Last night, I was suicidal.

What happened was this : in a moment of weakness when I was feeling really down on myself, I stupidly sent out an email to a bunch of my teachers asking them if there was any chance I could get a recommendation from any of them,

I didn’t mean to ask specifically for a recommendation. What I was really looking for was confirmation from a teacher that I had not totally fucked myself over by being such an absentminded flake during my time at VFS.

But I phrased it like a request for a recommendation, and that was not good.

Anyhow, one of the profs who replied was Ita Margalit, and she doesn’t like me. Her response, in retrospect, was not that harsh, just a little brusque.

But it hit me where I live, and sent me into a deep deep depression. Well, that and the other response I got, which was much nicer but still confirmed (to my diseased mind) that I was a massive idiot who had fucked up his entire education to the point where the whole year had been for nothing and I would never get work in the industry and it was all my fault. It felt like the world was falling down around me.

And in the midst of that sea of depression, I would have done anything to escape.

And that scared me, because I knew what that meant. It meant I was in danger and I had to be very, very careful or I might harm myself out of intense self-loathing and despair.

So I just hung in there and played my video games with compulsive fervor in order to keep my mind too busy to plan anything or do anything.

I’m glad that there was a stubborn little spark in me that remembered that this too shall pass and I would feel better later and that it was all just chemicals.

So I hung in there, and after a couple of hours on the edge of self-destruction, I  started to feel better. The depression began to drain away and reason returned and I realized that all that was at steak was teacher recommendations and I could live without those. They would have been a great start to my career, but no matter what, I was going to graduate on the 21st, I would have my diploma stating that I had passed what is largely considered to be the toughest writing program around, and I could go forward with my portfolio of writing samples and my impressive personal history of writing so many things, as well as this blog, and so forth and so on.

And I write really funny dialogue. That has to be worth someone to someone.

I can still feel the echoes of that depressive episode. It’s very painful. It will take some time for me to go back to my usual level of functioning.

I think part of the reason I crashed so hard is that I had been feeling pretty good about myself, on average, and that meant I had a long way to fall,. Until Friday’s Episode 2 class, I was feeling pretty good about my chances out there in the big bad world of entertainment. I imagined myself charming people in job interviews, delighting them with my samples, and getting in at the shit-job level that way some day.

Like it says in my resume, I will work wherever they will let me in. I am not some foolish Millennial who just assumes they will go right from school into a high paying, high status job in my field and will feel shocked and betrayed when they find out that work is like… so much work, guys!

I am happy to work long hours and do a ton of writing. It sounds like a good way to spend my days, to be honest. I like writing and I am happier doing it than doing anything else in the world. So hard work does not frighten me.

Nor does time in the writer’s room helping my colleagues with their stuff or coming up with the beats of an episode or whatever frighten me. I love Writer’s Room class, and I am perfectly content to be one person amongst many working towards a common goal.

And I am still learning, Amidst the tragic wreckage of recent depressive bouts, I have learned some harsh truths about my own cluelessness and the underlying assumption that if I screw up, I will be forgiven. I will get away with it.

So why change?

That means I will be taking a good long hard look at myself and hunting down these unworthy assumptions that can only hold me back, and replacing them with a more realistic results-based view of my place in the world.

Nobody owes me forgiveness for getting things wrong. I am lucky that I get away with it in some circumstances, but the cost is too high because it means both jettisoning my self worth and any respect people might have for me, and staying in his whiny, childlike state instead of taking control, taking responsibility, and hence taking things seriously.

Some of my mental confusion I can chalk up to my depression and the meds I take for it. Like I’ve said,. I was going around in a fog for a very long time without realizing it. It made it hard to really focus on the here and now.

But a lot of it was a choice I didn’t realize I was making. The choice to stay wide-eyed and stupid rather than focusing down on the important stuff and leaving the bullshit behind.

Growing up is like the measles : it’s painful and difficult and the older you get it, the worse it’s going to be for you.

Okay, so that’s not a perfect metaphor. But you get the gist.

Still, this whole thing has left me worried about my mental health state. If all it takes is a brusque email to send me to Suicide Island, I might need a lot more therapy before I am truly ready to face the world.

But whatever it takes, I will do it.

Because I want to feel the sun on my skin at long last.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow, homework permitting.