I was diagnosed with major depressive order before my tenth birthday and with a very few exceptions, have been told nothing has changed in the last thirty years. I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder the same time and, as before, little has changed in the three decades since. A little later in my life, after a few things came bubbling to the surface of the mind, I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They have toyed with Bipolar disorder, but they haven’t actually pulled the trigger on that one yet.

I have broken pretty much all of the not super vital to life bones in my body and some of them have broken three or four times, like my left wrist. I was having seizures in the womb, died a few times right after I was born, and have been medicated, and heavily at that, since the moment I was born for epileptic seizures. As an adult I have been diagnosed with chronic migraines and adult onset gigantism. I am slowly losing my ability to see, my Neurologist thinks I might develop multiple sclerosis in the future, and my shoulder hurts in weird ways all the time.

Bear with me I will explain a thing in a bit.

I have been shot at and stabbed, poisoned and drugged, raped and beaten. I have cried for my mother in front of three hundred people with blood coming out of all the major orifices of my skull and I was in prison when it happened. I have a history of self-harm and self-loathing.

Why am I doing this?

I am all of those things you just read. More that I won’t write about. I am a thousand little pieces of things that make the whole of me an there is nothing I can do about any of them that would make a damn bit of difference to anyone.

Just because you are broken does not mean you are trash.

I am a father to three Ducks that are the world to me. I know a Dragon, a Little Bird, a few wolves and a bunch of foxes. I am a good friend sometimes and even though I never shut up, I like to think that I am a pretty good listener. I am a hippie, pagan, bare-foot, peace sign waving super liberal. I have friends of all stripes, all types, all spectrum of wondrous joy and sensation. I have had the supreme honor of helping them in some of the things they have had to go through in life. I am a brother to a woman I have never met in person and a Bruncle to a woman I would kill to protect.

Yes, I really, REALLY, fucking hate myself some days. I get to dark places where horrible thoughts come into my head and I think things that I probably shouldn’t think. Yes, I occasionally do feel that urge to shoot up again, snort a line, or do bad things to myself to make the pain go away. Yes, I avoid situations I am afraid of because I do not have the capability of handling them the way I should. There are a thousand things I should do every day and I might get five done, and you know what, those five things don’t even get done right sometimes.

I lost my wife at our prime. I love and talk to her as much now as I did when she was still here with me. I burn bridges to get away from toxic people, even if those people blame everything on me and say that I am the one who has wronged them. I don’t have to “say names” because you know what, the motherfuckers read this shit and they KNOW I am talking about their ass. I forgave easily in my teens, a little harder in my twenties, a lot harder after my Dove died and now? Fuck all y’all that want to bring the Bear down, I think I do enough of that on my own thank you very much.

So why did I write this? I guess so I can see the words I needed to hear from myself instead of from others.

Maybe?

© 2018, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.