Ray Finlay

A song played on Spotify today, and I was overcome by a visceral sense of sadness. It reminded me of my friend — who battled with depression and lost.

It was already a sad song, one I no longer had the heart to skip. So I let it play, and I let myself delve deep into the pain and loss it brought. And with it came the promise I made — to myself and to him in spirit — that I’d do everything in my power to make sure not one of my friends ever had to feel that pain again.

But along with that promise came the shame. Why didn’t I check in more? Make more of an effort? Invite him round for tea and be more than the occasional “online pen pal”?

And then it occurred to me — I never made that same promise to myself. If I’m being completely honest, there have been many times when I could sense I was heading down a similar path.

But I digress.

You see, I used to write a blog — a spiritual perspective on my lifelong battle with depression, the highs, the lows, and everything in between.

I remember writing it like a storybook — about being both the hero and the villain in your own life — and I felt he was one of my biggest supporters. Perhaps I should have noticed the signs.

And then, suddenly, the crematorium curtains closed.

That was it. The book of his life had come to a close, and I was in shock. Just like that, the wooden box with my friend in it disappeared. It was so sudden — as it always is, I guess.

But I made a promise.

I bought a domain name and a web hosting package, determined to share my story — one of hope and healing. I wanted it to reach someone, anyone, who might need to read about not just surviving but thriving.

✨️Enter the delusions of grandeur, the paralysis of perfection, and the over-indulgence of self-importance.✨️

That domain and that promise sat untouched for a long time. I was paralyzed by the need for everything to be perfect and the fear of not being in control. I had this insane notion that if I dared to share my story, I’d be criticized, shunned, bullied, and looked down upon.

But then it hit me — I didn’t need to be perfect. It was this very need for control and perfection that kept me stuck in fear. And when I look back over my life, I can see how often that fear has stopped me from doing so much.

If I’m completely honest, it’s not like I’m some self-help guru with millions of followers. The over-indulgence in self-importance had me believing I’d have countless pairs of eyes on me — when in reality, helping just one person would be enough.

So this is for you, dear friend — a step toward fulfilling that promise. The first page in a new storybook, dedicated to you. The first step in making sure that everyone knows they are loved and never alone.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for believing in me.

May the divine forever hold you, as I do in my heart — because there will always be space for you in both.

And if you’re reading this and you’re struggling, please know this: you are loved. You are needed. You are not alone. Please reach out — to a friend, to family, to someone who will listen. Your story isn’t over yet.