(if you’re not in the mood for serious or rambling, you might want to avoid the below and I’ll be back with less serious, but not less rambling, when this funk passes).

I wanted to link to this video, but apparently I’m not allowed to embed this specific one, so go watch it instead. I’ll wait until you get back.
http://youtu.be/gH476CxJxfg

There’s something about me I don’t talk about very much. Not online, in real life, anywhere. I don’t like to bring it up because a lot of people suffer from depression and I don’t have anything new to say about it.

Another reason I like to keep it under wraps is because of the things that will consistently trigger a downward spiral is not being heard. That means I try and avoid situations like:
Me: Life sucks. I suck. What’s the point?
Someone else: I’m sorry, what? Want to see my new phone?

Something that doesn’t depress me. Ever. Not to-date anyway. Writing. If I can lose myself in a story, I mean actually lose myself, then the world becomes a brighter place. Even if it’s a sad story.

For a long time I tried to separate writing and depression. I swore that one didn’t have anything to do with the other. Except they’re more intertwined than I wanted to admit. The most obvious reason is they both define me.

There are so many things I’ve done in my life and then just walked away from. They bored me after a while. Except bored isn’t really the right word. I believe with any skill/job/talent/task, there’s at least one apex that has to be crossed in order for someone to be truly spectacular. Someone has to recognize that apex and want to cross it and have the knowledge to do so.

I used to work for a screen-printing company. I made sure the images were ready to go to press. If you’ve ever worked in the industry, I created the film the screens were made from (stupid technical jargon). I sucked at that job because I never had the desire to cross that apex and learn how to make sure the artwork was clean before going to press. I used to work in technical phone support. I…tech supported. I wasn’t bad at the job, but I loathed it because I never had the desire to learn how to deal with irate people on the phone.

I’m a database developer now. I’ve tried several times in the last twelve years to change careers, but I always end up back here. I will probably always do work like this for as long as I have a day job. I can always see the next apex, and cresting it is painful sometimes, but I always manage. Something about the work compels me to continue to learn and grow.

In my professional career, the people I’ve worked with remember me for that. This skill set defines a part of me. And it means when people want answers, they listen to me.

I used to want to be a photographer. I’m brilliant with the technical aspect of a camera. I know how to set shutter speed, aperture, adjust for lighting, all that. I suck at framing a shot. My mind doesn’t realize that what my eye sees is not what the camera sees. I used to want to draw comics. I got frustrated and gave up before I made it past basic ‘how to draw’ books. That wasn’t something I had the patience to pursue.

I’ve always wanted to write. And each time I hit an apex it’s the most painful thing I swear I’ve ever experienced. Each time I realize I’ve progressed another step in the craft, but that I’m still not there yet. Except I keep pushing.

I like it when people say “that’s Lori. She’s a master of our data.” I love it when people say “that’s Lori. She’s a writer. Someday I’ll tell people I knew her back when.”

Writing is a part of me. For whatever reason, it’s the artistic medium that speaks to me and allows me to speak through it.

Except…I’m not just writing to sate the demons (not to purge them, never to purge them. The demons drive me). I know, purists say if you’re writing for anyone but yourself, you’re doing it wrong. But I think that’s too simple a statement.

I don’t write automation scripts because I like watching information copy from one place to another all on its own. I don’t talk to hear the sound of my own voice. Otherwise, I’d just think it.

I don’t write just because I like my own stories. Otherwise I’d spend all day daydreaming and none of it would ever make it on paper. I want to share. I want to know that someone else sees something satisfactory in my words. I want someone to read my stories and say “Yeah, I get it. Wow.”

I think up stories because I like new stories. I write because I want to be heard.

If no one wants to hear what I have to say, there’s no reason for it to ever leave my head either verbally or on paper.

Did you watch the video?

I haven’t reached the billboard part of things yet. And right now I can’t stop asking myself “is anyone listening?”

On days (weeks, months…don’t tell but I’ve been in this current hole since November and working on my last two projects was what kept me afloat) like today I wonder, is it worth it?