From February to April 2018, my mind started to cater in on itself. In April, I had a complete mental breakdown. It’s hard to truly describe what I went through. It’s not a “feeling unlike any other”… it’s more like an earthquake occurred in my mind. Except, it wasn’t just an ordinary earthquake. It was the big one. Bigger, even. It completely shattered my mind. My thoughts started collapsing in on themselves over a period of two months, resulting in a cataclysmic waterfall of negative thoughts spiraling downward faster and faster until I went blank. The thoughts were all attacks on myself. This happened after ten years of unchecked depression. I wish I’d gotten help sooner… I can’t even begin to tell you what I felt in those months. Not just February to April, but April onward too. I didn’t recover for two to three years afterwards. Hell, the only reason I’m okay now is because I’m pretty sure I was put through an anti-depression “camp” of sorts late 2020. Otherwise, I have no doubt I would still be recovering as I write this now mid-2021. That’s not to say I’m fully recovered, either, as I have a lot of ground to make up in terms of the relationships I lost over the years — I have nobody left in my life — but I’m in a much better place now than I was for the last 10+ years of my life.

I think there’s a reason many people who once lived with depression or had other mental health issues don’t “give back” to the field: they don’t become advocates, write about their experiences, or reach out to organizations to help in some way or another. It’s because depression sucks. It zaps you of all joy in life. It is utter despair. Nobody wants to think about that time in their life if they’re able to escape the throes of what they were once put through. On top of that, mental health stigmas still plague society. I’ve been made fun of for “being sad”. I became the center of all jokes of a particular group of people around 2018 simply from being so out of touch with reality that I was an embarrassment of a human being. It was the same group of people who I had the breakdown in front of… the same group that mocked me as I delivered a speech at my best friend’s wedding. I was not a pretty sight… and they basically used me as the butt of all their jokes back then. If only they knew what a hard battle I’d been fighting for the last ten years…

If they knew who I truly was… they wouldn’t even question my actions or motives. They wouldn’t mock me for the words I uttered. They would bow down to their new god. They would fear the killer inside me. They would be inspired by me — the guy who, for the six month period he was let loose and before his depression hit, pulled so many girls he defied all logic of what it means to live as a guy in this world.

I find it laughable that I was tested for insecurities throughout the last year. I find it laughable that people presumed that was my “one big issue”, or that I was gay. Sure, I became a little insecure towards the end of my depression — especially when the mental breakdown happened — but it wasn’t a blip on the radar as to how insecure other people are. Sure, I might appear to some like I could be gay, but I am so secure in myself (and know beyond a doubt that I’m as straight as they come) that I laugh at those who think I’m gay. Particularly those who laugh at me for it. I don’t correct them. Think what you want. But know that you’re backwards in thinking if you think straight equals normal and gay doesn’t equal normal. Know, also, that you’ve opened the floodgates for me to mack on your girlfriend or wife. Know, finally, that attraction is chemical, and no amount of convincing yourself or your wife that I’m gay will help you when her eyes look into mine.

Insecure? I was tested for a year about my insecurities. Assumptions were made by everyone involved, including my dearest friends. If you can find the source of who tested me, they will tell you the answer themselves. I was put through the ringer and basically tortured for insecurities. I was purposely made to feel like certain things took place, or were going to take place soon that I should run away from or cry about or seek backup for. If I knew the group who was behind it all, I’d ask them to make me a report card. Was I insecure, bitches? And by the way, I have a good feeling the group behind it all included parts of the FBI, CIA, and mental health “professionals”. With that in mind, I still say: was I insecure, bitches?

I am more secure than everyone I know. I was more secure than everyone I knew even last year, when everything about me might’ve screamed “pansy bitch”. I’m small. Last year, my voice sounded like a girl’s voice. It was so high, I don’t wonder why I was tested for being gay. But don’t question the killer inside me… or, fear for your lives if you do. Between the way my mom raised me and the empath inside me, I have grown and grown and grown all my life. Hell, I’m pretty sure the Feds and the CIA have me on a watchlist for the rest of their lives. I think they’re scared of what they did to me.

Much ado about nothing. Follow me.