Someone to Die For

I can't wait to get married. And have a baby. Why? It just seems like so much fun. 

The falling in love. The wedding. The happiness. Always having someone to hug when I need a hug. A giggly baby. A curious four-year-old. I can't wait. And that's not even the tip of the iceberg with positive things that come along with wife and motherhood.

I know there's the downside. There's the late nights with the baby, and fights about who's stealing the covers, and the sharing of stuff and the misunderstandings and the whole raising-a-civilized-human-being thing. And that's not even the tip of the iceberg of the negative things that come along with wife and motherhood.

If I had a list of things I want to do before I die, those would be the top two. In bold. And underlined. And in bright pink font. 

I think I'm just sick of being alone. I am sick of being alone. I'm sick of traveling this world alone. 

My dating history hasn't exactly been glamorous. Perhaps I haven't met the right person. Perhaps I am not good enough. Perhaps it's that I think I'm not good enough.

Whatever the case may be, I need to get to the point where I'm capable of loving another human being. I need to get to the point where I'm capable of loving myself for crying out loud. I need to do it to fulfill the dream I've had since I was a little girl. It's survived with me through puberty and bad relationships and the ups and downs of depression. 

I want a family.

And So It Goes

I'm sure someone might stumble across my blog. So I might as well outline the details for those curious.

This is mainly a depression blog. Depressing, huh? I assume there will be positive entries, hell, I hope there will be positive entries, but I cannot predict what will happen. I'm doing this for my own good, but I'm leaving it open to the world because there is a part of me that loves comments and feedback. However, if you don't like my whining or my depressing entries, keep on trucking. There's no point in making a depressed person more depressed, now is there? You don't want to be the reason I jump from my rooftop, now do you?

I have struggled with depression for an undetermined amount of years. Seriously, I'm not being vague, I really have no idea when it began. My therapist always says that babies aren't born depressed, but I think I may be the exception. 

Oh, and, that's probably the first and last time I'll write "my therapist says...". I think it's tacky. It reminds me of an annoying sitcom character, or maybe an annoying friend I once had. Who knows. Point is, I don't like it.

I came up with the title "My Own Heartsong" on a whim. It was only after I'd decided on it that I realized how true it is. Much of my depression relates to how I've spent many, many years ignoring the person inside me that just wants love and attention. I'm trying to find a way to open up my heart and show the world who I am inside, let them hear my song. It's exceedingly difficult. The tagline relates to finding another heart to sing a song back. I began this path down getting better after a series of failed relationships when I realized either I can get help or I can be alone for the rest of my life because I am incapable of properly loving another human being. Some would say this is because I don't love myself. You can do with that what you with. I suppose loving yourself is important (it is the greatest love of all, according to Whitney Houston). 

Most of my blog titles will probably be song titles. I've written other blogs, and tried to write my own titles, but quite frankly I usually devolve to song titles. Music is a constant in my life, and so when I think of titles I think of songs that are applicable. Not all of them will be song titles, but an overwhelming majority will. And if we want to be all cutesy, this blog is called "my own heartsong" so there already is a slight music theme.

I'm not going to give out any personal information. Again, this probably calls into question why I even created this diary, but I am more a computer person than a write-in-a-journal person. I suppose I could write it in a word document...but, anyway, I don't need to explain myself to anyone. There are other blogs that don't give out personal information. I am not the first, nor the last. In fact, I'm so intent on keeping my identity a secret that I may change my writing style from time to time, just to throw off the scent. I suppose that makes me sound paranoid, but so be it. I am old enough to vote, but too young for AARP. I'm basically just your average adult struggling through this world. 

As my about me says, I am fighting for my life. I think that fighting may not be the correct word, because sometimes I don't want to fight. Most days I don't want to. So much of me wants to give up, but there is a stronger part of me keeping me on this planet for some reason. And as much as I wish to die, to be done with it, I must keep going. God has not put me in the path of any wayward buses or boarded me on any faulty planes, so there must be a reason I am still on this earth despite a strong wish for death. And with that tiny shred of hope, I fight on.