I Don’t Want To Write Today

The Murmurs of the Past. The terror of the future.

I don’t feel like writing this week.

I really don’t want to write today.

I don’t want to repurpose old pieces.

I don’t want to finish my drafts.

I just want to relax.

But I can’t.

My December earnings were the most I have made on Medium.

A healthy 67 USD for a Medium Newbie.

But my writing is born out of excitement.

Excitement.

My excitement has turned to callousness.

My new “job” has turned me into a LinkedIn fiend. I am a hunter on the prowl for the deal that will finance the next three months of my existence.

I don’t want to write today.

Even my title is an anti-medium title.

It should be something like, ‘What to do when you don’t want to write.’ or ‘Here’s what to do when you have lost your mojo.’ or better yet, ‘What to do when you feel like you have messed up your life.’

I have no answers for any of them.

My wife is in Istanbul for a meeting.

I have very few bookings today.

Tomorrow and next week, I am full.

Yet, I cannot take the day off.

The fear won’t allow such pleasures.

I felt like a dopey college student this morning as I observed my home becoming dirtier and dirtier.

I feel a heaviness in my head. One I haven't felt in years.

I decided to clean the bathroom from head to toe.

I washed down the balcony.

I hoovered and made the bed.

I did the dishes.

Lastly, I showered and shaved.

I feel a bit better. Maybe I’ll change the title of this piece. But to what?

I checked in on one of the drafts I began yesterday, and by God, I must’ve been low.

It read, ‘Help, I turned my back on stability in the hot pursuit of stability.’

Jesus.

Seeing the bright side of life is tough when you have a knack for depression.

My clean, modern, and well-located apartment is none of those things in the eyes of the dissatisfied man.

It’s little more than a dwelling for the damned.

I went to the office yesterday to have a meeting with the team.

I wore my suit and my new watch.

I looked good.

Professional.

Like a man who has his sh*t together.

Do other suited men and women have the same doom swirling in their skulls?

The coordinator for Turkey told me that the director wants to do a project with me next week.

These are all positive signs.

But I feel my downfall edge ever closer.

My bookings for my lessons are stacked. I could run a small school with the number of clients I have.

Yet, my downfall feels near.

I scheduled some work and tidied the apartment some more.

I miss my wife right now.

Solitary confinement used to suit me.

I spent 2 years on Reunion Island basically alone and most definitely broke.

I often wonder what those two years did to me mentally.

I was so used to being alone.

Happy alone.

Away from chaos and heartache.

It suited me.

I began to understand myself.

But the 23-year-old man who observed that fractured 23-year-old mind was not equipped to understand it.

The 35-year-old man with more than a decade of literature and therapy has a stronger grasp.

I am so lucky I didn’t kill myself.

The darkness flowed through my soul during those hot island nights as I lived off an egg a day with some broccoli.

2 years of nights talking to myself, crying, and scampering for money so I could one day buy a ticket home.

One night on the island, I ventured to a party in the middle of a dormant volcano.

It was full of young people enjoying their gap year.

I was not one of them. I wasn’t on a gap year.

I was lost.

I remember all the girls being intrigued by me.

I was handsome.

I was in shape from starvation, bronzed, and chiseled, and my hair was Christ-like.

But I was angry.

Despite being accepted by rich gap-year kids, I couldn’t handle it.

The conversation was centered around the next day’s activities.

I could barely afford to buy milk.

I was 23, lost, and surrounded by younger people who had it all.

I remember drinking a bottle of rum and smoking a heavy joint by a campfire.

The stars seemed so close at that altitude.

I remember passing out in a church and waking in a panic.

Somehow, I made my way to my dwelling.

I don’t want to say why I left the party or why I left.

But I left.

I remember going back to my attic above the school I worked at.

I remember being low.

I remember losing my mind as it finally dawned on me that flying to an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean with no return ticket, no money, and no job was not normal behavior.

It was at that moment that I figured that there was something inherently wrong with me.

It terrified me.

There were no friends that night to talk me down.

I wrestled with my thoughts.

I felt the black tar engulf my brain for the first time. I could feel it ooze and then squeeze as every decision, bad memory and action from the past hit me at once.

I was curled in the corner of the attic, in tears, and contemplated my escape.

Walking down to the beach and drowning myself was my first option.

Realization is good, but not for the undiagnosed, lost, and fractured man.

Thoughts of “just do it” slithered through my cranium.

Dawn was almost upon me as a familiar sound rang.

The birds.

Every morning at 5 a.m., they would sing.

I remember my father saying one day on Skype, “How lovely it must be to be awoken by colorful island birds.”

I dried my tears and ran to the beach.

I took off my clothes and dove into the ocean.

Under the water, I followed the tiny fish, felt the rocks, and allowed seaweed to run through my legs.

I emerged from the glistening Indian ocean the same person that went in, but calmer.

I went back to the attic.

I cleaned my room.

I shaved.

I booked more lessons.

I started writing.

I soon made enough money to fly home.

I moved to Turkey.

I got a great job.

I married the love of my life.

I have opportunities coming out of my ears.

It’s just a moment.

Moments come and go.

I have been Peter Murphy, and you have just read my stuff.

Hello, it’s Peter.

Depression is very serious but very manageable.

If you or a loved one suffers, please see a therapist.

It's a relief, not a burden.

As I am not a qualified professional, I will not be sharing any links but will recommend talking to your local healthcare provider.