Since talking about my personal struggle with Depression in a blog post on the 6th of August 2016, a moment that SO many people talked about locally and thanked me for bring out in the open, and still do, there have been, going on the known average, 1395 more suicides in Australia.

1395 deaths in 4 months!!!!!  WOW!!!!!

It’s a forgotten number. A dismissed total unless it hits you personally, and when it does it’s just a single number and it weighs you down more than any statistic could. It’s real. It’s not a number. It’s death and incomprehensible loss.

But the thing is, until or unless it happens to you, no one ever thinks it will.

1395 … and it will be 1403 this time tomorrow. Think about that for a while. And if you’re not reading this straight away, think about how many have died in the time since. On average … 8 people die from suicide every day in this country. It’s so scary … and it’s important. It’s SO important.

Life is a funny thing.

Time is devoured by our past at a more violent pace than any of us, or at least any of us over 40, like to admit.

We turn 18 and life is never-ending. We hit 25 and suddenly we feel like we’re old but have no idea that we’re still a child. 30 arrives and our friends and family jokingly tell us that life is over as we know it. Then, out of the ridiculousness of nowhere, 40 arrives. What the fuck? 40? How the hell did that happen! 40!!

Is such a crazy premise even possible in the reality of what we thought life was? The answer, unfortunately, or fortunately, for many, is yes. 40 arrives before we know it. At 43 myself, I haven’t made it far enough to know yet, but I’m sure that 50, 60 70, and hopefully years beyond that exist too.

I’m a very lucky person, in that both of my parents are in their 70s and are very healthy. I have many friends that aren’t as blessed as I, and I don’t take this luck, and it really is luck, lightly. I don’t see or talk to my parents as often as I should, and the same goes for talking to my two older sisters too, but I can tell you without a word of a lie that I have a better relationship with my family than most wish they could ever have. We all have so much fun in each others company. It’s so good that it almost feels like I’m going to wake up one morning and find that my family is all a dream. I’m an incredibly lucky son and brother. But … I’ve just never been one to need constant family contact, even though that has no bearing on my love for them.

Why I’m bringing all of this up is pretty simple. Topics like depression get mentioned, but are soon forgotten by most unless it’s kept in the public eye. This isn’t because people around us don’t care, most really do, it’s because there are so many life-changing issues to grab our attention from day to day. But we need to remember that life, a journey that slides by at a permanent, out of control rate, can seem fantastic, but it still gets the best of us down. It drags us into hell even when it seems like we have everything that we want. It’s a total bitch! From the outside, everyone else’s life looks easy, perfect, and even what you would wish for. In reality, there is always pain or struggle hidden beneath the surface that everyone else doesn’t see. The life you see as perfect, isnt. The people you want to be like are no better than you. But, your mind sees everything differently and wants this imaginary life that others live in. Our brains are ridiculously funny things and we shouldn’t be scared to tell them to fuck off.

In saying all this, I’m happier at the moment than I remember ever being in my life. There are many reasons for this, the main one being that fact that I survived, to this point, severe depression and am far more conscious of dealing with the triggers that set me off. That doesn’t mean that I don’t hate my life from time to time and don’t want to drag myself into a dark hole and hide away from everyone, it just means I’m surviving … so far.

Most know that I fully admit that I will suffer from depression for the entirety of my life. That’s a truth I don’t hide from, and shouldn’t have to.

There are many moments, mostly obvious but many unknown, that have allowed me to move forward in my life and still be here today to be able to type this, but the main reason is resilience. I’m not the toughest guy on the planet, but I don’t want to die yet. I want to know what else is possible and what else is in my future. It’s all so unknown and I don’t want to miss that, good or bad. I’m not saying I wont have dark moments in my future – I’m a realist – but I’m not planning on giving up on what could be.

So that’s me. What about you?

What about the people you know. If you’re not suffering from some form of depression yourself, people close to you are. That’s a fact. We’re good at hiding it because we still don’t feel like talking about it is accepted. It still makes us feel like we’re weak in your eyes. And because of that, we drink too much, we act like we hate you, we cut ourselves in places you can’t see, we keep ourselves away from others, we think about ways of ending our lives daily, our work suffers, our relationships splinter, our friendships crumble, and we want to run away from everything.

Unless you have suffered from depression, you just don’t get it. That’s not a bad thing, but you just can’t understand how it feels. I encourage everyone who cares about this subject to find out more information so you know how to deal with people around you who suffer from it. Just saying “Snap out if it” or “Just don’t let it worry you” doesn’t work. Depression isn’t a runny nose that you blow to fix, unfortunately.

I’m going to stop typing now because, odds are, you haven’t made it this far. But if you have, you care, so share this post on your Facebook page and help me keep this issue out in the open. Please. You might save a life. It might even be mine. I’m not scared to admit that. Every day is a different day.

If you need someone to talk to, or you know someone who may need help, call Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14. They really can help xx Please don’t give up xx There’s so much love out there waiting for you xx

There are times when, for no logical reason, I feel an almost nervous need to share my feelings about a period of my life that I shouldn’t want a share. Fuck it! Who am I trying to kid? Myself? This only ever happens when I’m drinking, which is exactly what I’m doing now. Alcohol is a doorway to my darkness, a key to my internal conundrum. The bitch welcomes me in with open arms. It’s always been an opening to a place that I fucking hate and would love to stab in the face and spit on, but also need, because it’s part of me … forever, even though just admitting that makes me sick and disappointed in my own existence. It makes me feel disconnected from most of the people in my humanity network. It’s that annoying member of the family that you don’t talk about, but can’t get rid of. We all have the one person we’re related to that is just not worth the time … be honest … you could name them instantly. If you can’t then you’re probably the one your relatives are bagging out. In this instance though, it’s not a relative.

The thing I hate, the charcoal cloud that floats close by and never leaves, is depression.

It’s a word that’s gained acceptance, and is almost cool enough to chat about, but is still as hard as fuck to discuss, because just mentioning it makes it real. This shady friend arrived at some stage after my wife left me in 2008. I don’t blame her for this unexpected dark interaction, not now I’ve had years to evaluate those moments, because all roads lead two ways. She was, and still is, a beautiful person, and I’m incredibly honoured to have had her love in my life. I realise now that there were always demons tangled deep inside me, wrangling patiently, waiting to tighten their grip around my throat when the time was right. But here’s the killer. Here’s the cliff-hanger. When they grabbed, they strangled the absolute fuck out of me. Depression is such a difficult creature to put into words because there isn’t a feeling that fits. No words can truly explain what depression is. I think this is the main reason why people struggle to understand it and just wave it off by saying generic things like … “Snap out of it” … “Be more positive” … and “Just forget about it, it’ll be okay”. Depression isn’t a choice. It’s a painful, dilapidating disease that controls every minute of every day, and all of those seconds that make up those valuable minutes of life are smothered with a stank, wet blanket that is too heavy to lift away. You drown every day and positivity and clarity are a fantasy forever out of reach. Imagine having hot tar poured over you every day while the people closest to you are telling you that it’ll all be okay. It’s an unexplainable son-of-a-bitch. And everyone around you looks happy. Every fucking person looks like they are out of a magazine or starring in your favourite TV show … and you hate them for it. They all look so fucking perfect … the exact opposite of how you feel and what you see when you glimpse a reflection of yourself. I realised that I had some serious issues (something that drinking a bottle of bourbon every evening after work should have pointed out) after a friend, who I consider my brother, told me that suddenly changing my Facebook profile photo overnight to a gravestone wasn’t cool. Not cool at all! It threw up a few warning flags to those close to me. All I knew was that, at the time while drinking and listening to Breaking Benjamin, that photo was exactly how I felt. Dead. Inside and outside. Dead as fuck. So why not change my photo to how I was feeling. At the time there was no realisation or consideration for how anyone else would feel. I didn’t care at the time. It wasn’t done to get a reaction. I truly didn’t give a shit. The fact that someone cared enough the next day to phone and talk to me about it wasn’t something I was grateful for, it was painful. It didn’t change the road I was on, but in reflection, I’m glad that someone cared.

A painful memory stands out within the dark fog that controlled that stage of depression in my mid 30s (approximately 5 fucking years) I had a girlfriend during that time. I was looking after my parents’ house and she was there with me. I suddenly felt a wave of unexplainable sadness and walked outside to look at Penguin, my home town. I looked out over the hundreds of houses and just cried. My girlfriend asked what was wrong. My recollection (in my mind) of that moment still makes me uncomfortable. I said, “How do they do it? How do they get up every morning, go to work, come home, and go sleep … knowing they are going to do that same fucking thing every day of the rest of their lives. Nothing will ever change. That’s all they have to look forward to. Nothing else. The same fucking thing over and over again!”

But here’s the thing I said next. This is the part that gives me shivers, that gives me goose bumps while I’m typing this … because I still remember the feeling I had as though it was five minutes ago. I said … “How do they do it? Why aren’t they killing themselves?”

I truly couldn’t understand how they could deal with knowing that the rest of their lives were just a repeat of the mundane, nothing else to look forward to, because my mind didn’t believe there was anything out there worth living for. That dread, that loneliness, that false realisation of how I perceived life to be a repetitive hell, was so utterly smothering that the memory of it brings forth tears just typing these words. It felt, and the memory stills feels, so fucking real.

My girlfriend at the time was/is an incredible woman and didn’t deserve the crap that my screwed up head pummelled her with. I’m still sorry for what I put her through, and for what I don’t realise I put her through. I wasn’t a good person then. I deserve no forgiveness, but I didn’t know any other way to be. I was a mental mess, even when I thought I was happy.

I should have seen a doctor and looked into medication and/or talked to someone about my problems when it was really bad, but I didn’t want to. It wasn’t because I was being typically male. I just didn’t want drugs to dull my creativity, but the ironic thing is, I didn’t write a damn word worth reading during that time. Not a thing. I kept deleting everything because I didn’t believe it was worthy. Funny, huh! I should have talked to someone. I believe, now, that it would have helped, but I was stubborn. Dealing with depression wasn’t as open back then though. It’s amazing how different thing have become in the last few years. Our communities have become more accommodating and understanding and open. We have a long way to go in many areas, but we’re getting there. I have such hope for the human race and where we are heading. Depression is talked about. It’s not a hidden topic. It’s a son-of-a-bitch and can go fuck itself, but having it out in the open is fantastic.

I still have days when I know it’s watching me (That’s why I have a tattoo on my right arm to remind me that I’m just fighting myself). There are days when that black dog is growling and wanting to be fed. It’s tough, because after coming so far it’s such a kick in the guts to realise it’s never truly going to leave me. Depression is a life sentence. That’s just how it is. But I’m prepared to fight the fucker until I have nothing left, and if you see me fall, give me a hand. I promise I’ll appreciate it.

Please, if you know people who are going through dark times, even if you think they are just looking for attention, show them some anyway, because they may really need it. You may save a life. Is there anything more worthy of your time?

“On days like this, when the clouds are so thick and grey, it’s like all my past ghosts cling together, judging me from wherever they are.

They look down, changing faces and pointing wispy fingers.

And when their tears rain down and hit my skin … I remember all their wasted pleas.

They all come flooding back, every one covered in blood, and you know what?

You know why I like days like this so much?

Because fuck them. Let ‘em cry.

Fuck ‘em all to hell.”

The grey sky is melting and dripping over everything outside so it’s a perfect day to sit at my laptop, a lone warrior with a keyboard for a weapon.

Before I jump violently into a full afternoon of writing, I’m re-reading the last few thousand words of Deadlight – Part 2, the current WIP (work in progress), to let it all flow back in, while listening to a new band for the first time.

They’re called Starset. If you’re a fan of bands like 30 Seconds to Mars and Breaking Benjamin, I’d really recommend you have a listen. A friend in the USA, unfortunately so far away, recommended them to me when I posted on Facebook that I was listening to another band called Seether. I find so much inspiration for my writing when I listen to music. Music is emotion. It grabs what’s inside and directs you to where you need to be. Anyway, check out Starset. I’m liking the hell out of their debut album, Transmissions.

In regards to the current writing project, I need to punch out 4,500 words over today and tomorrow to reach my target of 20,000 words in total by Sunday night. Then the plan is to smash out 10,000 words a week for the next 6 weeks. I’ll then have roughly 80,000 words, the first complete draft of Deadlight – Part 2 by the end of June. It’s a big task, considering I work during the day and write of a night, but I’m motivated right now so I’m going to grab that box with motivation written on it and abuse it as much as I can.

Once the draft is done, I’ll possibly get really drunk to celebrate I’ll definitely get really drunk!

Then the draft will be set aside for a few weeks so I can come back at it with a fresh mind, ready to re-write complete sections, rip others to shreds in disgust, and if I’m lucky, wonder if it was really me that wrote the awesome parts.

While this break is in motion I’ll be appearing at Oz Comic-Con in Melbourne on June 27 & 28. Supanova in April was fantastic and I’m super keen to see how Comic-Con goes. Hopefully I’ll sell a bundle of books, meet some awesome people, and have a fantastic trip.

The plan after Deadlight – Part 2 is written and sent off to be edited?

Well … I really want to put time and energy into bringing out my first anthology. I’ve been playing around with this idea for years now and I really want to bring it out of the wilderness so others can see it.

It will include most of the 8 stories that appeared in various anthologies in the USA, unless I despise them so much now and want to burn them all in a moment of crazy depression. Nearly all were created before Deadlight was released and will be re-written to a better standard. Some of those tales are set in Raven Beach where my second novel, Monochromacy, is based. Raven Beach is, of course, based on my home town of Penguin, so that’s a barrel of blood-soaked fun right there!

I may include a few small poems that were put to paper years ago. I don’t think they are very good, to be honest, but readers seem to like that dark space inside me let loose in a few short words. No concrete decision has been made on this yet. Watch this space! Haha.

And there will be a bunch of new stuff. I keep a files full of ideas that just come to me from time to time. They range from outright gruesome, to terribly violent and horrific, to strangely sexual and bizarre, to just plain wrong! But they want to be brought to life.

The working title for this anthology is Fictional Therapy. Because all of us, at some time or another, need it.

But for now …

I need to go … Sarah is driving an old Volkswagen beetle down a lone highway in search of a deserted carnival in a town she never knew existed. Some things should remain hidden, but they never do.

Till next time, never be afraid of the nightmares in your head because they’re part of you.

I decided to start a blog and really push the usage of my website. Other than for book orders, the site gets lonely. It, understandably, craves attention. And I realised that if I’m going to release these entries into the online wild, they need to provoke something in people and not be as boring as a week-old loaf of bread. They need to make people think for a moment, be angry or sad, or maybe make them just want to tell me I have no idea what I’m talking about. Any response is worthwhile.

So with all that in mind I have no choice but to rant about something that niggles the hell out of me.

THE WAY PEOPLE REACT TO DEATH

If, via Facebook, a news/media outlet reports the death of someone in, for example, a car accident, we all think it’s a terrible thing. Death sucks and it’s dreadful, no matter how or when it happens.

But then what happens?

All these online followers of this page who don’t know these people or their families, or in many cases, don’t even live within 100kms of the deceased, start leaving the stock-standard messages that serve no purpose, other than to increase the Facebook stats of the particular media page you follow.

“R.I.P” or “My thoughts are with the family” or “What a terrible waste of life.” And my personal favourite … “Such an attractive girl didn’t deserve to die so young.” (Why does how good-looking you are make your death more important, for fuck sake!!)

Now … right at this very moment you are thinking that I’m a heartless beast of a man who, obviously, doesn’t care for other people. Guess what? You’re wrong. I’m an incredibly sensitive guy. I even watched The Notebook … liked it quite a lot … and cried at the end.

That makes me compassionate, doesn’t it?

So where am I going with all this? It’s simple. These messages are a complete waste of time and for some bizarre reason, you are only writing them there because you feel like you should. You feel like it’s the ‘right thing to do’ … or you want to be seen as ‘human’ in the eyes of others.

Well, here’s the truth of it all. It means JACK SHIT if you didn’t know the person involved or the family. It’s a waste of time. And if you do it just because it makes ‘you’ feel better about the bad things in the world around you … then stop that too, because it won’t change anything. Nothing!

Now while we’re on the topic of how we react to death, here’s an interesting point to leave it on.

There is a great movie called St. Vincent starring the amazing acting talent that is Bill Murray.

(SPOILER ALERT) His wife has recently died in the movie and the young boy from next door just finds out and has a short conversation with him out the front of his house. It’s a great moment and it makes you realise that we say things because we think we should, instead of saying the things that mean something.

Young Boy : “I’m sorry, Vin, for your loss.”

Vincent :       “Never understood why people say that.

Young Boy : “They don’t know what else to say.”

Vincent :       “How about … What was she like? Do you miss her?  … What are you gonna do now?”

As always, if you don’t like what I’ve said, let me know … but in the end remember that the only thing you can really do is … Blame Stephen!

It was always dark and morbid – a doorway, a mental release.
I haven’t written poetry for years, and to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it, but it served its purpose.
So … for something a little different … I give you ‘Imagination Cage’.

Imagination Cage

I live this life like a useless grain of salt.

Rubbed into a wound that will forever be my fault.

I try to reach out, to grasp what should be there.

And every time my grip tightens, hidden in the dark, it stares.

I struggle to find the answer within this torrid wave of rage.

Perhaps my heart is just a cruel mirage in an imagination cage.

The hope will always linger while that thing in the dark looks on.

But I’ll always know, deep inside this shell, the chance is forever gone.

© Troy Barnes 2009