I wish I was smarter

If I was smarter, I’d be a better writer. I could do many things better, and I’d have made different choices.

If I was a bit wiser, I’d have not lost so many friends along the way, and maybe I’d not have these depressive episodes as often.

I think many of us want to be better, and I’ll not say it’s worse for me, but I’ve been really feeling it recently. I can feel the sadness in my heart and in my guts.

This is not a metaphor. I’m referring to the actual physical manifestation of symptoms. Being on the verge of crying, but never quite finding that release. Feeling like I would give up everything to be just a bit better.

What’s worse is the writers blocks that come harder when I’m depressed. I can’t write because it’s not good enough for me. It will never be good enough, but that doesn’t stop me usually. Now, it’s like a barrier that’s thicker than a titanium vault door.

Thanks for listening. It feels a bit nice to speak into the void.