Enough to fill a Grand Canyon.
And I've been spending nearly every waking minute thinking about it. There's this chasm that separates me from the man I was, this divide between where I was and where I wanted to be, this division between me and everyone else during those years, this isolation… and all of these things bring me back to the Grand Canyon. A Grand Canyon that separated my fractured selves. A Grand Canyon that kept me from my dreams. A Grand Canyon the divided me from my loved ones… kept me isolated and alone…
And so, we have a working title: A Grand Canyon. One Man's Journey Through Depression.
But, of course, it's so much more than that.
As I pour through pages upon pages, I find out that I'm not only more human that I'd like to be but I'm more of a louse than I ever thought I was. For instance:
- I said the worst things about Rosa in the instant messages Cindy and I sent back and forth in the first days of our relationship.
- Then, I lied to Cindy and used her.
- A year later, while I carried on with Sherryl, I was pursuing DeAnna.
- For the first couple years after we split, I did little else but insult Rosa - often in public.
As I read more and more, this image of myself as selfish, petty, small, and rotten becomes clearer and clearer and all the while I made myself out to be worthwhile, profound, intelligent but I was just a turd. And, again, I've only started.
If you want to get a good picture of yourself, save everything you write and everything people write to you for several years and then, go back, and see if you turn your own stomach. I have.
And, as I face this, I'm forced to contemplate another dilemma. How do I paint these women who were part of my life during these years? At what point does the subject matter become prurient? Or too personal? It's a difficult road. And a play filled with dick and fart jokes would be so much easier...