I’m From Littleton, CO.

by sam paxton

Not a lot of people go to the grocery store on weekday nights. A few people duck in after work, grab some bread or a gallon of milk, and zip out of there as fast as possible. Tonight, my lane is one of two still open, not counting the self-checkout machines which are, as always, more popular than we are. I stand under the fluorescent lights and listen to the blandly inoffensive pop music they’re piping in. All the songs are about romance. My depression helpfully reminds me that I’m a 23-year-old virgin who’s kissed neither boy nor beard. I tell my depression to shut up, and fiddle with the cash register. My job is a brainless job, but it’s not so bad. It gives me time to daydream, and think about where my life is headed, and where I want it to go.

If you’d asked any of my elementary school teachers where they thought I’d be in fifteen years or so, I doubt any of them would guess “high school dropout working as a checkout boy.” Up to about sixth grade, I was the star pupil of every class. Straight A-pluses, except when I just got A’s. I didn’t just want to be an astronaut, I went to Space Camp and memorized whole episodes of Cosmos and shocked adults with my in-depth understanding of black holes. I was Hermione Granger on crack.

I’d always dealt with some amount of bullying, but for some reason, it seemed to get worse in middle school. Maybe it was because the school was bigger, so there were more bullies. Maybe it was because I started to realize, deep down inside, that when they called me a fag, they were right. I came out to myself in seventh grade, and told no one, but somehow they seemed to sense it. I don’t know if I subconsciously sent out gay signals, or if their gaydar was so trigger-happy that they got a few lucky guesses along with a whole slew of false positives (that’s a distinct possibility; middle-schoolers call everyone gay), but it felt like suddenly every bully in the school was drawn to me like sharks to blood.

About that time, I started sinking into depression. I dreaded going to school. I’d go into greater detail regarding the bullying, but you all probably know the story by now. The name-calling, the beatings, the teachers’ total lack of concern – you know, the classics. My grades dropped like a stone until I was barely passing anything. By the time I got to high school, I’d completely given up on doing well in school, making friends, or being happy. (Just in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t go to that Littleton, CO, high school. And for the record, it’s not even technically located in Littleton, so quit blaming my admittedly crappy town for the sins of Columbine Valley.)

Maybe if I’d known then that I could have graduated in three years, or gone to Bard College at Simon’s Rock after sophomore year, or transferred to the hippie alternative school half an hour away, or just hung in there until I could escape to some east coast liberal arts college where everyone is gay or wants to be, I’d have kept going. But at the time, I didn’t know about any of those options. My teachers and guidance counselors told us all, “College will be just like this, only harder” – repeating that exact sentence again and again like it was a mantra. I guess they wanted to scare us into working hard, but it just made me lose all hope in ever escaping the cycle of harassment. It probably didn’t help that my image of college life came from movies like Animal House and Revenge of the Nerds, giving me the impression that the only difference between college and high school was that the bullies would be wearing togas instead of letter jackets. I ended up dropping out and getting a G.E.D. True to form, I got a perfect score on my G.E.D. test. My parents hung my results up on the fridge and left them there for months. I didn’t exactly give them anything else to be proud of me for.

Even though I was now free of the bullies, dropping out didn’t make me any happier. I found I didn’t need jocks to beat me up; they’d obliterated my self-esteem to the point where I’d happily do the job for them. Loathing myself for every perceived fault became like an addiction. Depression is sneaky like that. It’ll convince you to hate yourself for being gay, and when you get over that, it’ll convince you to hate yourself for being too closeted (You’re lying to the people you love!) or too out (You’re making people uncomfortable!) or not perfect enough (You’re making gays look bad!). And when you start to wake up and see the wreckage it’s made of your life, it’ll convince you to hate yourself for hating yourself. (If you were stronger, you wouldn’t be so sad all the time.) But the most sadistic trick it pulls is convincing you it doesn’t exist. I was clinically depressed for years before I sought any treatment, because I listened as it told me, You’re not depressed. You’re just lazy, and you’re using depression as an excuse to not do anything. You just want people to feel sorry for you. You just love feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t need a therapist or drugs; you just need to grow up and be a man.

I drifted apart from the few friends I had in school. I came to fear summers and holidays, when they’d come home and I’d run into them, hear about their happy lives at college or their volunteer work or their internships or their exciting jobs, and face the dreaded question, “So what are you doing with yourself?” I didn’t even have a dramatic, Oprah-worthy tale of surviving on the mean streets of Denver by selling my body for meth. I just hung around the suburbs and hated myself for the better part of a decade. I got lousy minimum wage jobs and lost lousy minimum wage jobs. I got on antidepressants and got off, and got on other antidepressants, and switched therapists a few times. Some days I woke up and the first thing that popped into my head was “I hate myself,” and I’d be contemplating suicide by breakfast. (Incidentally, Suicide by Breakfast would make a good name for an emo band.) I never did attempt, though, partly because I was afraid of how much it would hurt, and partly because I knew it would destroy my parents. I considered admitting myself to a mental health facility, but I didn’t do that, either. My six-word memoir: “I thought about it, but didn’t.”

A few months back, I enrolled in community college, which everyone around me applauded as a major step forward. (I’m just embarrassed their standards for me are so low.) I’m almost one semester in, and even though I still don’t know what to major in or what career path I’m working towards, I’m starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m getting good grades in my math class, which I never thought I’d be able to do. I could transfer to a four-year college, get a real bachelor’s degree. I just might end up going to one of those quirky east coast liberal arts colleges after all.

An African-American guy about my age comes up to my lane and unloads a handful of groceries on the belt. He is a walking greatest hits compilation of everything I find attractive in a man. Tall and slender, with broad shoulders. A dark red scarf tucked into his perfectly-fitting black pea coat. His movements are smooth, gentle. He’s slightly effeminate (not the loud and bitchy kind, more the graceful and sophisticated kind). Rectangular glasses compliment his square jaw and high cheekbones. I’m afraid to look directly at him lest I turn bright red and stammer like an idiot. So my eyes bore holes in his groceries as I scan them and mumble out my script.

“How are you doing tonight?”

“Well. And you?”

I have no idea what to say. He said “well” instead of “good.” No one does that. He asked me how I was doing. No one does that either.

“Great,” I lie, because when you ask your friendly neighborhood register biscuit how he is, you’re generally not looking to hear, “Crippled by clinical depression! And you?”

I continue my mumble-script. Does he have a membership card? No. Does he want one? Of course not, no one does.

SAM: I should flirt with him.

DEPRESSION: He’s probably not even gay.

SAM: Are you kidding? He has to be gay. Look at the way he walks. Listen to his voice. And for God’s sake, I’m ringing up his appletini mix! I should work that in somehow. Cheekily ask him if he needs someone to help him drink those appletinis.

DEPRESSION: Great idea! Then he can stare blankly at you and say he’s making them for a party. Or drinking them with his boyfriend. Or just with someone who isn’t a tangled knot of neuroses.

SAM: I’m getting better.

DEPRESSION: I wonder how many dates it would take for him to figure out what a loser you are? Are you even emotionally stable enough for a relationship right now?

His groceries all fit into one bag. I wonder if it means something that he didn’t go to the self-checkout lane like all the other evening customers? Or is that just wishful thinking? I take a chance, work up all my courage, and smile at him as I hand him his bag. He actually smiles back. I might have a heart attack.

I watch him as he leaves. He strides out of the store like he’s on a catwalk, poised, elegant, confident.

DEPRESSION: He probably thinks you’re racist because you were so unfriendly.

SAM: I smiled at him!

DEPRESSION: After acting really nervous and uncomfortable around him the whole rest of the time.

SAM: He smiled back at me! Maybe he thinks I’m cute. Maybe he’ll come back sometime soon.

DEPRESSION: Yeah, with his boyfriend. And he’ll tell him, “Let’s not go to that cashier. That’s the racist one.”

SAM: Oh, go fuck yourself. You ruined my life. I’m not listening to you anymore.

My depression tells me that this story is too long, too self-indulgent, too self-pitying. No one will want to read it. The dark humor is too dark to amuse anyone. The other stories on this website are way better. A story that is literally about folding laundry is more interesting than this story.

I keep writing.

Bit by bit, I’m learning that I’m not as worthless as I thought I was. I know that someday, I want a husband, and a house, and a cat. Maybe two cats. I’m starting to grasp that I could make that happen. I could have that, and even deserve it. I just have to go one step at a time. One semester at a community college. One smile at a cute boy. One story on a website.

Someday, somehow, I’ll be more than this.

43 Comments:

  1. This is such an accurate description of what my depression was like that it’s almost scary. I’m glad you’re doing better now. You are definitely worth something.

  2. Yeah I’d like to echo Ellen’s comments – this is exactly what it feels like.

    I’ve pretty much overcome my depression. For the moment. In the back of my head I know it’s something that’s always going to be lurking in the shadows of my mind waiting to pounce. I am hoping that when it does I’ll be stronger and smarter in beating it down.

    I’m so happy that you’re making progress. Things can and will get better – but I think you already know that :)

    Oh, and what an amazingly well written story that was.

  3. Sam, this is a wonderful story. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.

  4. It’s amazing that you actually did write the story, no matter what your depression told you. I know that it sucks, I spent four years in depression, not as long as you, but long enough to remember how it feels for a long time after its gone. I especially know what it’s like to contemplate suicide, but never actually do it for the exact reasons you didn’t, it almost makes it worse because you become ‘powerless’ to even take your own life. But I’m glad that you didn’t, that right there proves that you are more in control than it may seem and that you’ll definitely get out of it alright.

  5. Your story touched me because it is so similar to mine. I have the same voices in my head telling me that I’m worthless and discouraging me from doing things. Thank you for sharing. Your story made me hopeful.

  6. Funny – sounds familiar. I was also a high flyer – and I also battled the gay demons during high school, but I never gave up. Sadly though I have also landed up not working, on the dole trying to get by. The positive side – I had a good job but my illness (schizo) rendered me a train wreck. I had similiar days of negative thoughts – I got help – but like you I never recovered to the point where I was successful and capable and back to achiever level. It’s really sad. All I can say is that I hope you don’t let go – I hope that you make something of your life – otherwise the suffering wasn’t worth it.

  7. Sam, thank you so much for sharing your story. I found it chilling to hear someone describe their depression as something so closely resembling what I went through. I thought it was inspiring that you are taking your life back from your depression. And I thought it was just the appropriate amount of funny. I’m glad you took a chance and smiled at the cute customer, and I’m happy that he smiled back. Sometimes all it takes is a little gesture to show you that things will be okay.

  8. Sam, please tell your depression that your story is well written and interesting and that your story and you are both worthwhile. Please also inform your depression that you’re onto it and that it should listen to you when you tell it to go fuck itself. It deserves that.

    Good luck with working toward your goals. Each step is a victory no matter how small.

  9. Its a beautiful story ‘Sam’s depresssion’.. Shut up.

    I want it to continue, to hear how far you get, achieving your goals in baby steps, inspiring people suffering similar tales, and eventually kicking your depressions ass.

    Thanks for making me feel no so alone.

  10. You will help countless people with this story Sam. I wish you all the wonders of life.

  11. Wow, I am a 23 yr old virgin myself and I was a cashier for a few years. I could have written most of your story. That job just killed me somedays. So many handsome men go through my checkout and I would end up feeling sick and so unattractive each time. I don’t know how to explain it but I’m sure my very very low self esteem has something to do with it.

    I am glad you are slowly moving forward. I am too. I wish you all the best and thank you for that amazing story!

  12. Sam, you have given your father and me SO MUCH to be proud of, and it’s certainly NOT because “our standards for you are so low.” You have a gigantic hurdle to jump, and you’re jumping it, and in the meantime, you’re inspiring countless people. (And on top of that, you’re clearly a gifted writer!) Don’t ever forget your family loves you.

    Dear Sam’s Depression: STOP HARASSING MY SON! That’s my job. (just kidding!)

    Love,
    Mom

  13. I was a 26 yr old virgin before I was able to pull away from my self destructive thoughts and behaviors. I would always tell myself, they are too good for me. It’s still an everyday battle for me, but like you I am dealing with it one day at a time. Keep your head up and keep on smiling……….. it gets better and better as you go. Good luck!!!!!! Thanks for sharing, I love your honesty and someone else will see that too.

  14. Well Sam I think you’ve made an amazing impact. I’ve been reading these stories for a long time and never seen this much response, in one day’s time. You deserve better and are better than you think. As someone who’s suffered from depression and bi-polar, it has a tendency to real warp your sense of reality. Keep thinking those positive thoughts they do work. Good luck to you.

  15. I read it. This is my first time at this site, I heard about it on CBC, and this was the first thing I read. This is cool. Guys and gals, I know you may be depressed, but by telling your stories here you are helping the rest fight it.

    It may sound hollow, but way to go!

  16. These comments and this story really convince me of the fact that while going through something like depression may seem like a lonely struggle, it really is not a unique case but happens to countless people on a day to day basis. I am also 23, single my whole life, and although I struggled through long enough to go to college I’m pretty sure I’m no better here in grad school than you are there in that check stand. So kudos, Sam, for a great story; it’s up there with ‘laundry’!

  17. SAM – awesome job in writing and holding your audience. Excellent and can be visualized easily as a 12 minute video showing the internal and external dialogues.

    You betray yourself as an appealing, engaging, and many-faceted HUMAN and I applaud you.

    ‘depression’ – I do not want to hear from you directly – SAM will end up controlling you and, when that happens, I hug SAM and turn my back on you.

    Finally, Sam, this web site is an inspiration to a middle aged closted gay man. Seeing the strength and courage of so many people who have walked a part of my journey has been good. But, your story took me one step further – into a response.

    Thank you from my heart – Kirk

  18. Wow. I’m really blown away by all the comments. Thank you so much, all of you – you guys are awesome! It’s kind of sad how many people on this site can relate to this story. Living in a homophobic society really messes us up. But hopefully, that won’t be the case for much longer.

    Oh, and to Nathan or Rafi or whoever chose the picture at the top: beautiful choice! That’s the War Memorial Rose Garden. It makes me happy for such a lovely park to stand in as the visual representation of my hometown. Kind of sad that you can’t really see the roses on Google Earth.

  19. Wow, truly a wonderful story. It’s flabberghastly how there are so many of us out there feeling the same pain, pain that cannot be expressed due to fear. I just find it astonishing. I really felt your story and I even started crying when I read the comments (especially from your mom). Thank you and good luck. The experience of college is thrilling you will enjoy it.

  20. Dear Sam,

    Never posted on here until this story came–and there are many great stories here. Wonderful and powerful story that mirrors mine and many others’ experiences. Being gay in this world can be a very lonely and heartbreaking experience. But just imagine how you’ll feel when you meet that special first love…it’ll likely mean more for you than any first love a straight person ever had because you’ll have worked so hard to get to that place. You’ll fly on the highest kite imaginable, and I’ll smile for you when you get there. Hang in there kiddo!!

  21. Dear Sam,

    Like so many others, I was deeply touched by your story and very impressed at the quality of your writing. You have a gift–thank you for sharing it so well. Obviously, you have the ability to communicate with others in a way that touches directly to their hearts and causes them to identify with you. I did. Thanks. Hang in. There will be good days and bad days, but mostly, you will find that life gets better.

  22. Wow.

    I was very into this story the whole way, scrolling slowly so I wouldn’t give anything away to myself. And then when I got to the comments and saw that there were 21, I actually gasped and felt chills. It was like watching the good guy win at the end of a movie.

    Amazing, amazing story. And best of all, it’s exactly what this site is for. Obviously a lot of people can relate to your story. While that’s sad for its own sake, it’s so wonderful that you’ve now given them something that they can read and know that they’re very clearly not alone. And it looks like all these comments gave that back to you, too. :)

    Such a good job.

    (And the pics are all Nate’s choice. I was away for a few days so I’m just here catching up on reading!)

  23. Okay, then good job Nathan for choosing that picture! And thanks for publishing my story, even though it is too long.

    Obviously a lot of people can relate to your story. While that’s sad for its own sake, it’s so wonderful that you’ve now given them something that they can read and know that they’re very clearly not alone. And it looks like all these comments gave that back to you, too.

    Oh, they totally have. It’s probably horribly narcissistic of me, but I’ve been checking back every so often to re-read the comments and see if there are any new ones. It’s so funny – in like three hours in the middle of the night, I went from reading Nathan’s e-mail suggestion that I submit my story to thinking, “Hey, maybe I should,” to furiously typing this out and then immediately submitting it, to thinking, “Oh, crap, should I have done that? Is this story any good? Did I even spell my name right?” Between then and now, I’ve gone back and forth on it, thinking I should have posted it anonymously and cringing in embarassment at certain parts, and then thinking that it’s actually really good. All these comments – especially the ones from Ryan, Justin B, Dale, and Chris (not that the rest of the comments weren’t fantastic and very much appreciated) – have really helped me feel like less of a loser, particularly on a not-so-great day like today. I’m still having a hard time figuring out how my story is “amazing,” “beautiful,” or “wonderful,” but I’m glad I submitted it.

    And now I promise I’ll shut up. 😉

  24. Sam,
    I would first like to say that that was so eloquently and beautifully written. I would also like to say that you are worth something and that you clearly very intelligent and have much to offer to the world, and that you should allow that to happen, and try not to listen to your depression, no matter how difficult it gets. I also wanted to tell you that I’m from Littleton, and go to LHS, which is why I read the story in the first place, and am so glad I did.
    Love and sincerely,
    Hayley

  25. I’m another person who has said the same things to myself. My brain tells me all sorts of horrible things, and it has taken years for me to learn how to ignore it. Much of it still gets through.

    It’s not just college dropouts who get that. I’m most of the way to being a doctor, and at least twice a week I find myself wanting to quit and become a garbage man, because I’m obviously not good enough. It’s not true. I *am* good enough. I just have trouble believing it.

    The hardest part is when it comes to men. I’ve had a man throwing himself at me, and I refused to believe that he could possibly be interested in me, because why would anyone be interested in stupid little me? Well, he was, and I hurt him, because I couldn’t trust myself. I’ve never kissed a man, because I don’t have the confidence to flirt with anyone, and at the way I’m going, I’ll soon be the 40 year old virgin (only 12 years to go).

    You’re worthy. I keep telling myself Dr Frankenfurter’s mantra: “Don’t dream it. *Be* it.” Repeat it to yourself a few times. See how it feels.

  26. Sam,

    This is an amazing story. Don’t lose hope. You deserve to go nowhere but up.

  27. Most time I read the stories on this site and i feel nothing for the horrible events people go through or the wonderful love stories people have posted on this site, I have never posted a comment for anybody, you are the first person to make me leave a comment on your story, but Sam believe me when I say this but think your an amazing man, after reading your story especially the part when you was young and knew so much about the cosmos, and you sound like you have such an amazing intelligence, you sound like a wonderful person and any guy would be so lucky to have you, you are worth more then you think, you can offer so much to the world. I was like you to, I went thought bully but I was such a strong person that I never let them get to be, non of them never laid a finger on me and when I got to high school bully where afraid of me lol it sounds funny, but I get depress sometimes because I am not a very smart person and i have not talent, but you do, I hope everything get better for you, I know it will keep working on thinking positive and tell yourself everyday that your amazing and ignore the depression, that’s what i do and it works, but know things may not go one way for you but don’t get depress hang in there and know that it will be better, sorry for writing so much:) I can see a wonderful future for you.

  28. Hi Sam.

    Thank you for your story. I can relate to most of it. I have found a way out though and that was by insisting that I love myself. (not sexually…well, not all the time..LOL) It took time. It took years. Don’t worry, you will get there. You have people like me who would be more than happy to talk or help guide you in the right direction.

    Here in Littleton on business for the majority of 2 months. Staying by the Claim Jumper Restaraunt. I’d be more than happy to have a drink with you since I don’t know anyone in CO.

  29. Hi Sam,
    I concur with the others here that you seem to be a very special guy. I too had my self confidence beaten out of me as a child by bullies who resented the smart kid. Getting into college studies is a great way for you to reclaim that confidence. You will meet more people like yourself and you absolutely must take them at their word when they offer up compliments. When people say nice thing to you they mean it. I see a gifted story teller beginning to take back his life and that thrills me like you couldn’t believe. Just keep talking back at that little depressed voice who keeps cutting you down and don’t take his shit anymore. Eventually you’ll hear from him less and less until he becomes irrelevant. Then look in the mirror and channel that cute smart kid who wanted to be an astronaut. He’s still in there.

  30. what a interesting story… dont loose faith in yourself… march on my friend march on……. just life is what it is and its never too late and besides you are not even old you are just 23 year old you have your whole life ahead of you :)

    A KISS FROM ME TO YOU :)

  31. Sam, I just found this site and your story. This is a beautiful and incredibly well-written piece of… ummm, writing.
    I laughed: “Yeah, with his boyfriend. And he’ll tell him, ‘Let’s not go to that cashier. That’s the racist one.”
    I cried: your mom’s comment made me lose it.
    Thank you for putting this on the interwebs, and I really hope you keep writing.
    Love and hugs,
    Caitlin

  32. “The dark humor is too dark to amuse anyone.”

    Lies. I LOLed. We could be platonic gay soulmates.

  33. Years ago I felt much the same, and suffered much the same way as you have. I drowned my sorrows in alcohol, and at one point suicide was not out of the question. I could see no light at the end of the tunnel. That all changed when I reached a point when I said to myself “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”, to coin a phrase. After hating myself for years, I accepted myself for who I was, a gay man, and then life became meaningful and important. Everything in my life changed once I learned to love myself; I used to think that kind of self-help stuff was a lot of crap, but it was not. Coming out was not easy or painless in the small town where I lived, but I did it. I decided that I had wasted enough of my life in that backwater, and I moved to a much larger and gay-friendly city. All you have to do is decide what you want, set some goals, and then make them happen. Don’t let anything stop you from striving to obtain the kind of life you always dreamed about. Remember that your Mr. Right is out there anxiously waiting to meet you! I hope to hear that you are feeling much better and your life is moving in the direction you want it to.

  34. Thank you for your kind words, Silvan. But I already came out. I’ve accepted myself as a gay man; I just have yet to accept myself as Sam.

  35. I came here to watch my Mom’s video, and then what I thought was randomly selecting another story ended up being just what I needed to read today. Thanks for sharing your story through your gift of writing. The way you put words together is inspiring! I hope you know that those who are commenting here are only a teensy representation of the souls you are affecting. Good ripples, Sam. Thank you.

  36. Thank you for such a real story Sam. It is a common story for gay people. I am happy you are feeling better now. We can do it!! Hugs

  37. Hey Sam,

    I just stumbled upon this site and decided to search for Littleton stories as I’m from there as well. I found your story so raw and honest and relatable. I’m 21 and have been out for 2 years now but it was definitely a struggle growing up. I still have my ups and downs but I’m at peace, for the most part, with who I am and I hope you are too. I realize it’s been over a year since you wrote this but I just had to thank you for sharing your story. You are an excellent writer, by the way.

    I hope things are going well!

    -Ian

  38. Sam, I know it’s been a long time since you published this story but just in case you still get notified of new comments, I wanted to post one. Your story really hit home and I was really engaged with your writing. I hope you’re keeping at it (and sharing it). It was brave of you to share your story. I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself. Thank you.

  39. What a great writer you are!! Love the humor in it and the beautiful way you combine your words. You must know how great you are! I understand the voices in the head “thing”. I’ve gotten to a place where when I begin to hear them – I chant something in my head over and over until they disappear. Ha – take that you evil voices!! Works for me. The unworthy feeling begins to slip away and I move slowly forward. The best of luck to you in every way! – Your story will stay in my heart forever.

  40. You could write a book man, and I hope you do. I’ll certainly look forward to reading it. I too have had those depressing thoughts that knock me down every time my other side tries to stand up. I wish you all the best man. I’m now 62 yo, too old to have much of interest happen to me (or is that Mr. Depression talking?) but you’re still young and you have a chance. Ignore those downer voices and make life happen, don’t wait for it to happen to you.

  41. I really like your story. I like your writing. I really, really, really like it. And I wish so much in temrs of good things for you! Just… lots of really good things. Because you deserve them.
    I get the sense that you are digging yourself out from a very deep swamp hole, the kind where you’re pulling one foot out and the other one got sucked in. But the more you step up, the more you stomp down the steadying stuff, and it gets easier and easier to get to solid ground. I am just sorry that you’re having to do all this work. But you will get there. Just like you said: one little thing at a time.
    I know what it’s like to have that censorship voice yapping away at the back of your mind. I needed to take several steps away from that voice, and look for the positiveness and the optimism inside me: a different kind of voice that starts out so very quietly it’s really hard to hear. The kind of things of: hey, that sounds like fun, I could try that. Or: wouldn’t that be nice? And: how about I just take a bit of a walk and have a look around? And: I like trying stuff. And: yes, it’s baby steps but I’m doing really well!
    It’s adding one little thing to another little thing, over time. You still need to tell the censor voice to shut up again and again but the positive voice will become stronger.
    Please: keep writing! Keep looking for the good stuff – it will become a path you can follow.
    All the very best, I wish all the good things to be in life!

  42. Joe Jordan-Allen

    Thanks for sharing man… the conversation between yourself and your depression was deep. I have those same conversations on a daily basis, always questioning myself. It’s helpful to realize a lot of us can relate exactly to your story. Thanks for being brave and sharing, great story and good luck with your future, I hope some day soon your conversations no longer include input from your depression. Take care!

  43. Your story gave me chills, Sam. I know you don’t know me, but believe me when I say you are truly wonderful. I know things may be rough, but I believe in my heart that you will one day have that bright future.

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