I am either suffering from this depression or having this amazing moment of clarity. When I was younger and I suppose even now if you forced me to mention it, I knew things about myself. I could write, I could sing and I could get good grades with little to no effort, which also goes hand in hand with that whole I can take tests really, really well.
Now I see it as hollow. I can write as long as you want this very clear, detailed version of things. My writing is a lot like Geometry; concise and has rules with only one particular answer. Even though I have never used my voice in any sort of professional or even non-professional way I am coming to the conclusion that my singing is a lot like my writing. If singing were something you could do in a newspaper with a Who, What, Where, When, Why and How and an upside down pyramid of importance I would be golden.
But it isn't and I suspect that my writing needs what my singing does; a little nuance and some gut. Knowing that makes me sincerely depressed. Admitting it is somewhat harder still. In my mind for all these years I have said, "God, why do I end up with men who don't care about my voice?" when maybe I should have been asking, "Why isn't my voice distinctive?" Perhaps even just admitting that it isn't.
Then there is this last thing. Why is my favorite neighbor sick? Why this woman who is young, sweet, and has twin 2 year-olds? Why not someone who already had a chance to live a life? Why not someone like me who has no set of children to raise?
What the hell. Right now I hate a lot of things. I hate myself. I hate the dishes I just painted to give out as a wedding gift. I hate that I can't carry this burden. Nobody deserves to die in the flush of life and I have no way to write or sing this better. This isn't working.
Update: I would delete this self-pitying post but I really appreciate the commentary that accompanies it. I feel a lot better now, amazing what sleep and some time will do for you.