if i could do everything again, i wouldn’t start this substack

reflections on a journey

if i could go back in time, i wouldn’t start this substack: i’d have prioritized much differently. i’d trade this whole substack away.

it’s taken me months to deal with my psychiatric issues, and now that i am waking up from them i’m wondering: what the fuck have i done to my life? i feel a void against my shoulder. my days are long and empty.

i know i’ll get a job soon. at least i hope so. but a job can’t undo the past: a job can’t reach back and peel away the veneer of depression that was draped before my eyes in a better time. i will still be left with all these shattered pieces, wondering about a different world.

when i imagine myself with a job, i imagine my life much the way it is now. except i go to work, but then when i come to my apartment i still don’t feel as though i’m home. at the very least, i am less worried about money.

my depression was once too intense for me to see reality. now i see a new reality and depression seems justified. because in this new reality i’ve claimed to seize everything i ever wanted — and i’m left with nothing but the sound of the dish washer running beside me.