A Measure of Success

In the month or so since I’ve last written on here, a lot has changed – and yet, so much remains the same.

At the end of June and into July, I devolved into a festering mass of depression, returning to a mental state I haven’t been in for several years. I was longing to hurt myself (I didn’t), and suicide ideation was strong in my mind.

One of the things that a lifetime of depression has taught me, however, is that there’s always another end to the tunnel, however long and dark it might be. So I held on tight, rode it out, and here I am six weeks later – not necessarily better, but coping, at least.

Depression has such a wonderful way of making you feel like a failure, and objectivity goes out the window at these times; it wouldn’t have mattered if I made the New York Times bestseller list, because all I could see was misery and sadness. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that, without input, effort or thought, people kept reading my book, kept reviewing it, and kept buying it. For almost two months I haven’t paid attention to 22 Scars, its success, or lack thereof. And what I’ve found is that I’ve had ten new reviews come in (almost all positive), an increase in people reading it on Goodreads, and even some sales – print copies, too!

So while 22 Scars isn’t exactly on high-end critics’ radars yet, it’s still gathering its slow momentum, and continuing to reach people and affect lives. And that’s what it really was all about for me – making that connection with others who might feel the way I do; those who are struggling to cope, to understand, and to get through that tunnel and once more into the light.

Thank you to everyone who’s supported me thus far – and especially to Larry over at Voracious Readers Only, without whom I’d have only a fraction of the readership I have now.

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