Saturday, January 28, 2017


I had somewhat of a feeling, but I don't think I had, or have, much of a grasp concerning what lies behind that inkling.

It's been a month since I sent that letter to Joseph. I tried to be patient, but after two and a half weeks, I sent him a text to reestablish a line of communication. That was two weeks ago today, accounting for this past month as a whole.

I've figured that he needed some time to mull it over, but I began to doubt if that was really the case as more days passed. I began to question if there was some mistake in the address I mailed it to, or the number I was texting--I did receive both from his aunt, after all. Who's to say that she didn't make a small mistake here or there?

It has been two weeks since my last text. Fueled by some mixture of desiring closure, clearing up ambiguity, and simply missing our friendship, I decided just an hour or so ago to text him once more:

"Joseph, I know that you're more than likely going through your own problems. I'll confess that I've allowed myself to fall into a pretty deep depression lately. It would make a big difference if you just said something--anything.

"You were the one who showed me the value of vulnerability, after all."

He responded:

"Aaron, I am so sorry I didn't respond to you. I have a letter that I'll get to you asap [sic] if you'll hold on just a bit."

I thanked him, and asked if he had a means of sending it. His response:

"If you would give me your email address I could get it to you faster, especially since its [sic] so overdue."

I have no idea what this foretells. I had no idea that he would need an entire letter to articulate a response to my thoughts. I mostly wanted to start a conversation, and be honest. I am clueless as to which direction this will lead, but one thing is for sure...

I need to calm down my heart rate before I donate plasma today...

*As always, names were changed to be consistent with the pseudonyms that I have used throughout my blog, to preserve the privacy of all involved.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

I'm Ready...Depression

So a week and a half ago, I texted Joseph, innocently enough, just to try and start a conversation.

When am I ever going to learn?

It's been terribly frustrating for me--I know having one or two good friends I can relate with would go a long way to helping me heal.

Where's the rock they're hiding under???

I've been in a funk off and on for the last two years, but this time the word "depression" is much more fitting. I've stopped working out in earnest--I've only used my cheat method to get any exercise whatsoever; I don't practice; I've put off business-related tasks; I've turned to one of my dearest vices, which is gaming, not to mention something else too private for me to feel comfortable sharing here that has flared up.

Now, before I say too much, I want to clarify something: Joseph is not to blame for my depression. The issue is how I'm choosing to respond. I'm being reactive instead of proactive. I completely own that. I will take responsibility for that.

There's a strong part of me that severely wants to have someone in my life to give me motivation, in and of himself, for me to live, to thrive. I had a poignant thought the other night. Satan has tempted me with things completely out of left field, and however terrifically uninteresting the idea would be, suicide has been a topic he has broached.

The thing is, I don't want to die. I couldn't kill someone, least of all myself. But I want another reason to live. I need it.

I thought also that I need a savior. Of course, I have one. I just wish I could walk and talk with Him, put my head on His shoulder, or in His lap. Despite some of the things I've struggled with, I would love to have the Lord here, in person.

They say that we're the Lord's hands. I do a considerable amount to "reach out", on His behalf. Whereas I don't do so to receive some sort of recompense, I can't help but wish that there was someone out there to help lift me up. Maybe that's what Joseph was once, but it seems like he simply doesn't care anymore. I wonder how much he ever cared in the first place. It would be much easier if I wasn't coming across so many reminders of him all the time.

I want to try to pick myself back up. But for right now, I'm going to grab my figurative (and occasionally literal) ice cream tub and crawl in a hole.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Seventy Times Seven Second Chances

It never ceases to amaze me how much of a difference just a little time in the temple can make. I didn't give myself enough time to perform any ordinances, so I sat in the lobby and prayed and pondered for the better part of an hour.

I was reflecting in the shower just now, thinking about the new dress pants I'll hopefully be picking up tomorrow. Considering my somewhat downcast tone lately, I figure my thoughts are timely.

It's funny how life makes you appreciate the little things.

Like when you walk into the bathroom while not paying attention. That moment of panic comes: "Did I just walk into the women's restroom?" You look around, and then breathe a sigh of relief.

You then have a newfound appreciation for the urinals you never use.

Or when you go to perform at a place you haven't been to in months, and a woman who has certainly inquired before asks you no less than six times in half an hour if you are married.

It's then that you begin to appreciate your mental health.

I've started noticing that I haven't had such an easy time fitting into pants I've worn for years. For most people, this would be morbidly depressing, but for me, I find it extremely encouraging. Much of my time spent working out includes the most taxing compound exercises there are, including squats and an alternate form of deadlifts meant to target the hamstrings (the muscles on the back of the thighs) and glutes. To see myself already beginning to outgrow my pants is really exciting.

I have always been very grateful for the amount of patience the Lord exercises with me--there seems to be no limit to the amount of second chances He extends to me. I try to be as lenient with life as He is towards me. Therefore, I'm going to pick myself up, dust myself off, and give life another shot. Who knows--maybe I'll get it right this time.