Wednesday, September 16, 2015


When Dwight, whom I love, called I thought to myself; "If someone as good as Dwight likes me, I can’t be all bad.” Then things started to turn around.

I had awakened feeling very dark. Everything I thought proved I was worthless; every memory brought forward in my head was further proof that I should never ever have anything to do with anyone ever again. So I went back to bed.

When I got up the second time, I had a bath. That can often make me feel better. It didn't. I went out to walk and got to Burrard and Davie Streets and I could not decide what to do. I crossed the street back and forth, worrying that someone would notice but unable to make a decision about what to do or where to go.

I wished I would get sick. I thought, with nothing else to do, why not. Being sick would give me something to do: Get better. Even death felt like a solution, but I was nowhere near suicidal, just black, black, black.

I came home again and wanted to go back to bed but I knew I shouldn’t. All I could think about was retreating. And then Dwight phoned and after he called I felt “it” lift. I felt myself becoming my old self again.

What was that? What happened? It was as though I was depressed for six hours.

I cannot imagine living like that day after day and I realize that is what depression must be like. It is a horrid existence. It is a waste of life. I hope it's a long, long time before I never feel like that again. On the other hand, being that I am a writer, every experience is insightful and rich for future material—not that I plan to ever write anything purposeful again (except adjustments to my screenplay if we go into production).

Feeling happy again so here are some more great photos I have happened on:

I am such a fan!

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