The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf

I recently read an article that said more than 95% of blogs fail within their first twelve months. The reasons for failure vary from a lack of readership, to loss of interest on behalf of the author, and everything in between. But regardless of why they fail, the number shocked me. As I mentioned in my previous post, I have been writing for this site for six years. I never envisioned that I would be one of the minority that made it.

I have always tried my hardest to write from the heart, and have told myself since the inception of this site that an author’s dreams are achieved when they move just one reader. But a friend recently brought to my attention that I have a subscriber list just shy of twenty thousand, and I felt that the milestone, coupled with the release of my sophomore novel, and my six year anniversary of blogging was worth acknowledging. 

Although I rarely acknowledge them, I know that I am incredibly fortunate to have had the successes I have had. So I wrote a letter to the man I was right back when my journey as a blogger began. I wrote him a letter to give him the strength to keep on writing, even in those moments when he feels like giving up. And because there are people who have been following this site ever since that man produced his very first entry, I wanted to share it with those that choose to read it. Raw, and unedited.  From the mouth of a wolf to the world eater I once was. 

 

Dear Chris,

It’s July 17th, 2012, and you’re sitting at your computer with tears rolling down your cheeks as the view counter of your new website sits at zero.  You’ve just posted the first blog you have ever written, and yet rather than feel proud at what you have achieved, you feel defeated. You’ve been having a rough time lately. In fact, you’ve been struggling with anxiety for as long as you can remember. I know it probably sounds like an exaggeration, but that post you just created, it’s going to alter the trajectory of your life from here on out. For better, or worse, you’re a blogger now. From this moment onwards, writing will be the cause of your sickness, and the cure to your disease.

I wanted to reach out to you, to tell you how proud I am of you for finding the bravery to post what you just did. It takes courage to not be afraid, and it takes strength to admit that you are weak.

I want to tell you about your future too. But before I do, I first need to acknowledge your past. You ended your post with a line that oozed apprehensive ambition, and it made me sad to read over it six years after it was originally produced. So, I want to repeat it back to you. I want you to read your own words and hear the pain in what you said. Then, before this letter is done, we’re going to talk it through.

Are you ready? Here it is:

Ten years from now, I want to be able to say that I had what it takes to look depression and misery in the eye, and tell it to fuck off.

You have already been writing for seven years at this point. You’ve had a few failed attempts at manuscripts, and even managed to complete one or two. Right now, you think what you have created is brilliant. But in time, you’ll come to understand just how terrible these initial scripts are. I know that it hurts to know how many agents and publishers have rejected your queries, and you feel humiliated that one piece of shit even took enjoyment in calling you out for a spelling mistake in your synopsis. You feel depressed that people don’t see the greatness inside of yourself that you do. But stick with it kid. Don’t ever lose hope. That character you have been writing about, Jason Dark, people are going to read his story one day.

Three years from now a company in the United States is going to publish the first of what is supposed to be a four-book series featuring him, and for a few brief moments, you’ll feel on top of the world. But before you reach what you will misconstrue as the summit of your achievements, you’re going to crash and burn. More than once.

That depression you spoke about? It’s going to get a whole lot worse. You’re going to push yourself to breaking point more times than you’ll ever be comfortable admitting. You’re going to set fire to manuscripts, destroy relationships, alienate your readers, and push yourself into a place so fucking black you won’t even be capable of finding the path you trod to get there.

Despite your own self-loathing, the number of views on your page is eventually going to tick past zero. Yet even though someone, somewhere is reading, you’re going to grow frustrated that so few care about what you’re going through, and the pains you have endured to blog about it. In the first six months of your website’s existence, less than a hundred people are going to view your work. Considering how hard you’re going to plug yourself to you friends via social media and in person, it’s going to make you feel as though you’re a failure.

This disappointment is going to make you begin to despise other writers. You’re going to be jealous of them, and you’ll begin producing posts laced with venomous undertones, telling anyone who will listen that they are undeserving of their successes. In hindsight, I can tell you that you shouldn’t judge them so harshly. One day you will learn to not only appreciate your fellow blogger, but also to use negativity as a fuel for your creative fires.

A few years now someone will tell you that you have no place in the literary industry, and you’ll use their criticism as motivation to publish an article with a website that receives over 18 million views a week. And the other bloggers; the ones you feel you need to destroy… Some of them are great writers, and wonderful people. Right now, your own frustration and insecurity are obscuring your ability to appreciate them, and to learn from their achievements. But you’ll get over that in time. And when you do, you’ll understand that we all have our own realities, and that it’s wrong for you to assume that you are the only person who knows what it feels like to hurt.

Speaking of hurting…

Your depression is going to really hurt your ability to resonate with an audience. Your first two years of blogging is going to be a shit storm of self-loathing, hate, and terrible metaphors that people struggle to palate. But then, in December 2014, you’re going to start to change. You’re going to start to become a man.

You’ll write a post about broken windows in response to a terror attack, defending a religion you have no affiliation with. The post will polarize your readers. Some will appreciate your ambition and willingness to take a stand. They will respect your appeal to the better angels of our nature, and offer their camaraderie and support. But many will call you an idealist, a child, and far worse. You’ll receive death threats, emails which consist of passages of scripture, and even see your name and photograph defamed on websites dedicated to intolerance.

It’s going to scare you. But you’ll fight back. You’ll give as good as you get, threatening to protect your beliefs with bloody knuckles and an acid tongue. Your war of words with one reader will escalate so rapidly that your partner and family will become concerned, so you’ll try to make peace by writing a post about bygones being bygones.

But the olive branch you extend is only going to make things worse. The reader will threaten to attack you, call your mother names, and claim that he is doing so in the name of his God. Unfortunately for him, you never really forgive him for this. The idea that anyone would use their faith as a means of projecting hate makes you feel ill. You’ll probably find it funny to know that six years later, you’re still dishing out his email address to every spam list that you can find. You know it’s a little immature to do so… but, fuck him. He shouldn’t have said what he did about your mum.IMG_4646

In 2015, you’ll publish a book, grow an audience, and begin to make a name for yourself. You’d never believe it, but a few months after your book is released, people are going to start contacting you to ask if you’d like to be interviewed on their radio shows and websites. They’re going to tell you that they enjoy your work, and ask if have any words of wisdom for up and coming bloggers. Your writing is going to improve a lot in this time. You’ll begin weaving the positivity that has begun to blossom inside of your chest through your words. Shit, you’re going to feel so goddamn good that you start sharing fictional pieces on your website too. I know that sounds great in theory. Believe me when I say that I once thought it was too. But after a while it’ll dawn on you that your mother and little sister have read pieces you’ve written about undressing a woman and feeling her writhe beneath your sheets.

And then, just when you feel like you have found your purpose in life, everything is really going to go to shit.

You’re going to live through a period of eighteen months during which two friends will take their own lives, the girl you thought you’d marry will walk out on you, you’ll have a health scare that is going to make you more afraid than you have ever been, and your publisher will tell you that they no longer wish to represent you.

You’re going to hit rock bottom, Chris. And you’re going to hit it real fucking hard. Your family and friends are going to be concerned about you. They’re going to fret for months about how different you have become. Your mother is going to ask you repeatedly if you need professional help, and if you have had thoughts of suicide. Your father will end a phone call by telling you ‘not to do anything stupid’, and unbeknownst to you, your friends will band together to make sure that someone is always watching over you whenever possible.

During this period, you’ll lose weight, quit writing, and get so sick that company you work for will ban you from showing up until you agree to visit a psychologist. Your writing will become macabre again. The confidence that once shined in your work will be shattered, and you’ll begin embracing analogies about flowers and heartbreak as a means of coping.

You’re going to be so lost inside your own depressive mindset that even though you tell your mum that you’ve never thought about giving up, you will. A lot. In fact, there’s going to be a few moments where the only thing that saves you is the knowledge of how painful it was when your friends took their lives, and your refusal to put the people who love you through that agony again.

Eventually you’ll find a way to start over, and you’ll begin writing a love story so that you can experience the happy ending you believe will forever allude you. You’re going to cry your way through the early stages of the first draft, and much of what you produce will need to be rewritten. But the project will ultimately become something you are truly proud of.

Writing about selflessness and love is going to teach you so much about who you are, who you have been, and who you want to become. Despite having drafted the sequel to your debut novel, you’ll abandon it and decide to publish your love story instead. You’ll distribute it yourself too. After years of viewing self-publishing as an act of creative defeat, you’ll decide not to follow the traditional publishing route when you realise that you’re more concerned with sharing what you have created with those who choose to read your work, than chasing down publishing contracts and mass market appeal.

The novel will come out just a few weeks before I write you this letter. It’s release, coupled with the realization that I have been blogging for six years, are the catalysts for this letter. See, I’m about to turn 30 in a few months, which has prompted me to think a lot about my past. Call me melancholy for doing so, but I just can’t help but turn my attention to where I have come from so that I can understand where I am heading in the future. Maybe it’s because some of the places that I have been, that you are yet to go, aren’t so great. Maybe I’m trying to disprove the sentiment people have often told me that the best indicator for future behavior is past behavior.

Whatever the reason for my looking back to progress forward, it was by doing so that I came to find the quote we both penned on July 17th, 2012 that I spoke of above. I looked right back on where my blogging journey started, and realised just how far I have come in the past six years. When I started blogging I was afraid, downtrodden, and lost. Just like you are right now. You just wrote a post about your father nearly dying, and how afraid you are to know that your little brother is struggling with anorexia.  Now here I am six years later telling you that Dad is still kicking along, and your brother, he got his shit together, and he’s actually accomplished a hell of a lot more than most 22 year olds.

Perhaps you’d like to know that I’m not lonely, downtrodden, or lost anymore either. I feel like you’ll be excited to know that those feelings will pass. These days I’m a confident, proud, and happy near 30-year-old with two published novels to his name. I am also a son, a brother, a lover, an uncle, and although you won’t understand this analogy just yet, I’m a fucking wolf. And one day, you will be too.

Six year ago, when I was you, I told myself that a decade into the future I wanted to be able to say that I overcame depression and misery. But it turns out that I didn’t have to wait that long. And neither will you. Because we’re one in the same; perfectly imperfect in every single way. The next few years are going to fly by, so try to appreciate the small moments of happiness you will inevitably experience as best you can. Because it feels like just yesterday that it was July 17th, 2012 and I was sitting exactly where you are now.

I started writing because I feared who I was. But six years later, I continue to write because I’m damn proud of who I have become, and because I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to change anything about the path that I have walked. I know that you ended your first post by saying you wanted to tell depression to fuck off. Believe me, there was a time when I wanted to say that too. But I felt I needed to write to you and say you never will. Not because you lose your battle; but because you’ll learn that you can’t fight fire with fire, and you’ll kill depression with kindness instead.

Keep your chin up, Chris. Keep writing. And always remember that no matter how bad life may seem, there is always the possibility for it to get better. You just have to give it a a chance.

Yours Truly,

Chris Nicholas

59 thoughts on “Epoch

  1. What a read. Honest and painful, but triumphant. Thank you. My name is also Chris. 12 months to fail huh? I’m in one month. I am going to save this post as a reminder. I am a quitter, but writing for others to read is hard.

    1. Mariam says:

      I just read the same statistics but I was actually amazed to be part of the majority. Despite me telling myself that I write because I like it and because it gives me the peace of mind I need, I find myself staring at my stats page wondering if my post was viewed or not. Why am I not getting views let alone likes? However, I still believe that it has nothing to do with my writings and more with if my posts are actually spread around. I never saw writing as something to stress over since I perceive it as my best hobby. Your words however are so empowering and I feel determined to write myself such a letter in 6 years from now. Great motivating words.

  2. z3ng33kgr7 | zGGy says:

    Chris – As tears roll down my cheeks having read this wonderful love story of you, I think of all those loves facing depression – too many. Love does conquer all. It is the source and these past few years reading your posts are examples…nothing can come between you and love. Thank you for sharing so much from your heart, from your soul. From one wolf to another, love transforms and heals however, sometimes it guides us through the darkness of ourselves so our own light is discovered. Now, you can shine for yourself and others…finding wings to fly, as well. Be safe, be well and instead of running alone, choose to fly. Always – an Angel.

  3. pieceofjacq says:

    Dear Chris, THANK YOU for sharing your absolutely meaningful heartfelt piece. It keeps me going. Well, my blog has low readership and followers but I see it as a platform for me to share whatever my heart wants me to. I shall keep the faith and keep this passion to write very much alive.
    Thank you!

    Hugs
    Jacq

  4. superballrex says:

    Thank you so much for this. I sat in the kitchen with tears pouring down my face as I read it, almost unable to read the words at times, because I can so, so relate. I’m in a rough patch myself and know it will get better, but it’s still hard. I’ve written similar letters to myself about my path and my own writing, so it’s almost like I can hear myself coming through your words.

  5. This is an absolutely brilliant and beautiful tribute to the journey life is. Kudos to you for your courage, honesty, and blind determination that led you to a place of wisdom…

    And heartfelt gratitude to you for sharing it with us… ❤

  6. What an honest, heartfelt post. Thank you for sharing yourself with your readers all this time and congrats on your successes! You deserve it!

  7. traceysl says:

    Dear Chris,
    Success is all in how you define it. True writers succeed every time they write something authentic and risk sharing it with another human being. Congratulations, Chris. I wish you continued success in your journey. You have clearly impacted many people and I hope the counter on your blog never clouds your perspective. Having the courage to move one person with your writing is success in my book.
    Sincerely,
    Tracey Lawrence

  8. The Dichotomy of Her says:

    I cried all the way through reading this. It hit really close to home, especially the turning 30 soon and looking back on all the ups and downs that life and depression throw at us. Thank you for being so honest and vulnerable while sharing your story. I can’t wait to read what the next chapter has in store for you.

  9. I’ve had this blog for 10 years. I haven’t always been active, but lately it’s been a good place to store my thoughts. I also have a YouTube channel. It’s not popular either. But T the end of the day, being able to expressive yourself is an amazing feeling. And I’ll continue to do both. Thanks for this post

  10. tara caribou says:

    As always, you cut right to the heart of things. I so very much enjoyed reading this letter. And it’s made me think, really think, about this thing called depression. About dreams and hopes and perceptions and misconceptions. Oh, the bright insight of hindsight! Thank you for sharing this with us. Thank you for your transparency and for not giving up or giving in. Thank you, Chris, for just being you. You *are* a wolf. Dangerous and beautiful. Necessary and mysterious. I, and so many like me, appreciate you. Don’t stop writing, okay? And I won’t stop reading.

  11. Anon4now says:

    Who needs a fucking novel when you write things like this? This is what changes perspectives, this changes lives. So what if novels get movies, it brings bullshit along side. Thank you so much for sharing this, it resonates with me on a level beyond what words can manifest. This gives me hope.

  12. bcre8v2 says:

    Thank you for this honest and heartfelt post. Your dedication, sincerity and honesty are apparent. You’ve inspired me to persevere with my own low-readership blog!

  13. So pleased you made it so long and so far! Thanks for sharing your heart!

  14. rhscribbles says:

    Powerful! Glad to have just found you here.

  15. terismyth says:

    Awesome post 👏. Heartfelt and inspiring.
    Keep on writing. You have a gift.

  16. widowswalk says:

    6 years – well done.
    I’m re-starting after a long hiatus.
    Thanks for the inspiration.

  17. René Penn says:

    Wow. This post. Real, honest, and raw. Thank you.

  18. Inspiring! Thank you for sharing your heart.

  19. MJ Brewer says:

    REAL writers must survive trials more intense than humanly possible to reach the heights of touching all mankind. Congratulations, you’ve done it!

  20. Ashley says:

    And you are still here, my friend. ❤️ I’m so glad to be here following your journey. You have poise and style that I strive for. Thank you for sharing.

  21. Truly Amazing .. this is really going to help me through my journey of blogging and my personal life as well. You deserve your success.

  22. tiostib says:

    I admire the fortitude and courage demonstrated by your life journey and feel an immense gratitude that you’ve chosen to share it so publicly. We are One. Namaste”

  23. Raney Simmon says:

    I loved reading this letter to yourself. It’s just so raw and really emotional. A good way to reflect on how far you’ve come.

  24. Turnmyearth says:

    Your writing is powerful, not just a well written piece. Inspiring, insightful, intense. So glad I’ve finally got back to WordPress to read it. Thankyou!!

  25. Amanda Ricks says:

    I discovered your blog only recently and was extremely impressed you your insight, honesty, and writing. Unfortunately I couldn’t comment at the time because I wasn’t signed into WordPress.com. But I happily shared this post because it was so inspirational on Fb and Twitter.
    Thanks for sharing your story.

  26. Phil Huston says:

    So is like EVERYBODY on WordPress a shit puddle of depression, crawling their way out of the muck to write? Is it real, is it a gimmick? I am often reminded of “John Wayne’s Teeth” from “Smoke Signals.” The artificiality of “friend’s” pulling for one another, none of whom would come pull your car out of a ditch at 3 in the morning. The imagery of depression, the lexicons and icons and avatars required for comic book identities to remind one they can succeed and not quit or turn to suicidal mush. We all screw up. We all fight the grand illusion. And none of us are the genius of David Foster Wallace who was for real depressed, wrote brilliantly “from the heart” and is no longer with us. We should stop celebrating the rise from depression to personal narcissism as a catch all and tag and a road to success and address the real price paid by the truly depressed, not by making depression out of the minor league insults suffered by all in the farce of the Grand Illusion. Just a thought.

    1. A. Wilson says:

      Depression is real and not just a gimmick. Just because it doesn’t fit into one person’s idea of what it should be like doesn’t make it less real. Personally, I think there are so many depressing posts because people need an outlet and if this is it, then I’m happy for them.

      1. Phil Huston says:

        In a world that communicates by tapping glass I can see that. I have known the suiciders and the self medicators and those trapped by disillusion, but I also say there is more than a modest percentage of the “depressed” who are crybabies who have found a crutch in a buzzword. I knew a guy who got sick every time he had to go to a trade show where he would be expected to perform. If he excelled, look how well he did, sick and all. On the off chance he’d bomb, oh well, he was sick. I see that all over WordPress. The depressed with money in their pocket, one personality and can take off from any responsibility from keeping the lights on to food on the table to assuage their depression and realization Asshole is a bad lifestyle choice by taking a hike across Europe, or studying art in a little black dress in Paris on daddy’s dime. People with real problems, yeah. Heartbreak bandits and bandettes crybabies? I still call it a marketing gimmick.

      2. Phil, you make a comment about ‘people with real problems’, but who are you to decide what is real, and what is not? Every single individual on this planet has their own unique version of reality, which means that what you perceive to be an arduous struggle might not necessarily resonate with the man or woman next to you. Does that make your struggles any less valid? No. Does it make you an asshole for trying to judge the reality of another person based on your own biased experiences? Absolutely.

        To answer your question, not EVERYBODY on WordPress a shit puddle of depression, crawling their way out of the muck to write. But, if you actually wish to understand why a large percentage of people who write speak of struggles with anxiety of depression, perhaps you should spend some time reading ‘The Creative Brain’ by neuroscientist Nancy C. Andreasen. During the book, Andreasen actually addresses the prevalence of mental illness amongst creative types, and how a creative’s fluid mindset can lead to feelings of depression and social alienation. A little research might also help you to understand that a community like WordPress allows likeminded individuals an opportunity to come together and express themselves amongst what they consider to be their peers.

        Alternatively, if you’ve come to my site to vent about your own frustrations with personal circumstance, which based on the comments about the little black dress and hiking across Europe, I suspect may be the case. I would say that you have come to the wrong place. A wolf doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of sheep, and I care so little about your disparaging point of view that I didn’t even bother to respond to your initial comment until you continued your rant when another reader tried to express their opinion. But, since you wish to continue the debate, let me say that while you probably thought your comments were clever, your close-mindedness and piss-weak attacks against me, or anyone else make you look foolish. Being a judgemental asshole who runs his mouth at every opportunity doesn’t make you intelligent. Believe me. I used to be that guy. Just like you, I used to believe that I was the only one who knew pain, or who deserved happiness. But you’re wrong. Just like I was.

        You insinuate that I am a crybaby for choosing to write what I do. Maybe I am. But I would rather be a crybaby than someone so bitter that they feel the need to key messages of ill-thoughtout, poorly researched bullshit into the comments section of another writer’s site. Like I said above, we all have our own reality, and we are all the summation of our past experiences. The only person that your negativity is going to hurt is yourself.

        How’s that for a marketing gimmick?

      3. Phil Huston says:

        Hey, you are free to hang your personal laundry out for everyone, fly it from the tallest flagpole you can find, your call. I have no rant, no poorly thought out commentary nor am I bitter. I think. Since it still not illegal to have an opposing opinion, that for someone who lives by an inner wolf, your material tends to cry emotional wolf. Put on your big boy panties, deal with your successes and failures write something besides how bad your heart hurts and how insecure you are looking for validation and save the psychobabble.
        My original comment was aimed at the dichotomy between the true measure of your life’s insults and your ability to “take a hike” under the duress of your emotional trauma. I have known rape victims who, having no time or means to “take a hike” and find their wolf afterward, jumped from hotel rooms and dormitories. My point was, and still is, all the weak kneed introspection and Phoenix-like blossoming of those “depressed” young struggling “arteests” is akin to adverb filled romance novels. If you want to make a big deal out of depression, next time use your resources to help people with none, compare your heartbroken angst to those who suffer mightily at the hands of others, the culture and themselves, show them your wolf instead pulling a well funded Jungian search for yourself. And making a whiny-assed triumph out of it.
        All I’m sayin’.

      4. You’re entitled to your opinion, and to have your say. But you’re wrong, about so many things. And if you truly believe what you’re writing then you’re a fucking bottom feeder.

        I have lost multiple friends to suicide, I have family members who are medicated due to their battles with mental illness, and I was once so broke that I didn’t eat for days at a time. If you want to judge me because I worked myself into a place where I could travel, then go right ahead.

        You want to accuse me of doing nothing to help those who are struggling? I donate money to those less fortunate, I talk to followers and friends in difficult times, I spent two years rehabilitating children who had served time in correctional facilities and mental health wards, and I accept that I have no idea what others are living through, so I do my best to leave a positive impact on those I come into contact with. What do you do besides sling shit on people from afar? Because it’s very easy to make a comment about ‘big boy panties’ from the safety of your keyboard, especially to someone comfortable enough to embrace their emotional side. But don’t let the comfort of your computer fool you, I’d happy smack that bitterness out of your mouth you pathetic piece of shit.

        To quote an expression you appear fond of, “take a hike”. You’re not welcome here.

      5. Phil Huston says:

        Keep on blowing smoke up your own ass. You treated someone poorly, they walked, broke your heart and you act like some pious little shit who invented the blues. Which, by the way, breaks heartbreak and my woman done left me I’m so miserable in much fewer words and far less time. All your artsy fartsy suffering is cry baby bullshit. Put on Monet’s or Blake’s or Picasso’ s or David Foster Wallace’s shoes, show me brilliance in the face of adversity and out of that list I’ll show you one genius quitter who had way more issues than heartbreak. Grow up. Look around. Sell your phony Mother Teresa to someone who doesn’t know any better because the truth came out of your own mouth. You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be mor3 than a depressed poser. Good luck, though, it seems to be keeping your paper crown of arrogant self righteous indignation in place. My favorite part about calling out a fraud? How loud they scream and how quickly they resort to name calling and profanity. Call that wolf, ask him to help you rise above the fray.

      6. You press me on matters close to my heart and then want to call me a fraud because I lose my temper? How low do you actually plan on sinking? You’re an embarrassment of a man, and I feel genuinely sorry that someone so cowardly could even exist. Those in glass houses shouldn’t thrown stones either. You call yourself a writer, and yet your comments are the scattered workings of a ill-thought and a sad disposition. To call yourself a blogger after some of the nonsense you’ve attempted to write on here is fraudulent beyond all measure.

        And yeah. I screwed up. I hurt. I wrote about my heart. And I learned from my mistakes. But I don’t remember holding you under duress and making you read anything I wrote. You came here by your own free will. You could have slunk back to that travesty you call a blog, or a life at any point. And you should now, because you’ve already made a fool out of yourself.

        Show you brilliance in the face of adversity? I don’t have to show you a damn thing. You’re a keyboard warrior who wouldn’t have the guts to speak so brazen in person. I’m already above the fray. You on the other hand, you’re nothing more than a footnote a blog you claim to hate yet can’t stay away from.
        Thanks for stopping by though. I’m glad my artsy fartsy bullshit struck a such a chord with you that you hurriedly googled names like Monet to try and sound somewhat intelligent as you picked a fight you were never going to win. Fucking poser.

      7. Phil Huston says:

        Were you and I in the same room my claim would remain the same. Where, without google or fists you would be forced to make your claims and justifications without anger or arrogance for fear of selling yourself out. I make no keyboard warrior or internet sniper claims, nor do I come to what has degraded into a gutter gunfight with a butter knife. My original point was, and still is, with a venue as broad as the internet why do crybabies feel obliged to cry on stage instead of, as they are self described tortured artists, share their artistry instead of their dirty laundry. Something I say is empathy/sympathy manipulation searching for a particular audience. From a rhetorical standpoint it is decent salesmanship. It is also stale. And cowardly. If you suck, gee whiz, you were depressed. If you rock, gee whiz you were depressed. No risk, all reward. Here is my poor broken heart and my journey back from the depths of brokenness, complete with a walking tour of Europe. This is almost stand up comedy by now, you do realize that?

      8. The only realisation I’ve had in all of this is that you can’t reason with the ignorant. You’re a joke of a human being Phil. A truely sad individual with a bleak outlook on life. You’re not clever, nor are you correct. You’re a bitch who runs his mouth from afar. Which is why when pressed on what you do to help others, after calling me out on my own page, you chose to ignore the comments about what I do, and what I have been through and instead continue your attack on me as a person. I addressed your original point. But Because you’re a deadbeat who picked an argument they couldn’t win, you’re too stupid to see you’ve outstayed your welcome.

      9. Phil Huston says:

        Your justifications and rationalizations ring false as the temperature rises. The crybaby as opposed to depressed still stands. No wonder she left your whiny me first ass crying in your soup. The joke of a human being is one who cannot answer directly to a criticism, much less own it. Good luck on your relationship quest with that chip on your shoulder. As for teaching a pig to whistle, stop wasting time and show us all your answer for all those who must face depression with run of the mill dissociative activities while they deal and you give a real disease a bad name walking off a heartbreak of your own design and being a sop about it.

      10. Mate. The fact that you’re continuing speaks volumes to the pettiness about your character. What do you gain from this apart from some kind of strange validation of your own sad existence? Fuck off back to that heap of shit you call a life. My answer to those with depression? If they’re still trying to wake each day and put one foot in front of the other, then they’re already better than someone like you.

      11. Phil Huston says:

        Go dog, go. Keep bashing. Now, about the original question? Why don;t you write about something interesting instead the twist in your panties growing up has caused? Where are all those revved up creative juices from the walkabout? You’re approaching the point of spray paint on the walls. Keep spewing!

      12. It’s like you just need to feel validated by having the final say. Which is fine. I’ll let you do so if it makes you feel better about yourself.
        I’m not pushing back because I give a shit about you, or your opinion. You’re a faceless coward trying to have a stab at me on the Internet. Instead I’m pushing back because you claim that you know about anxiety and depression, yet feel it is ok to pull people down because you consider their pain invalid. Mental illness isn’t about circumstance you dumb fuck. It’s a chemical imbalance inside an individual’s brain that doesn’t care about things trivial matters like finance, or personal situations. If you truly knew half of what you claim to, you’d understand that.
        The fact that you tear others down without knowing them is dangerous. While I can see through your facade of faux bravado and dismiss your comments as self loathing, your behaviour could be damming to someone who is struggling. Your pathetic attitude could literally be the thing that pushes someone to breaking point. The fact you’d try to bring up my past is a clear indication of your malicious intent. Unfortunately for you, my ability to be candid about my mistakes means your insults miss their intended mark.
        If you’re this invested in criticising my site, I can’t imagine this is an isolated incident. How many others have you tried to belittle? You’re not a hero Phil. You’re not clever. And you don’t have the best interest of anyone who you consider to be suffering at heart. You’re part of the disease that prays on the vulnerable to hide your own insecurities.
        You want to talk about growing up? Maybe you should contemplate the childishness it takes to spend hours attempting to bully someone on their own website whilst dismissing their opinions based on your own misguided thought and emotion.
        I’m fine with you tearing me down Phil. I’ve risen out of the gutter you live in. But I’ll happily make my way back there and stamp your teeth into the earth. That’s me done. You’re a fucking maggot who is never going to be capable of perceiving more than himself. The floor is all yours to have your final say. Then you can head back to that shithole you call a blog, and keep writing piss weak fiction that only your mother, ex wife and divorce lawyer can be bothered to read, and pray we never meet again. Pretty pathetic site by the way. For someone who talks a big game about writing brilliantly, you’re really falling a long way short. The authors you mentioned would be ashamed to hear their names come out of your smug mouth.
        Thanks for visiting. It’s been a pleasure having you. Fuckwit.

      13. Phil Huston says:

        If you put this much effort pulling the ing verbs, romance novel directorial writerly interference adverbs, throwaway words outside of dialogue and useless dialog tags in “You”, Add a little of that outrage, kick some ass, blow some shit up, man up and write like you talk there’s hope for you yet! When you pick up the pieces of your broken heart. Which should be a pop song of about 3 minutes and 5 seconds, that you have milked for what, over a year? With a hike thrown in? Hey, it’s your party, you can cry if you want to! 😉 You’ve been had, brother. I’m done.

      14. I’m not your brother Phil. You’re a nobody.

    2. A. Wilson says:

      Depression is real, even if it doesn’t fit into a mold. Personally, I think there are so many posts like this because it is an outlet. If it makes someone feel less alone, then I’m happy for them.

  27. The satistics just got me thinking. It also probably means that 95% of your followers are also not active any longer!

  28. This post deserves an award! So moving and REAL!

  29. rachelpictor says:

    Of all your posts I’ve read, this is my favourite. Nice one, Chris!

  30. Euphrates. says:

    Wow! I can see life here.
    Very impressive

  31. Thank you!…It;s a nice.

  32. Congrats on your milestone and thank you for sharing!

  33. I can absolutely believe 95% of blogs are abandoned after a year. Probably 90+% of everything is abandoned after a year. Well done on 6!

  34. Ana Daksina says:

    Powerful and valuable. Reblogging to sister site “Timeless Wisdoms”

  35. Wonderful post and a huge achievement!

  36. Thank you for sharing such powerful words with us.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: