I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.

I am a fan of The Mountain Goats. Some people who are reading this will not be surprised by this and will take the reference to be an example of my music snobbery. However, I would like to discuss their quote used for the title of this inevitable blog post.

John Darnielle's lyric is eerily relevant to my life. And yes, I am going to blog about it.

This is how it goes: I write a blog. So what? Sue me. I don't give a fuck if you're reading this. I've already covered this topic before. The value of writing isn't necessarily in the reading. There is worth in the writing. So stop giving me shit.

I don't need to put every detail about my personal life on this blog. But I could. If you tell me to "blog about it," maybe I will. And maybe you won't like it. I don't think I will like it.

If I were to "blog about it" ("it" being John Darnielle's lyric and the past year of my life), well, I would have to write about the following:

- I was scared to fall asleep not only because the nightmares I encountered in my unconscious mind were so disturbing, but also because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning. Both fears were very real to me. The nightmares came every night for months. And in the mornings, getting out of bed was almost impossible (and I often failed to do so).

- I wouldn't eat. I would test myself. I wanted to know how much pain and hunger I could take because I wanted to know just how strong my will was. And if I had the self agency to control my life, I also had the power to end it.

- I didn't just drink socially. I didn't just smoke socially. I drank too much because it was a means by which I could choose to escape and choose to live recklessly. I smoked every night because I didn't want to be in my natural state of mind. And I smoked too many cigarettes because I didn't care enough to try to quit anymore.

- I blacked out every weekend. On several occassions, I ended up alone in the middle of the night crying on the sidewalk. 

- I wasn't just having a bad year. I was falling apart. 

And I didn't know why. I still don't know why. I talk to a psychiatrist every week. She prescribes me anti-depressants, every week increasing the amount. I've just hit the maximum amount for the drug. And I don't know what she's going to suggest next. 

So, there you have it.  The year isn't over yet. And I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.