I'm Writing Again

....which can mean only one thing: I'm in a damned depression again. And this one is particularly brutal. But, the words have been flowing out of me like I was 15 again. So, here they are: (Three songs, for a band I'm starting up; and some prose that is true, though painful)

Without You (Alan McStravick, 2009)


Is it time yet,
that we can regret,
the things that we said?

‘Cuz if another day goes by
without you by my side,
I’m not sure I won’t die;

I’m an artist who forgot how to create;
oddly enough a dreamless poet;
I’ve been faking my way through this life
and you’re the only one to know it;

Without you, I’m nothing;
Once a man, now a broken shell;
Without you, I’m nothing;
And you’re the only one I can tell;

You’re asking me to go into the darkness;
I’m staring into the void,
And it scares me to hell,
like I’m falling and the chute never
deployed (alt lyric: ..falling and all you
are is annoyed);

Because without you, I’m nothing;
Once a man, now a broken shell;
But with you, I can be something;
And you’re the only one I can tell;

Without you, I’m nothing;
Before I stood; then I fell;
Without you, I’m nothing;
Why is it you’re the only one I can tell?

Is it time yet,
that we can regret,
the things that we said?

‘Cuz another day can’t go by
without you by my side,
Won’t you say we can give it one
more try?


Do Over (Alan McStravick, 2009)


I’m running on empty;
been doing this for so long;
Trying to be right,
but it always turns out so wrong;

Haven’t you seen me?
Haven’t you heard?
Living between the lines
Looking for the right way
But looking back’s no way forward;

Wish I could start again;
God, I’m begging you please
Give me a do-over
Without this disease
Give me a do-over
I’ll do it right, and then:

I wouldn’t make you cry;
I wouldn’t try to hurt;
I wouldn’t lose that job;
and I wouldn’t let myself revert
to behaviors I’ve been known for,
to the way I’ve always been;
I’d live this life the right way,
and I’d never hang my head,
fearful of the future,
wishing I was dead;

It’s me that I wish this for;
It’s you that I’ve let down;
If I had another chance,
I could turn this life around;

I need a do-over;
I need another try;
I promise I’ll get it right this time;
And this time it won’t be a lie;


Better Things (Alan McStravick, 2009)



I’m tired of hurting,
tired of the shame,
Tired of no one
knowing my name;

I was meant for better things
I was supposed to succeed
I was meant to blaze a trail
have others follow my lead

But here I am
in this hole
broken-hearted
empty soul

Wishing for better
not getting along
Whatever I do
always seems wrong

Screaming for help
just as loud as I can
Tired of failing
being less than a man

It’s not that I can’t
It’s just that I won’t
Could go the right way
but each time I don’t

What is my problem
Why can’t I see
Repeating my past
trapped,
And I cannot get free

Is this the time
for me to excel
or is this another round-trip
right back to hell

I was meant for better things
I was supposed to succeed
I was meant to blaze a trail
have others follow my lead

Toying With Psychosis (Alan McStravick, 2009)

The Catholics speak of purgatory. A place between heaven and hell reserved for those whose lives were neither good, nor bad. Mine is a living life of purgatory. Never to have begun and unable to end. There is, within me, a spark that denies me the sweet calming serenity of death but which is, sadly, not strong enough to produce the drive toward an existence worthy to be called a life well lived. Which, I ask you, is worse? Having nothing to live for or having nothing to die for? This is my story. A work borne of amazing experiences and debilitating lows. I am taunted by both joy and pain. Tears and elation are never far away, but, like a harbormaster waiting for a doomed and downed ship, they never arrive. Ultimately, an emotionless existence.
On the face of it, mine is a life of many and varied experiences, the likes of which are rarely fully enjoyed by a man more than twice my own age. Whether my time as an actor, teacher, working aboard the QE2, a writer, (of poetry and prose) a theme park entertainer, president of my own company, a professional 5-star waiter, Op-Ed columnist, 911 dispatch operator, student or long-term volunteer in New Orleans, post-Katrina. These titles (and others) I held, all by my 28th birthday.
As I write this, at the age of 32, I am in the 16th diagnosed year of my depression. I have suffered now for more than half my life. For the punishment I have endured, I have only one question of God or man. What was my crime? What did I do to receive a retribution as this? I plead into the darkness and the response is as was expected. Silence. Man cannot tell me why and God refuses to speak. I have lost faith in both.