What am I to do?
I’ve been asking myself this all day today, as I sat in silence, binge watching Boondocks on Netflix.
Right now, silence is all I have because I can barely speak on what has transpired this entire week.
Whatever creativity I had left has dried up.
January 31st, 2014 was the day I quit my job. That was the day I told myself to step out on faith and just write and be free. My plan was to dedicate myself to blogging and freelance writing, with hopes of securing gigs and making a name for myself.
However, I didn’t factor in that I’m a Black gay male who suffers from major depressive disorder.
I didn’t see how any of these attributes would deter me from winning at life. These attributes make me who I am, and I’ve been masterful in embracing and accepting every part of it. I swear I have. Unfortunately, piece by piece, element by element, every part of me is affected by stuff. Stuff.
We see how it is to be a Black male in society. Add gay. Add mental illness. Now, add this election.
It was November of 2014 that I and my ex decided to part ways. That was the night I decided that love alone could not keep a relationship going. You can’t lead a horse to water to drink if he’s not thirsty enough. I thought it was the right decision.
However, I didn’t factor in how much I invested in him loving me.
I completely forgot that before meeting and falling in love, I was on a path of loving myself alone. Loving me was placed on standby because I didn’t need to worry about it anymore. I had him. Then, I didn’t. Then, I did, briefly. Eventually, I let it go.
Now, I’m a bachelor with not much to show for it. I don’t trust guys, and I’m compassionate to an extent. When I feel my kindness is taken for weakness, I become cold and distant. I’ve become the guy I never wanted to be – unattached and emotionless. Yet, my desires linger. Ultimately, I want to love again.
I have not yet experienced the freedom to openly love a guy. Now, add this election.
It was August of 2015 when I came to the realization that I had to move out of my apartment. Sacrifices were made, and I moved all of my belongings. Each day was filled with doubt, depression, and terrible thoughts. I lost money, I lost my pride, and I almost lost my will to live. I felt numb and unwanted. I felt like I lost. Fortunately, I wasn’t homeless. I had family and friends.
However, I didn’t factor in how long it’d take me to recover from my grief. It took time.
Unrealistically with my entire trauma, I told myself that I’d only live with my sister for 6 months. Then, I’d be out of there doing major things. No. Depression came, and it made itself comfortable. It took me some time to accept the grief, and then I actually had to grieve.
After that, I had to find a way to recover. I’m still recovering. I’ve applied for jobs, but I don’t get them. I feel my writing is terrible, so I second-guess it sometimes. This has slowed me down with developing my script and writing my book. On top of that, I am broke.
Now, add this election.
Everyone knows I’m gay. Everyone knows I can write. I am more visible than I’ve ever been. I feel completely isolated because of it. I’ve made good strides, written for reputable spaces, and I’ve even done a PSA. I have an awesome podcast, I run a self-love group for Black men, and I’ve made cool friends.
However, I didn’t factor in that I should’ve been making money from my creativity and influence.
I feel empty. The creative work I’ve put in over the years should’ve done something more than it has. My depression tells me that I’m a failure. I’m inclined to believe it. I no longer feel like I’m contributing much, so the creativity has stopped, and so has the writing.
I hardly blog, and I barely podcast. Everything I’m passionate about eventually fizzles out. I figure someone else will come along anyway, and they’ll somehow win. I’ve been doing the exact same thing but for some reason, it doesn’t land, so why bother? Now, add this election.
This election has done something to me.
Every part and piece of my life is affected by this entire ordeal. My mental health, my Black body, my income, and my social presence are factors. But this time, I’m aware. Something has to change, and I feel like I’m fighting a tireless fight against myself. There are days where I have a small victory, but I have more days where I just accept defeat.
All I feel I have left is my creativity, and I don’t know what to do with it to survive.
Subsequently, my mind is not at ease. I struggle in telling myself that I am valuable, while voting polls tell me I’m not. Nothing makes sense, so I’m silent. Of course, I assume responsibility for some of the things I have not yet accomplished. It’s just with this election, I don’t feel those accomplishments are achievable.
What am I to do?
Nothing makes sense right now.