Sorry, I'm Not Consistent.

I'm Too Busy Holding On.

Dear Readers,

There’s a lyric in Simply Red’s so Holding Back The Years - “I’ll keep holding on.”

That’s how I felt this week.

Yesterday was my 119th dinner for The Last Supper Project with a lovely Turkish-Romanian couple. They were incredibly sweet and earnest. They kept thanking me for my time at the beginning - I hate it when people do that. It makes me feel like a fucking imposter. Today I woke up in a depressive episode and I was tempted to spiral completely into blind self hatred. This eventually involves telling myself that I’m a lazy failure repeatedly and doom scrolling through banal content. On weeks like this I get frustrated with the epiphany that I spent more of my energy trying to stay alive and to simply show up. Which means there was not enough energy to keep up with my reading modules for death doula training or follow up with my EMDR appointment or even keep up with my first love…..writing.

When I initially started this diary my mission was to publish EVERY DAY. To diligently and decisively capture every recipe, conversation, letter and anecdote from these nuanced human experience I am undertaking as I seek an end to my mental suffering on a path filled with bureau-crazy. But the inconvenient reality is……that’s categorically NOT what being bipolar is like. The thing about having a mood swings and violent dissociations is that sometimes you have to spend all your energy in holding on to the fucking rollercoaster. Even on days when you can successfully mask and fool everyone around you. And that is the grace I am going to extend to myself. There is nothing “lazy” about holding on. There is nothing “lazy” about simply brushing your teeth as a milestone accomplishment to your day. And I need to except that despite the pride I take in living with self determination and discipline, I may not always have it in me to be…..consistent.

All I can tell you is that my name is Joseph Awuah-Darko and I’ve consistently attended 119 dinners with strangers.

So I hope whoever reads this knows that every day I’m publishing here, maybe, just maybe it’s because the only thing I could do that day was exist. I love my readers. I love being stopped in the farmer’s market of Amsterdam and asked about my love for words. But sometimes all I can do is hold on. That’s all.

With love,

Joseph.

P.S - I endorse all typos.