Tag Archives: depression

An honest look

With a whole slew of my friends getting married or getting their dream jobs or simply getting knocked up… I feel obligated to freak out just a little bit. I don’t know what I thought I would be doing in my early twenties… But I figured life would specifically be heading somewhere.

But while trippin quietly to myself while giving everyone props, I stopped to consider why that is… And the reasons after a bit of introspection were a little shocking.
I am daunted by the concept of living life. It’s not that it scares me to be alive… It’s more that I am overwhelmed by the innumerable options I have with ways I could spend my time.

1. I feel embarrassed about investing my time in things that may be unsuccessful in the future.

The concept of investing my time in starting a business only to have it fail, to pursue a career in music only to be met with shitty reviews and no gigs, to write my novel only for it to be trite nonsense when read back to me… I’m afraid to fail. I don’t want to find out I’m not as awesome as I think I am.

2. I’m depressive.

It’s not that I’m living in a cozy blanket of misery.. It’s that it takes an extra push for me to find something that truly gets me out of bed and excited. I need to actually go out of my way to take an interest in life and that’s because…

3. I’m not actually following my passions

Instead of using the time that I have to myself to home a skill that I value so that I’m prepared for my next big opportunity, I futz about paralyzed by musings. Instead of writing exercises or reading monologues or practicing vocal technique… I nope about not have a show or a due date and sulk. It’s not just being lazy… I’m also exhausted because finally…

4. I don’t take care of myself

I used to work out to strengthen my body. Study to strengthen my mind. Meditate to temper my spirit. Now I sort of think about doing those things… But that’s all I do.

Because I’ve forgotten how to live for myself. I don’t do the things that are important to me. And it’s taking a toll. It makes my life feel less worth living. That’s no ones fault but my own.

It’s not that I’m a total slob who lives in his PJs and stained sweats… It’s that I’m not aspiring to accomplish all those things that feed my spirit. I’m not feeding my spirit.

If you don’t feed things… They start to die

Melancholia

There was going to be an entire depressing post here about my insignificance and lack of purpose, but I deleted several drafts and decided to put this here instead.

You are valuable.
You can achieve something.
You can succeed at something.
And someone somewhere loves you.

Zexton Davis and the Mysterious Beard

“Darkness. I awaken to a sharp pain in my leg. Cramping. The years are catching up with me. The smell of must and my own musk fill my nostril like like a downtown bus line. I can’t remember my last shower. I try to get up, but simply fall out of the bed, tangled in my sheets. Fate wishes to keep me a prisoner of my own lethargy, but I musn’t let it. I must achieve something today, I must grab destiny by the balls, there is too much at stake. I am… Zexton Davis.”

Self-important, the not so young man dragged himself to the bathroom. Switching on the lights for the first time in weeks as he entered, he sat on the pot. Eyes still closed, afraid of the unkind and piercing light that awaited him should he open them, he thought about what he must do today.

Nothing came to him.

*Flush*

Standing, walking to the sink he washed his hands, splashing his face once, twice. Whipping his hands he rid them of excess wetness and wiped his eyes. He leaned himself on the sink, lifted his eyes and drew back in horror.

“Egads! What in the name of dixie!”

This dear reader, is in fact what he actually exclaimed as he stroked the beard where his chin used to be that fateful morning. There are many ways that a man might discover he has grown tremendously offensive facial hair. Gawkers on the bus, a precocious, opinionated child who has not yet learned it’s low place in this world, the smell of yesterdays lingering hot sauce from “El Burrito.” All of these things in fact, should have alerted our hero to his slow transformation into a homeless looking slob, but in his stupor… none of them did.

As he stroked his chin’s new shag carpet, finding crumbs from old meals and daring to taste them(proving to himself that he had in fact eaten them before and was not body-swapped late last night after losing consciousness in the process of a sexless, 3-week, one-man videogame, nachos, and porn marathon), his eyes welled.

“What have I done to myself old friend? How did we get this way?” He stroked his own cheek, sweetly.

“We had dreams. We had goals. We had our whole lives ahead of me! Me with my high ideals, ingenuity, wit… And you! With my gorgeous face, winning smile, and-..” He ripped off his shirt in horror to find his abs still there. Less defined, but nonetheless intact. He sighed in relief. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Who am I? Who have I become?”

Zexton can’t hear me, but I am here to remind you that he still is-.. and will always be the man who will saveĀ “the world.”

 

Dear Reader,

This is a small anecdote about waking up this morning. I just wanted to remind you as I reminded myself earlier, that if you still have a mind to imagine a better future, you have a reason to get out of bed to make it so.

love,

Zexton