My old friend melancholy is back with avengeance. She’s a bitch and knows exactly what you don’t want to hear. She reminds you that you are in a sexless marriage, that you are useless to everyone, and that you would be better off dead.
If I look for sex somewhere then I’m the shit, but it’s not the “done thing” to impose oneself. And sex is not just the only thing lacking in my life.
I want out. I want to die. That’s why I’m slowly killing myself. When I’m not good I eat, which will only bring me closer to death, and yet, in an ironic twist of fate, if I don’t eat the same fate awaits me.
At least as a fat guy, society has decided that I’m not allowed to be a sexual being. Who would to have sex with me anyway? Not even my wife does, so why would anybody else?
It’s not just about sex despite what society might say. It’s the connection that sex can give its protagonists, or even the intimacy. Since the advent of Covid we have been told to be wary of everyone else. We all have masks on. We are told that we have to socially isolate. We are social animals and this lack of physical contact is ruining all of us. It will leave scars on all of us for years to come. The problem is that I love my wife deeply but it’s as if there’s a gulf between us. Maybe through death I will be able to set her free.
I feel lonely every day. I am on my own every day at work and work on my own, and it’s the same at home. Solitude can be a blessing, but it can very quickly become a great burden. I even feel resentment every time that people ring me at work. I have my work to do and it’s as people are just interrupting my day. How inconsiderate of them.
I will not be missed. There may be slightly fewer photos on Instagram but people get on with their lives. Life continues despite death of one the protagonists. Eventually people cope and “get over it” and the person really is “laid to rest.”
I just don’t fancy dying in France. I want to die at home. It might have been a fashion in 1914 to 1918, And my grandfather had a couple of brothers eho were killed and buried over here. I want to die at home. I’ve been here for 26 years and I’m fed up of it all. Boris may have ruined my country’s future, but it’s still home.
As a Catholic I try and offer my suffering up as a sacrifice for my many sins. That’s what Ste Thérèse de l’enfant Jésus told us. She was dead by the age of 30 and was a Doctor of the church.
I’m not suffering from despair, I just want this situation to end. I know I should just suck it up buttercup, man up, and stop feeling sorry for myself. Easier said than done. That’s what I was told by my form master when I was at prep school. My mother would say the same.
Some would go and offer sympathy on Facebook, as if a message on a virtual notice board would help. I’m not putting down peoples’ intentions, but you have to get real. It’s like putting a black square on social media. It doesn’t help.
Some would say, go and consult. That doesn’t help either. The head shrinkers are madder than me, except they know they are. I just have a small inkling that they’re even more full of shit than my intestines after eating a whole load of fiber.
I don’t hate any of you. I just hate myself. I am told that God loves me. I am trying to believe that, but it’s not easy every day.
Time flies like an arrow and fruit flies like a banana. This is why I hide myself in my bedroom as soon as I get home. It’s why I do photography. At least when I’m out with a camera I’m doing something instead of thinking. That helps sometimes. Anyway. I’m not dead yet so you’re going to have to out up with for a little while longer.
Here is a selection of photos from last Saturday. Long exposure, shitty weather. I was going for minimalism and maybe a couple of shots I managed it. In some I caught ghost figures due to people not caring and wondering into shot.
Please have a better time of it than me. I’ll get slightly better with a little more time. As I said, I’m not looking for sympathy, or for help. I’m just sharing what is on my mind. Thank the Lord that Adele isn’t singing on the radio…
IJM Photography 
Seven years ago, my mom took my gun and held it to the side of her head. She then moved it and placed the barrel in her mouth. She took it out, looked at the four of us who were frozen in shock and said, “It would be so easy.” It was Thanksgiving.
The gun was unloaded but the sight of her pantomiming her suicide continues to haunt me. Her repeatedly stated desire to die is a heavy burden. None of it would be made better or easier if she were to go through with killing herself. That would become the overwhelming story of her to the diminishment of all my other memories of her.
Everyone dies. How you die matters. If not to you, then most certainly to those who love and care about you. My hope is that by putting this out into the world, you’ve released some of the hurt and hopelessness you must be feeling. Your death, even under the best of circumstances, will be a loss. Don’t compound that loss with the devastation that suicide has on those you would leave behind.
I struggle with the fact that I can’t save my mom. She continues to suffer and I continue doing what I can to let her know how much she matters and reminding her of the reasons for going on. I know I can’t save you either. But maybe something I’ve written will make you think and will inspire you to reach out for help. Life is precious and though incredibly challenging at times, it is beautiful. Change is inevitable and largely unpredictable. Allow yourself to get through this period in your life and onto something more fulfilling.
In Paris – suicide hotline: 01 45 39 40 00
Call them if it ever gets to be too much. Don’t give up.
– James
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That must be horrible to have to go through, and even more so as a child. I know that there is nothing that I can do and that it is a condition that has been with me for such a long time. I have learnt to live with it, and it comes and goes likes the waves on a beach. Hence the photos of the sea… I was and maybe still am at a low point but I know full well that it will get better. That doesn’t mean that it makes things any easier, but at least you can see a way out. That helps immensely.
Things have just changed in the house and there are two extra people that now live with us. My son has just come back home with his girlfriend. They had an accident in their house and are now cripples for the time being and unlike her mother we don’t say no to the family. I have had to step up to the plate and get ready to face the balls that the pitcher will pitch me. My father is not well either and now I have to put others before me
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Sometimes life does seem to get on top of me, but having been badly effected by depression in the past, one becomes accustomed to its modus operandi. You know that the ideas come back and try waring you down, but then you remember that it is only temporary. This too shal pass.
The other day I wrote my obituary and showed it to my wife that was veritably shocked by the experience. A lot like yourself and your mother with your gun. I think maybe deression brings you closer to accepting your own mortality and that it can be a shock for others that we become so aquainted.
This was the obituary:
Obituary: Ian Myers – Remembering a Beloved Friend, Gifted Wordsmith, Photographer, and Musician
It is with profound sadness that we announce the passing of Ian Myers, a cherished friend, talented wordsmith, passionate photographer, and accomplished musician. Ian, born and raised in the UK, spent the last 30 years of his life in France, where he shared his love for art, faith, and music with those around him.
Ian’s journey as an artist began early in life, ignited by his multifaceted talents and passions. An accomplished horn player, he dedicated himself to music for many years. He served as a choirmaster in various local choirs, where he nurtured the talents of others and shared his love for music with the community.
In addition to his choral work, Ian was an active member of several musical ensembles, including the Harmonie de Montaigu, the Orchestre Harmonique de Cholet, where he continued his musical studies under the guidance of Jerome Percher. His dedication to his craft led him to his last appointment as the fourth horn player in the Symphonique des Bords de Loire, where his talent and passion for music shone brightly.
Ian’s artistic pursuits extended beyond music into the realm of photography, where his keen eye and creative vision captured the beauty of the world around him. His photography, marked by its evocative imagery and thoughtful composition, painted a vivid picture of the landscapes and moments he encountered, from the charming streets of Paris to the serene landscapes of rural France.
As a close friend, Ian was known for his warmth, humor, and unwavering generosity. He found joy in the simple pleasures of life, whether enjoying a quiet cup of tea and a piece of cake, or sharing a pint of Guinness in his favorite pub, the John McByrne Irish Pub in Nantes, where he felt truly at home.
Ian’s Catholic faith was a guiding force in his life, infusing his work with themes of spirituality, redemption, and the human experience. Through his writing, he invited readers to embark on a journey of self-discovery and faith exploration, leaving a lasting impact on those who encountered his words.
“Ian Myers was a true Renaissance man, with talents that spanned music, photography, and literature,” says Georges, a literary critic and dear friend. “His artistry and insight touched the hearts of all who encountered his work.”
Though Ian may no longer walk among us, his creative spirit and enduring friendship will be cherished by all who were fortunate enough to know him. His legacy lives on in the beauty of his photographs, the wisdom of his words, and the melodies of his music. May he rest in peace, knowing that his light continues to shine brightly in the hearts of those who loved him.
Maybe a little schmaltzy but you have to prepare for these things.
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