Solo, Unauditioned.

And here I sit, far too late for a guy my age to be up and yet unable to sleep. It has been an eventful week or so, with a trip to Colorado thrown into "normal" life just to keep things interesting. After having to duck out of yet another group meeting because the anxiety was just too much to take, I have come to a realization: I travel alone. Mostly not by choice.

Here's the deal. I have friends and acquaintances all over the country and even in other parts of the world. It is always good to catch up and even get the opportunity to hang out once in a while when our paths cross. However, the longer this anxiety mess continues, the fewer friends I have who really look forward to seeing or hearing from me. My problems have worn them out. When I first had my meltdown and as I began this weird journey, there were many people who walked with me, and for that I am eternally grateful. But as time goes on and I can't seem to get straightened out, I think it just takes too much energy for people to deal with me. I understand, as it is increasingly difficult to deal with myself.

My wife is tired and out of answers. My kids suffer from the uncertainty of a dad who is a basket case. And the biggest kicker of them all is that as I seem to sink further into myself, fewer people want much to do with me, which reinforces the sense of isolation and depletes the motivation to be among people. It is so much easier to hide at home and to continue to shape the couch cushions around my butt.

While I don't struggle with thoughts of suicide...first of all, I am far too cowardly, and second, I don't want to cause my family the trauma that comes with it...I admit that most days I wish there was a way for me to just die in peace and relieve my wife, my kids and the friends I have left of the burden that is dealing with me. I hate feeling this way, but the days in which I can see any light are so few and far between. There comes a time when you have been kicked in the gonads enough times that you just want the pain to stop; when you have seen those who used to embrace you avert their gaze when you come around and you really want to quit being a burden, stop being "poor, sick Joe." If only I could disappear and everyone could move on.

I read a story many years ago, I think it was by Bob Benson, about a man who was constantly searching or seeking for God. At first, everyone was excited about his search, but as it dragged on year after year, people began to distance themselves from him as no one had the energy to listen to him talk about his desire and his inability to become convinced of the truth of God. That's how I feel about my mess. Most of the world is just plain weary of listening to me and dealing with me.

I'm sorry. And I don't like it myself either.