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On depression

Image by Stormseeker on Unsplash

Probably not ideal to publish this here, but couldn’t think of where else to get it out. It’s bleak, but is probably one of the best ways to describe what it’s like fighting the throes of depression.

You’re on the outside, staring in, separated by a thick tinted pane of glass. You can see everything on the other side. Beautiful meadows and landscapes, sunny days, warmth, happy people, living their lives, succeeding, being rewarded. People you care about and that care about you beckon you over, but despite how hard you look, there are no openings. That thick, cold glass returns a veiled vision of what could be. It blocks you out. Keeps you away from ever reaching your full potential.


Behind you, a deep, dark ocean billows, and it is angry. It’s ready to swallow you up with the slightest misstep. Rain pours from overhead. Not soft, cool, or refreshing, but bone-chillingly cold, hard as a rock. It pummels your skin, body and head.


No matter how hard you try to focus on the other side of that glass, on the warmth and positivity, the despair eats you up inside. That ocean roars, the rain pelts, and an uncontrollable brain fog sets in.


Medicine numbs it, maybe for a few hours, if you’re lucky. Alcohol quiets the senses, but the pain is still there. Therapy holds the despair and voices at bay, temporarily — it’s like bleeding an infected wound. There is no solution. You hope for some reprieve. You wish with all you have, your fleeting energy, that it would slow down, if only for a little while. Anything that could help would help, is broken by a growing tolerance in your body. A dam, if you will, pressed against the frigid waters of depression. Keeping those waters locked in on your side so you feel every ounce of pain and misery you deserve. The universe hates you in that moment, probably always has.


Someone on the other side of the glass waves. It reminds you they’re happy. Without you, distant, they continue their existence. You realize everyone would be better off without you; you’re just dragging them down into the deep like a block of cement tied at their feet. Your children and their smiles, your spouse and their cheer, your family and their laughter, it’s all joys and emotions you wish you could experience. But the pain, the sorrow, the darkness, it swallows you whole, refusing to spit you back out.


A multi-headed hydra assaults your brain. Different heads, all with different attacks, yet all joined to the same purpose. You are not good enough. You never will be. You’re a loser, a fake, a fraud. You’ll never see success. Everything you have, everything you are, is worthless. You’ll lose it all. You’ll lose them. No one can ever love you. You can’t even love yourself. You’re pathetic, sick, twisted, and ugly. 


On and on it goes, for minutes, hours, days. The words they ebb and flow, and your brain does its unholy dance. Your own body, your own organs, are your enemy in this place, in this zone. You might as well be dead.


“Just be happy,” someone calls out. “Life is good, what do you have to be sad about?” More words from people you know. People you need support from. “Maybe do this, maybe do that, maybe try this.” Suggestions flow like the insults before them, except no hard answers. Everyone is an expert, everyone is a critic.


Only those who have gone through it all before could understand. Even then, it’s something lost, not forgotten, but pushed aside when they are not sinking themselves. The world has learned to ignore it all. To bypass those suffering. To keep walking, existing.


You are alone, truly. Curled in a fetal position in bed, under the covers, shivering profusely, but only metaphorically. To others, no one would notice the difference. You look like nothing more than a broken, exhausted human with no external wounds and no visible scars. But inside, festering, swollen, pus-addled, your body fights to survive.


You fight to stand just one more day. Everything you love is dull, muted. You can’t find joy anywhere. Not in the people you love. Not in the hobbies you adore. Everything looks bleak, dark, and tainted.


Until one day, it subsides. The sun comes back out, and the warmth touches your skin. You risk a smile and feel the emotion behind it. The world is your oyster, again, and failures don’t seem so bad. Success is on the horizon, and a life of happiness is within reach.


Those who know you well look on in wonder. How can you weave between the dimensions with such ease? Weren’t you nearly crippled with despair days earlier? The voices, the pain, the darkness, they sit there just on the cusp, the outer boundaries, waiting to close in again. You have no idea how long they’ll wait. It could be hours, it could be days, months, hell, it could even be seconds. There’s no moving forward here. No carryover progression.


Doctors posit. Researchers explore. The healthcare industry profits. But no one really knows why the brain and the body does what it does. And neither do you. You just do your best to appreciate the warm days you have, the happiness you feel, rare and fleeting though it is. A seething rage and hatred for the universe is stomached, as best you can, fighting regurgitation.


There is no warrior here. Just a human. Broken. Incomplete. Sensitive.

Looking for work sucks, so I’m quietly building instead


Before we get deep, let me just say, if you don’t want to read this, then don’t. I’m a writer. I write. That’s what I do. Everywhere. Anywhere. Wherever I can. That’s what I’m doing right here and right now.



I was fired in December, 2024. For bullshit. Three days before Christmas. Three. Right before I was due to take off on an approved paid leave trip to visit family. After working weeks, nonstop, almost night and day with a terribly staffed team. And I do mean horribly staffed. But they tossed me. After asking several times for support. After making it clear, I was getting burnt out and needed a break.



Oh, and just a couple months before, I had been “promoted” and given a raise, when no one else was getting that. Between hiring freezes and refusals to promote or offer merit increases, I still got a decent bump, for a couple of months, anyway. At the least, that shows I’m not completely full of shit and was making a difference somewhere.



Also, I had been promised, several times, over the course of years, that I was going to be taking on a bigger role. I realize now it was all lies to get me to work hard. I can honestly say I did more work than probably an entire editorial team combined during my stint. As staff dwindled and resources became more scarce, I stepped up, like an idiot. I rolled up my sleeves and got dirty in the mud, dirtier than I should have.


Really, I should have known better. The writing was on the wall. They treated many, many people the same way, like garbage, just as they had done to me. When I tell you these are morally corrupt people, I’m barely scratching the surface. There aren’t any words to describe the real truth there. They have many enemies at this point and if you talk to anyone with similar history, it’s highly likely you’ll hear a nearly identical story. I rarely say this out loud but they are some real pieces of shit.


When giving it everything means nothing


man inundated with sticky notes and tired by luis-villasmil-from-unsplash



I took on so many projects — too many. I learned so many new tasks and apps and did so many projects that were outside my purview. I never half-assed anything. I edited photos. I designed sponsored bits, logos, and worked directly with brands to craft beautiful prose. Met with clients on video calls to bring many of those teetering campaigns home. I went against my own beliefs at times, supporting campaigns for the good of the business. I pursued new topics, worked on new types of content, dealt with changing management and changing but messy strategies. I wrote, revised, edited, reshaped, repurposed. I supported everyone around me every chance I could. I rarely said no and even helped a lot of others do work, work that they should already know how to do mind you, but never once made anyone feel lesser or like they owed me.



I stayed up late many nights. Worked after “business hours” with no overtime. Sacrificed my free time and time with my family. Incrementally helped the business in ways they still probably don’t even know about. And for what? For people that smell their own farts in their downtime?



Shortly after giving me the boot, and I do mean shortly, they laid off a ton of people across various teams. Sure, I probably would have been laid off, too, but because I was “fired” beforehand, things worked out differently for me. I watched all of them go to bat for each other. People I helped in many, many ways throughout the years. People I supported. Not a single one went to bat for me.


Come to think of it, it was a lot like when I still worked there. Where so many others would quietly claim credit for things I did or helped with, or simply take full credit without mentioning where their support came from.


I’m a humble man, a humble co-worker and I more often choose love and support over hate. But there, in that environment, you get steamrolled. Hell, in any business environment you get steamrolled. These people are corrupt on every level.


I sent a lot of these people things, gifts, and asked nothing in return. Shared my hobbies. Things I love. Cigars. Humidors. Supplies. I shared review offers and helped others get the opportunity to try free gear. I secured interviews with celebrities. Helped others try to spark their passions. I gave so much. I still, to this day, would give the shirt off my back to someone who needed it.



Back here in the real world, things have slowed down a lot. I’ve had a few interviews since then. I don’t interview well. I’m a fucking writer, not a talker. I’ve had a few application updates and callbacks, quite a few rejections, but mostly just silence. Which is fine. Instead, I’m quietly building and doing my own thing.



There’s no moral to this story


palm trees and sunshine by thomas-lefebvre-from-unsplash



I don’t really have a big goal for writing this, I just want to get it out. I felt like I’ve been quiet about a lot of it for some time and I’ve watched a lot of things happen, both in the industry and places I’ve previously worked. So much of it is asinine.



Looking for work is excruciating. Selling and marketing yourself is only interesting for a select few people, usually those dorks from sales, and even then, it only works if you lie about almost everything.


Do I say I was fired? Do I say I was laid off, because really, I was the leading ne’er-do-well of that batch. Do I tell them I was a fool and worked to the bone while so many others sat around doing nothing? While new people and new leaders came in and contributed nothing? Do I say that I worked with a lot of other teams as support and basically helped them stay afloat? Do I say I was really the one responsible for this or that, behind the scenes? That I worked campaigns worth hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars and pushed them across the real finish line that mattered, the actual content creation part? Do I tell them the only reason so-and-so knows how to do this or that is because of me? That the only reason a certain person or a certain team made goals was because of me?


Nah. Probably not even worth it at any point, let alone now.



I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, to be honest. And I don’t know that I ever will. Even though I continue to apply daily, I’ve given up hope. It’s not just the industry I’m in that’s rotten, it’s the whole fucking system.



Screw it. I’ll do it myself and I’ll do it differently than anyone else would. Maybe I’ll fail. Maybe it will go nowhere. But I’d rather take that risk than deal with the rest of this bullshit.



I’m sure all of this sounds ungrateful or sounds like whinging. It’s more about sharing the tale than anything else. To have something published that I can look back on and say, that was it, that was the moment right there — the turning point for me. Hopefully, it will be for the better.