Passion of the Spoilerverse – The Price I Pay

Look, I promised you a second part, and I always keep my promises.  The first part of this was very easy.  I sent out the questions, and in a few days, everyone who was going to answer, answered, and it looked like I was prolific, but in reality, they wrote the article for me. 

  Honestly, it gave me a few days to think about how I would go about writing the second part of this, because it is not so easy.

  I got the idea, because I am absolutely fascinated by hearing people’s stories.  I especially like to hear people tell stories about what they are passionate about.  You get an old timer talking about what they loved to do, and you look in their eyes, and sometimes you think that they are 40 years younger.

  I was fortunate enough to work in a job, where every summer I’d run into these old timers, and they’d enthrall me with tales of their youth, would get a wistful look in their eye, and go back in time.  I heard about an old detective cracking heads, countless army/navy/marines stories, how they met their spouses, you’d be amazed what people tell you, when they assume they’d never see you again.

  On to my point.  I am fascinated by other people’s passion, because I lack it in myself.  As a kid, I was filled with it.  I loved sports, gave it everything I had, would argue about it, would argue during it, I just loved it.

  Now, I want to stop now, and tell you that this isn’t some sob story.  If you know me, I don’t want you to feel you have to reach out to me, and make sure everything is going okay in my life.  They aren’t.  They rarely do.  I struggle a lot, I struggle weekly, if not daily.

  No gang, this is a cautionary tale.  Another great thing about the job I got to hear all the stories, was that I worked alone.  I worked long hours sometimes.  I had plenty of hours to do some self analysis, to break down as to why I am at in life.  Granted, this was a few years ago, but not much has changed.

  If you are a bit honest with yourself, and cut through all the protective bullshit that you build up, so that you feel that you aren’t the reason for the problems you are having, you’d be amazed what you find out when you peel  away the layers.  (much like an onion)

  About fifteen years ago, I started to slide into a melancholy.  In the beginning, it was like a bobber.  You’d have a bad shift at work.  You’d have a few bad hours, but you’d bounce back.  Eventually, that hour, turned into a day. 

  I don’t mean something happened, and turned your day bad.  You would wake up, and out of nowhere, something would trigger you, and it would start.  It seemed like no big deal at first.  I was mid thirties, I had an ex wife, a new wife, a job that I was going to work until I found something better (20 years I was there), I had kids, and I was nowhere near where I thought I would be in life.

  With everything, hours turned into days eventually.  Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.  It was all gradual.  I never gave much thought to it to be honest.  My wife at the time would bring it up, but I’d snap out of it, and life would be peachy for a few months, or however long my head would think it would be okay for me to be…well, not melancholic.  I was rarely ever happy, but I was at a level where life felt good enough.

  I did notice that I never got the highs that I used to get, over the things that used to excite me.  It just wasn’t there.  It made you think that perhaps there was something that was out there, something new, that would make you happy, give you that rush, and it was never there.

  Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoyed the company of my family.  I enjoyed being around my friends.  I did have fun.  I have a bunch of  good memories of that time, and some funny stories, and all was not horrible.

  By the time I was 45, I realized that I had a problem.  I was super negative.  I was stressed all the time.  I had a failing marriage at this point (the problems weren’t all based on my depression, but it was a factor for sure)

  I never got the help I probably needed.  I developed diabetes (genetics, thanks Nance), I was fat, life was spinning away from me.

  I’m 52 now.  I’m divorced.  I’ve had a few failed relationships since then, and each one is harder to rebound from than the last.  I collect comics, and I get a minirush when I get a book I want (Batman 181), it goes away quickly.

  Gang, don’t be like me.  I plead with you.  I don’t know who is reading this, but please, don’t be like me.  I’m broken, and I fear it is beyond repair.

  If you start to feel that your “blues” are getting out of hand, that they are lasting a little bit too long, look for some help.  It could be anything.  It could be a health issue that can be fixed.  It could be that you just need someone to help you, to talk to you, that isn’t going to judge you.

  You may need some meds.  Sure, they might have some side effects, but trust me, it doesn’t matter if you can wake up each morning, knowing that you’ll be excited about something that day, or happy, it’s all worth it.

  I’m a firm believer, and science backs me up, that exercise is a big help in improving your moods.  It releases endorphins, which in turn make you happy.  If you have me on social media, you know I work out quite a bit.  It takes about a week for the black dog to come sniffing around when I stop exercising. (injuries or illness are my bane)

  It helps me as well to keep my blood sugar up.  Once it dips, my mood freefalls into manic fast.

  Now, I’ll probably never get help.  I don’t think that  anything at this point will be enough to save me.  I can control the monster good enough that I can get through life.  I’ve accepted that I’m probably going to be alone for the rest of it.  I’m way to comfortable being sad.

  Trust me kids.  This is really no way to live.  Talk to your doctor.  Get a recommendation from them to find someone to talk to.  Do some research.  There are plenty of ways to help with it.  You won’t cure it with diet or essential oils, but if it can be part of the process so that you can feel happiness, feel passion, please, do it.

  On a positive note, being depressed most the time makes me want to make other people happy.  For some reason, when I am exceptionally prolific when writing for the #spoilerverse, more than likely I am in a depressive jag.  When I’m drawing a lot…yep…probably in the midst of the blues.  When I can capture the mood in the picture, it’s a good day.  Well, for me anyway.

  Do not put it off.  Do not let it become a way of life.  I’m actually lucky.  I got so used to it, I got so used to fighting through it, so that it is an every day thing.  Many people aren’t as lucky.  Many people give up.  Many people think that they just can’t take it any more, and they do, to them, the bravest thing possible, and they end their pain.

  Don’t be dumb like me.  Get some help.  Find some passion.  Life is way to short to life without it.

  You can find me @jaycanchu on Twitter and Instagram.  More than likely if you’re reading this, you found me on facebook.  Check out The K Files, read her tales of spookiness and the strange.  Colton is releasing stuff a few times a week, Robert is writing about Star Wars or Snyder every few days, or check out his podcast Shootin’ the SithMike Peacock is killing it on Misery Point Radio, talking music with real musicians, and Moon Pie is interviewing everyone.  And of course, check out The Not So Crazy Podcast of Blizzard the Wizard and Eli(spark one up first, you’ll get it.)

  That’s it for now!  Be safe, be kind, and be happy!

                            #releasethebuttholecut

                                           Mista J

Author: Jay Roach

Jay was born and raised within a 30 mile radius of Ottawa IL, home of Scotty Bowers and a guy who was in soap operas.  His family was Catholic, somewhat filled with ’50 Ideals and conservatism, which they attempted to pass down, and lifetime Democrats.

Jay am none of that nonsense, though he is probably more liberal in social views than most of them.  He's tattooed, has two wonderful boys who are both talented, one a musician, the other designing games.  He have two ex wives that he still get along with.  Jay have two cats (Chloe and Panda Lucifer) who are ambivalent towards Jay's existence unless wet food is involved.

Previously, Jay was the cohost of My Worst Holiday, and left on good terms but will still fill in on occasion.  He now write nonsense articles about whatever grabs his fancy, from old Universal Monster movies, to lunch health, to lists that get stuck in deep in his head and has to purge them.

Jay is an amateur artist, who hopes to branch out into painting this year.  You can see his stuff on social media, or read his stuff in The Roach's Den.

Jay is pretty sure he is allowed to hang around because he have watched a LOT of Burt Reynolds movies. (This is true)

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