The best thing

The best thing about having a blog no one reads, is it truly begins to feel like a private journal. Of course, nothing is private on the internet, but I find the illusion easier to sustain in the quiet of flying under the radar.  I haven't posted in ages; I always used to think 'time to start living and stop writing.' So I was living, marrying and working and sowing my seeds. But that depression which thrives under my skin, parasitic and invasive (but so much a part of me) is alive and well. I have medication to subdue the worst of the episodes. But tonight I come face to face with all of my failures.  It is hard in this state to remember there is good I have done on this Earth. Hard to remember the kindnesses I have shared with others. The humiliations come back to me, all the times I fell short, the times I failed and failed and failed again. So many lessons never learned because I am like an underwater creature who never learned to move with the waves; they crash into and over me. I am a mistake in an evolutionary history which has resolved in the most beautiful of creatures. I am fairly certain without the resources of modern medicine and technology, I would long ago have been eliminated by the process of evolution, a casualty of survival of the fittest. My kind were never meant to exist, but somehow we were lucky enough to make it through. I know this is subsidiary of the sadness, the disease of depression culpable. I know, while a disease, all my pains are due to my own choices, further mistakes I make in the realm of the living. But the knowledge doesn't ease the hurt of living, or the fact that my own cowardice and futile love of life keeps me from slipping over the edge. I love this place, I love those around me with everything I have; my love is my only success. I have never failed in loving, only in being loved.