I was reading and came across a word I wasn't quite sure of. It felt oddly familiar but truthfully I had no idea of it's meaning so I looked it up in the dictionary. 

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Inexorable: Impossible to stop or prevent. Not able to be moved by entreaty or persuasion. Relentless.

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Even though I didn't fully understand the weight of the word before finding it's definition, a part of me felt connected to it. Enough to write down this unknown word in my phone to check back on it later. And here we are, some odd 8 hours later finding out the answer to the question.

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I didn't go to college and I sure as hell didn't pay attention in class in high school. It wasn't my thing. I felt really disconnected to people and especially from the subjects in school. So I guess the idea of school or learning wasn't my thing. I couldn't justify the effort demanded of me or the time commitment expected of me. I used to keep my head down in my books and study and get good grades, but then one day I looked up at my life and I just didn't care. Depression is a tricky thing. It sneaks up on you. It's a way out. It's an escape. It's a lonely place to be, but if you dwell in that place long enough, the lights go out, the ground swallows you up, and it becomes your home. It comes in many shapes and sizes, colors and cultures, and it's pain ranges on a spectrum from bleeding out uncontrollably to being numb—both of which eventually festers and scars.

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Depression doesn't care who it infects--doesn't discriminate by gender, race, social or political status. It simply follows where it's called upon.

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As a sensitive artist, I felt like I was doomed to follow in the footsteps of so many others before me. If it wasn't the drink, it was going to be a broken heart, a noose, pills, or maybe a disease that would lead to my untimely demise. The hurt would make my work better but it would take me down a road I wouldn't be able to return from. 

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Life in high school was hard for me. I was in pain, nobody noticed, and I didn’t talk about it. Sometimes I look back at my years spent in that place between hell and reality. I didn’t even see it coming or know it’s name until I was caught in the middle of it. 

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I never expected to be overcome by depression.

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Maybe it had always been there, chasing after me or perhaps it took more of subtle approach and lingered like a shadow. Maybe I didn't know I had that power—that special kind of hurt inside. Or maybe I was destined for it. My discovery of the weight of this world would one day become too much for me to comprehend and too much for me to handle. It would eventually instill in me a distrust, a fear and a hopelessness that never really goes away. The inexorable truth of the human condition. A reminder that pain and suffering is inevitable. Nobody makes it out unscathed either.

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It took a really long time, to let myself feel again. The healing process was slow and steady and developing trust in others and myself has been a gradual, daily challenge. I don’t know if everyone experiences this as well but because of the nature of my life, I’ve endured both physical and mental pain. The physical came with an autoimmune disease and disability. The mental came with depression and loneliness.

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These things broke me for a while, and truthfully I don’t really know why those things happened and if they could have been prevented. I can’t live in what if’s though. I survived and I overcame these moments that could have taken over my life and taken away what little I had left during my lowest lows. 

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But it didn’t. Because a part of me still wanted to live. A part of me recognized that I had demons, and I had scars and maybe even at one time in my life, I had actual crutches. But so what. I still wanted to experience it all. There was this need to breathe, to consume the air and atmosphere and the people and joys of possibility. There was this desire to find a way out, and make my life beautiful. To make my life a body of work painted with meaning and purpose.

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And the only way out was through. To endure and overcome, and to be courageous enough to be vulnerable again. To let my armor down, open my arms and allow my soft spots to show and in those moments when I could have been gunned down, crushed or beaten, I was greeted to kindness, loyalty, and to love. I learned to trust strangers again, giving others the power to destroy me—But the ones that truly mattered instead chose to see me as I am, and appreciate me regardless.

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Inexorable love. 

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I have not abandoned myself. My spirit, although bruised and saddened by the challenges I’ve experienced, has remained intact—Grateful in fact for the priceless knowledge and life lessons gained along the way. My commitment to myself and to my craft refuses to stop and hide from it’s potential. All those things I dream of, write down in my journals or whisper underneath my breathe to a shooting star—Those things are inevitable. I welcome adversity. I am not afraid of the pain anymore. It can slow me down, try and lock me up, take away my things or hurt me, but it can not take away the freedom I cary within. And even if I fail and fail again, I will remain faithful to the work and my inexorable love of life.