What do you do after a lifetime of harrowing depression and you feel healed? It’s been a while since I’ve written about me as I’ve been so into fiction writing. This is by far the longest period of time I haven’t felt like dying in over twenty years. This is almost worse than being depressed in many respects . . . like being trapped alone in a strange new world.

I feel like some guy who was wrongly accused of murder and imprisoned for twenty years–locked in solitary confinement; then given a reprieve and spat back into society. I feel like a stranger in a strange land. It’s like learning how to live again. Sometimes, I just want to crawl back in my black hole of misery to suffer. For crying out loud, it’s really all I know how to do. But I cannot go back to that. I cannot go back to my old friends.

There are many dark chapters in my life I have never shared here and I’m not quite sure I want to. When I originally started writing about my depression, tons of readers came here in support. I got used to that. It becomes another addiction . . . the need for constant feedback and support. I fed off of it. It made me feel like somebody understood.

I decided last year that the feedback, support, sympathetic and empathetic friends coming by began doing me more harm than good. There is a such thing as becoming dependent on the nurturing love of others. There comes a time when you must go out on your own and just deal with it . . . to be tough, strong and independent. That’s what I did and that’s when my depression ended. Go figure.

I have a lot of blogging friends who suffer depression, PTSD, addiction recovery and a myriad of other problems–many far worse than anything I’ve ever been through. Many have built their entire sites around depression and so forth. My question to them is how long must it go on? When you reach the point of truly getting over your problems and the healing is done, what happens next? Some people may never find solace in their minds and struggle for the rest of their lives. I decided that will not be me. I will be free of this hell. I will be healed. There is only so much catharsis a person should have to experience before an apex occurs . . . right? There came a point where empathy of others and writing about my own problems made me feel like a cry baby . . . it’s a weird realization, but that’s what happened.

I am here right now. I am not depressed. I am healed. At the same time–in the process–I have rid myself of nearly every friend I’ve ever had. Most are drug addicts and I cannot associate with them. I cannot afford to be around anything illegal. Hey . . . I finally grew up. The worst thing I do is drink coffee.

So you wake up one day all alone with no one. No friends. No problems. No depression. No idea what to do next. No idea how to live. All I know is this is better than what it was. And I’m safe. Reborn. Scared. Lonely.

A stranger in the mirror.

But I’m on the right path.