turn, makes it harder for people like myself to come forward.  This appears to be more the case, especially if you happen to be a man.  I’ve always believed, been taught and led to believe that a man doesn’t show his emotions.  That he should deal with all his problems silently.  Even better a “real man” shouldn’t have any emotional issues.  I have struggled with this for a lot of my life.

When I was young, I was bullied quite frequently and at the time and even now I wonder if it was because I was projecting weakness and inadequacy?  I mean, there must have been a reason for me to be targetted?  I believe that bullying was one of many reasons why I am the way I am now.  What did I do about this bullying?  Nothing.  Well, almost nothing.  I did try reporting it once or twice, but it only made things worse.  So I withdrew and didn’t socialise outside of my small friend circle.  Even that friend circle disappeared when I finished college.  Was that my fault?  Most likely.  At least that is what I believe.  With that withdrawal came the theories of me being gay.  Now, being gay is nothing to be ashamed of.  However, it was yet another thing to attempt to taunt me with.  This awkward boy stayed in his room with his computers and random gadgets made out of Mechano.  A reject.  This was what I was told I was repeatedly.  So much so that I began to believe it, thus reinforcing my withdrawal—a complete cycle of self-deprecation and self-isolation.

After all that, I somehow managed to be a (mostly) functioning person in society.  I know some people who will dispute that though, and for one they are right.  Yes, I project (or try to project) an image of me having myself together when inside I am just rubble of the person I was.  The pieces of debris are so damaged that I doubt I will ever be able to put them together and find out what I was before.  Is that a bad thing?  I don’t know.

In somewhat of a cliché, I have decided (for the thousandth time) to reboot myself since it was recently my birthday.  I intend to be more open and see where it takes me, and if that drives more people away or makes people afraid to talk to me, I will have to accept that I guess.  I doubt I can ever truly accept that, but I must try.

So, there it is at 11:30 pm on a Tuesday, my soul laid out.  Take care all.  You are all worth it, no matter what anyone says.  Even if I can’t bring myself to believe I am.

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