I Guess This is a Blog

So, welcome I guess?

I wasn’t going to ever start a blog, despite writing being one of maybe two things I’m actually kind of good at. The idea of putting my thoughts about things on the internet scares the ever-loving crap out of me. The internet scares the crap out of me. People on the internet scare the crap out of me. If I’m honest, everything scares the crap out of me. Yay, anxiety.

My change of heart happened a few days ago. I was recently diagnosed with depression. Like, actual clinical depression. I’m no stranger to mental illness. I’ve battled OCD symptoms my entire life, generalized anxiety disorder and PTSD were mentioned at one point, and even ADHD and Aspergers were thrown out at one point by past therapists to explain why I’m incapable of functioning like a normal human.

But hearing depression as an explanation for a lot of my issues kind of made sense. I distinctly remember being in fourth grade and thinking to myself, “I’m gonna die one day. Everyone I love is going to die one day. Life is meaningless. Nothing matters and I’m sad for absolutely no discernible reason.” That’s not the kind of thoughts you’re supposed to have in freaking fourth grade. My point is, this isn’t something new. I just have a cool little label to slap on it now.

Recently, it’s been attacking my head worse than ever. I had this horrible, nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, my entire existence is a mistake. Like, I’m here because of some fluke accident and I wasn’t supposed to be here. I kept looking back at my past and thinking about how much better off everyone would be if I wasn’t born, how many people I’ve hurt in just 24 short years. I’m an a-hole. I don’t deserve the things I have. Fortunately, it never escalated into “I wish I were dead,” and I hope to God it never does. It’s always more of a nagging, restless “I need to run away from this town and not tell anyone where I’m going and change my name and not exist here anymore” feeling.

Then, something happened that made me reconsider everything.

It was a Saturday night, last Saturday night to be exact. I was playing bass for my church’s evening services, and at one point, I was just killing time trying to forget about how much I hated my life at the moment, despite having no logical reason to hate it. Then, I got a notification from one of my former youth group leaders on Facebook. I’ll never forget how I felt. She told me she was proud of me for using my words to make people think, and then went on to add that I was a role model for her daughters.

Me. The mistake. The one who hurt more people than I’d like to think about.

Is it possible for God to use someone like me to make the world a better place?

And that’s why I’m writing this. Because all I have is my words and I’m not going to let my anxiety and depression keep me from using them. As my mom would say, in the immortal words of Sean Connery in Celebrity Jeopardy, “the pen is mightier,” or something like that.

And if the things I write have the ability to change just one life out of millions, it will all be worth it.