BROKEN

I am a broken. I have always been broken. I can not remember one moment in my life where my brain has ever left me the fuck alone. It has been all out war. There were a few times early in my life where my brain almost finished me. Moments where it just felt like everything would be better if I could make the noise go away.

I don’t talk about it often. I have mentioned it in passing. Some of my friends know it is there. My wife is aware but I have never really opened up to anyone. It has always been so hard to explain. How do you quantify despair? How do you describe a darkness so heavy that it feels like it is crushing the oxygen right out of your body?

I consider myself a thinker. I love knowing things. There is nothing more exciting to me than doing research only to discover something new and unexpected which spins you off reading in another direction. I spend a lot of time in my head. I think about my life and decisions I have made. Where I was and where I am now. I feel like I am winning this war. It has been a very long time since I have thought about not being here. I often joke that I am handling my shit about 80% of the time.

Then Robin Williams killed himself. I grew up loving Robin Williams. He spoke to me like few other artists did. Some of his stand up was a window right inside me. I cried a lot that night. I sat there and watched his movies and cried. I knew I shouldn’t do it. That I should distance myself but I couldn’t stop. I could feel the darkness surrounding me but couldn’t do anything to stop myself from not making it worse.

I may be handling my shit 80% of the time but damn that 20% is still a complete fucker. This week school started and I could feel the depression start to lift. My students are like medicine. So are my cats and running and reading and writing. So are my friends and family.

I am broken. I can’t change it. I can only manage it. I wish it was otherwise but I have to be ever vigilant. I suspect that my 80% thing is complete and total bullshit. I have come a long way. I still have a long way to go. Luckily, I am stubborn and love a good challenge.

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About csdaley

C.S. Daley was born in California but has spent most of his life in his imagination. His first short story written in third grade, the now classic "Close Encounters of the Turd Kind," was sold to his next door neighbor for a quarter. The neighbor promptly demanded a refund. An unhealthy obsession with the writings of Neil Gaiman, Christopher Moore, and Terry Pratchett have left his mind warped and broken. He spends most of his evening swilling down coffee while tapping at a keyboard under the watchful eyes of his kittens. They are there to make sure he doesn't snap. He likes to write fantasy for adults and teens.

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