Mea culpa, mea culpa,

mea máxima culpa.

Content Warning: Talk of self-harm.

The last time that I wrote a post I was in the midst of a terrible depressive state. I can say without hyperbole that it was the worst one that I have ever experienced. If you did not get to read about it, here is my post from early August. Before I go any further, I owe y’all an apology.

I lied to you.

And here is that lie I told:

Let me just say that while I am exceedingly bleak right now, I am not a danger to myself or others. I don’t have any thoughts of self-harm. In fact, I’m very conscious of the fragility of life and what a precious gift I’ve been given.

Remember the above sentence in italics. It will soon be important. Not today, but soon.

The truth is that I was almost constantly thinking of harming myself for several weeks. I lied to y’all. I lied to my closest friends. I lied to my family. I lied to Jennifer. I lied to my family doctor and my psychiatrist. I tried to lie to myself. I lied to my therapist.

I had my reasons I suppose; the chief reason is that I did not want to be hospitalized in a psychiatric ward where roommates, group therapy, and group activities are de rigeur. Not while Covid is still killing almost four hundred people a week in the US of A. That is why I lied even to my therapist. And I trust Cherie utterly. I was afraid that if I told her (or anyone) the whole truth that this would happen:

Prince Charming places a grippy sock on Cinderella’s feet before she is taken away to the mental hospital. If you know, you know.

I try my hardest to always tell the truth in this newsletter. I figure that the only real gift that I have to give to y’all is the truth. I am not always eloquent. I have been sporadically (at best) posting for the better part of a year-and-a-half. I am not a particularly original writer. There are funnier writers than me by far (there is a writer that lives in this very house who is funnier and more talented than me in every way).

I speak, of course, of Daniel Jason Mendoza Striped Tiger:

This guy writes a knock-knock joke that will knock your socks off.

There, I lied again. Daniel is not really that funny (on purpose). I mean, he only knows one punchline, and it’s “Have you seen my butthole?”

Is this thing on?

I think that we all know that I really meant Jennifer. She’s not only a brilliant writer; she’s also the funniest person I know. And I know a lot of incredibly funny people.

Advice to any young folks who fancy women:

Marry a woman that is funnier than you.

I know that in a lifetime of making mostly poor decisions marrying Jennifer was the best one that I have ever made. To quote her: “A++ would marry again!”

This picture never fails to cheer me.

To all my readers and the people who care about me,

Please accept my sincere apology. I should not have lied to y’all, and I will redouble my efforts to always be truthful in the future. Even if it means a trip to the puzzle factory. This I solemnly swear.

Deathly Sincere,

Jeremy D. Nichols

aka Number One Bronc

New glasses. New haircut, and a cleanish-shaven face. Who is this guy?

The good news is that I am no longer depressed. It only took an uncomfortably close brush with death to snap me out of it. More about that in the next post(s). Soon all will become clear. Until then, I love y’all, and be sweet.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

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