The Mailman's Survival Guide
the Mailman's Blog
As many of my listeners know, 2016 has been a difficult year for yours truly. Not only have I lost most of my vision, which forced me to leave my job as a postal carrier, but I also lost three family members whom I loved dearly. All of these things, along with fighting my chronic depression, led me down a path of despair which seemed to have no end.
In my darkest hour, I wrote a letter. I didn't write it to a famous doctor on tv, searching for words of wisdom, or to a star athlete who could give me inspiration. No, instead I wrote a letter to my depression.
You see, the simple act of writing to my depression gave me dominion over it. It allowed me to say, I choose not to succumb to your cold, dark embrace. I choose not to let you control my life, and destroy everything good I have worked so hard to build. And so, I share this letter with you in hopes that it may serve you as well as it served me that terrible day.
You've always been there with me, through good times and bad. Sometimes whispering softly in my ear, sometimes screaming like a lost soul trying to escape the recesses of hell. You have been my one constant companion, loyal and dependable. Always there in my darkest hours, hugging me with a grip that seems inescapable, yet never comforting.
When life is grand and full of hope, you are there. Hiding in the farthest corners of my mind, waiting for an opportunity to once again feel me in your dark embrace. You offer only self doubt and loathing, and yet I am powerless to break your hold. Or, am I?
Why did you choose me? Why must you torture me like some cruel master who derives so much pleasure in punishing his unwilling servant? What did I do to deserve you? Were you always there? As a baby, did you creep into my room and crawl into my crib, give me solace and earn my trust? Or, did I invite you in?
I do not know which is true, but if it is the latter, I invite you to leave. I know you will not leave without a struggle. Like an angry drunkard being removed from a bar room, you will only go kicking and screaming. Like that irritating salesman, your foot will be in the door. I will push with all my might, and your resistance will be almost insurmountable...almost.
I know you will always be there, banging on the door, begging for entrance. I know there will be times when I will want to let you in, but I have grown weary of our relationship. You are my oldest companion, but not my friend. Like a cancer, you must be cut away from my mind, my body, my soul. I have been given the tools to prevent your return, now they must be implemented. So I bid you adieu old man, and ask you to never return.
Your Oldest Companion
Big D is a writer and host of The Mailman's Survival Guide Podcast. His goal is to raise awareness for the mental health community through writing, pod casting, and public speaking.