I’ve battled depression since I was a teenager. I’ve had two suicide attempts in my life. This last time was different. Before I get into that, let me talk about pot. Rather, here’s what pot did to me (instead of making sweeping generalizations): it slowly choked to death every good quality about me.
The last three years I have been a terrible human being. I didn’t remember people’s birthdays and, much like Janice in accounting, I just didn’t give a fuck. I stopped going out of my way to make drawings or music mixes for my friends. I started three different screenplays that I got two pages into then stopped. I was that guy that would post things like, “BIG THINGS HAPPENING!” “JUST YOU WAIT!” “HONK IF YOU’RE HORNY AND A VIETNAM VET!” (okay… maybe not that last one). I lost weight, which was scary because on a good day I weighed as much as a scarecrow full of wheat, because I was always worried. Worried about being found out as a fraud. My older brother and his amazing wife had a daughter and last week, after two years, I bought the first present I’ve ever gotten for her. That’s simultaneously pathetic and awesome (the fact, not the gift. The gift was a dope construction doo-hickey that she loves).
I started therapy today and am going to meetings again. I feel like my life has meaning and I have worth. I have an amazing job where I get paid to write jokes.