Over the past ten years, I’ve sadly observed that depression makes you a coward. I avoid confrontation like the plague, and despite my abilities, I’ve even avoided pursuing those things at which I would likely be successful…
…because I might fail.
Well no shit. I might fail. I could professionally perform on stage if I set my mind to it… but I might fail. I could start my own business… but I might fail. So I’m still sitting within the loving arms of the same dead-end job I’ve had for ten years. Even within the company I work for there is another position that I could fill that would pay a lot more… but I might fail. Of course by never trying, I do fail.
The interesting twist on this is that I’ve recently discovered that the closer I come to true despair, the braver I get. If you’re willing to die, there’s no failure so great that you can’t escape it. And thus I’m actually pushing boundaries that have stymied me for years. Maybe it’s some bizarre evolutionary survival mechanism — the closer a person comes to self destruction, the very thing that puts him there pulls him away from that brink.
I don’t know. Still lost. But there’s this perverse hope born of the loss of all hope. Who would have thought?