Winning The Fight Against Depression

When I was 25 I hadn’t been laid in four days. A dry spell like that might be normal to the men out there who are anatomically proportionate. But me? After all a the branding I’d done in Lakewood, I shouldn’t a gone more than a few hours without going to bed with a girl.

But it’d been four long days since a woman threw herself at me. I was starting to think the world was coming to an end.

I was entering the biggest depression a my life, sliding down in the void deeper and deeper each day. But I didn’t realize it.

I did the only thing I could: I holed myself in my bedroom, refused to eat, drank only one beer a day, and masturbated furiously.

That ain’t a way to live life–masturbating when you got a tool like mine. But it continued for me this way for five months. I lost fifty pounds and was hurting in a bad way.

I was depressed and riddled with anxiety. I needed help from a doctor, a psychiatrist–and just about every drug they could give me.

But I didn’t have no money and I didn’t have no insurance. I was fucked.

So what does Bob Collins do in this bleak situation? Usually, Bob Collins would rent a hooker for an hour. But I was broke. Then Bob Collins would roll up in a defeated ball and wait to die. But instead I found some kind a inner strength and told myself: “Bob, you can’t go on living this way no more. You got a fine piece a meat that needs to be shared with the women a Lakewood. Find a way to share it.”

It was a realization. Or, as James Joyce called it, a epiphany.

That’s when I realized it was all up to me. No one was gonna help so I had to start the long and arduous process a recovery all alone.

It wasn’t easy and I didn’t take no shortcuts with pills an therapists (because a my financial limitations). I just faced down them demons each and every day, the way a bullfighter faces down a bull.

This is what I learned.


It’s the depression talking, not your normal you.

If that voice says you’re dying, listen to it, then tell it to go fuck off. Do something, anything that makes you feel alive. Because you ain’t dying. You’re depressed. It ain’t the same thing. In my case I went for a walk to make myself feel better. That first walk was only about ten minutes long, but after being locked up in my bedroom for five months it was a major step. It could be anything, depending on what you need. Just fucking make yourself do it. Do something that makes that voice a depression scared.


If you haven’t showered in five days, take five showers a day. If you’ve been locked in your room for a month, go outside and refuse to go back in until you’re either frostbitten or sunburnt. If you haven’t talked to no one in a week, have a conversation with someone until you just can’t stand stand listening to them no more.

Just make yourself do it. That’s the whole secret. Don’t give up. Don’t chicken out.


I dragged myself out a my depression one day at a time. When I first started on the road to recovery I was so weak I could barely stand for 10 minutes straight. My mind was always telling me I was dying a something. But everytime my depressed mind said I was dying, I yelled back ten times I am alive and I am fine. Sometimes the struggle wasn’t a day at a time, it was more like one minute at a time, just trying to limp from one minute to the next. When your body chemistry is screwed and wacky, you gotta fight through that and you gotta know there is light on the other side a all a this. Everything can be put back together. There’s no problem you can’t handle.

It’s like what Rocky Balboa said: It ain’t about how hard you can hit, it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.

After five months a solitude, after my body had atrophied and turned to eating its own muscles to get the nutrients I couldn’t swallow, I forced myself outside, I forced myself to talk, and I forced myself to get better.

At first I was scared to run into people and the thought of a real conversation made me wanna hole myself up in bed again. But instead a getting knocked out a life, I started saying hello to everyone I saw. Maybe they thought I was crazy, but fuck them. I was scared to talk, so I went out and made myself talk.

I got myself out of a hole doctors said only medicine would cure.

Well, fuck that.

I ain’t had a spot a depression since then. That’s 12 years a mental toughness. If a mental weakling like Bob Collins can do it, you can do it too.

Of course, I had to do it the hard way because that’s just the kind a guy I am. Plus, I didn’t have no money or health insurance.

But that’s beside the point. Just know you can dig yourself out too if you need to. It ain’t easy and it ain’t a quick fix, but it lasts longer than the pills do.


– Bob


One comment on “Winning The Fight Against Depression

  1. Diana Stevan says:

    Very witty, and at the same time thoughtful. Nice writing!

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