Not the Book I Meant to Write

So I wrote a book, and it was published this week.

I’m pretty excited about it. It I finished the final proofing Wednesday, designed the cover, and submitted it for publication. Less than 24-hours later it was available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback versions.

I’ve wanted to write a book for years. Two years ago, I even named that as one of my life goals during my performance review at work.

This wasn’t the book I thought I would write, though. I always imagined I would write a novel, something fictional and not at all related to my life. This is not that. Conversations with the Moon came not out of my imagination but out of my heart. And out of need.

Back in February of this year, I went through a bad mental health spell. Really bad. I ended up in a mental health facility for a couple of nights because I had become suicidal, it was that bad. No one knew except those who absolutely needed to. I didn’t even tell my parents. (Sorry, Mom.).

Conversations started during that period. One night I imagined talking to the moon about how sad and alone I felt, and I imagined a kindly voice talking back to me. Maybe it was God. I don’t know. But as the weeks went on and I struggled to bounce back from my deep depression, I found solace in imagining more of those conversations.

Eventually I started writing them down so I wouldn’t forget them. I didn’t set out to write a book. I told someone about one I had written, and he encouraged me to write more. I made 28 a goal since there are about 28 days in the lunar cycle. Before I knew it, I was on the cusp of this book.

Not all of the conversations are sad. Some of them are lighthearted. Some have nothing at all to do with me. But a few of them are decidedly serious

I still struggle with depression. I’ve been depressed most of this Christmas season. My goal in writing this post isn’t to garner your support or guilt you into buying my book. I think the reason I’m writing this is because I really believe we don’t pay enough attention to mental health as a society. We don’t give it the gravity it deserves, acknowledging the devastation it can cause for individuals and families.

This book isn’t the one I meant to write, but it helped me through one of the toughest times of my life. It is, without doubt, the second best thing to come out of that depressive episode.

The very best thing is my life.


One thought on “Not the Book I Meant to Write

  1. Diana, I’m so sorry that I didn’t know about how badly you felt, didn’t try to help, and may even have unwittingly made you feel worse.
    I love you to the moon and back.


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