Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Isn't

Isn’t the most important thing we can do in life to tell stories, to tell our own life stories?

I think so.

I think we all should to tell our story if for no other reason to show others that they’re not alone.

Tell your story. I would love to hear it.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Most people think that depression means that you're sad


Most people think that depression means that you're sad. They think that depression is just when you feel down.

It's not.

Depression is darkness that creeps up on you and fills you. It drains your energy and it numbs your emotions. It takes everything from you and leaves you with nothing so all that you are is hollow and numb.

Depression isn't sadness. It's not anger. It's hopelessness so vast that you cannot imagine there being an end to it. It's the void that is the complete absence of hope.


Imagine waking up and there being no color. 

Imagine going outside and there being no sun or wind. 

Imagine eating a meal and tasting nothing.


Imagine being held and feeling completely alone at the same time.


When you're depressed you're not in a bad mood. When you're depressed you're numb, empty and hollow and it seems that nothing can change that. When you're depressed you can be in a room full of people and still feel lonely. When you're depressed there's simply no hope.

The trick is to dare to believe that one day there will be hope again and that you won't be numb, empty or hollow anymore. The trick is to know that you're strong enough to survive it. You don't need anyone to save you, no one can, you just need people around you that support you while you save yourself.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

I had no thoughts yesterday but apparently I've had 101 thoughts previously.

And. I did tell you I was going to break my promise to blog every day. I need to try to do it though because it's important for my head health.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

My weekly breakdowns

It's becoming habitual. I hold it together beautifully through the week but I have to do at least one mini breakdown every weekend. It's like I steal myself to get through the week only so I can break down in tears and allow myself to feel completely useless and hopeless sometime on the weekend. I actually say things like "I don't want to live any more."

I feel like that at the time but I really don't feel like that most of the time. I suppose I have to be grateful that I now limit these things to once a week instead of feeling like that all the time. I have to say though that I would much prefer not feeling like that at all. It gets kind of old.

Oddly enough I actually like me right now, I know it's a complete contradiction, but I really do. I try to hold onto that when I can and when the breakdowns occur, but I have realized that I (apparently) have to do this little dance with utter despair occasionally, that it's a little like venting. OK then I tell myself, I will vent.

I'm looking forward to better days but you have to roll with the punches as they say. It just doesn't make sense fighting what happens naturally.

I'm just saying.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Banner

I'm redesigning my banner. I'm telling you so I can't really lose the plot and give up on it. You'll hold me accountable, I know you will.

Mmmmkay?

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

And I realize that I have embarrassed myself by plagiarizing someone famous

November last year I typed out the Eschatological Laundry List from a piece of paper handed to me by a friend. What I failed to do was use the most obvious tool in the world, Google, to check where it came from so I could credit the actual author.

Yesterday Sheldon Kopp’s son Jonathan bounced by my post of the Eschatological Laundry list which comes the book If You Meet Buddha on the Road, Kill Him! written by said Sheldon Kopp and kindly did all that work for me. He told me what book it was from and told me that it was written by his father, Sheldon.

He was so nice about it. Maybe he used to people plagiarizing his dad’s work but I still feel bad. You just don’t do that sort of thing to people. I’m not talking about telling them that they’ve plagiarized your dad’s work but rather the act of plagiarizing itself. It’s just rude.

So I hang my head in shame and humbly ask for forgiveness from all of you, not just Jonathan – I would understand if Jonathan never forgives me – and I hope you will give it to me and not start fearing that I will start stealing stuff from your blogs too.

Anyway, apart from feeling embarrassed I’m also a little proud to have Jonathan stopping by and commenting on my blog. One of my friends was really impressed. It kind of gave my blog a hint of street cred. Maybe. Sort of.

I’m just saying.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Three little girls

As I said yesterday: I have pink hair.

We all know that now.

In stark contrast to the hard-dyed-jet-black pepper pot I told you about yesterday were the little girls that I encountered in the supermarket yesterday. They appeared to be around five years old and although they looked distinctly Asian in a distinctly Asian suburb they were accompanied by a very blonde mommy figure.

It was in the middle of my trip home from work so there I was in all my glory, clad in bicycle Lycra, shopping basket on my arm and pink hair in an unruly mess because I was suffering from a bad case of helmet hair.

I was somewhere between looking for yoghurt and trail bars when I heard a loud voice belonging to a small person somewhere behind me.

“Oh my god! Mum! Pink Hair!”

It was followed by a hush.

“But mum! She has pink hair!” The little girl’s finger was firmly pointed in my direction until the mother hurriedly attempted to get the arm it was attached to returned to the side of the small girl it belonged to.

“We don’t point at people”, the mum whispered.

It was too late. The other two little girls had spotted me and now one of them was looking at me in utter amazement.

“Pink hair”, she sighed dreamily as if she had just realized a new fantastic possibility, “she is beautifoooooooooool.”

“She’s so pretty I’m gonna die”, the third little girl chimed in.

By this stage the mum had given up trying to control the three little girls’ open admiration for my hair and resigned to embarrassment. As I made my way through the aisles to finish my shopping I would occasionally hear tiny little voices still talking about my fabulous pink hair.

It kind of made my day.

I’m just saying.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Good friends

I have made a deal with myself. I’m going to try to write something every day. I don’t like being quiet.

I have pink hair.

Most of you probably know that by now but I’m just saying. In case you didn’t know.

Now you know.

Now we all know.

I was at the shops Saturday and this crusty little pepper pot with hard-dyed-jet-black hair looks at me and snarls at me, in a very menacing way, “Weirdo!” I actually felt hurt.

Instead proving her right by lashing out at her with some sort of primal ape aggression display, I hurried into the supermarket, tail between my legs, and found my friend in one of the aisles. I told him what had just happened. He put his arm around me and told me that I’m not the weirdo, they are. He ruffled my pink hair with his other hand and added “Pink hair or no pink hair.”

Good friends are essential to your wellbeing. Don’t ever underestimate the power of the good friend.

What do you do when you find that a good friend has lied to you? Do you fire them as your good friend and relegate them to a lower status of some sort, or do you, depending on the lie, shut them out completely and utterly so you can begin the grieving process that inevitably comes with losing a good friend…

What if they lied to protect you? What if they lied about a part of them that they knew you couldn’t possibly accept but they didn’t want to lose you. They wanted to keep you and protect you at the same time. What then? Do you try to see past the lying and can you see that there’s something good in what happened? Can you forgive them for lying and love them enough to accept that part of them that they so desperately tried to hide from you? Isn’t that what good friends do?

How big is your heart?

I’m just asking.

By the way, I'm not good at keeping deals...

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Reflections

I don’t know if I have it in me to be disappointed in people any more. It seems to be that most of us are doing the best we can for the best part. What I do feel it’s harder to come to terms with is that most people seem so bloody screwed up.

I look for truths about my condition and the root of my own personal evils: the depression, the anxiety and the panic attacks. I know that it’s my reaction to other people’s behaviour that’s causing my problems. I am simply programmed, somehow, to expect a little too much from them but I don’t get disappointed in them anymore; it’s the expectations I have of others.

I don’t think I was made for this world. I’ve always felt like I’m somehow here by mistake. I understand, perhaps better than most, what lies behind people’s actions simply because I can clearly see patterns and their motives but I simply cannot understand what’s behind their motives. What drives people to treat each other bad?

There are few things that I expect to come to me in life anymore but it doesn’t mean I want or need them any less. Wanting and needing something sometimes brings us into situations for all the wrong reasons or into places where we can see that what we have is sufficient. Right now, I’m either in a situation for all the wrong reasons or I’m in a place where what I have is really sufficient. I, like most people, am not equipped right now to determine which one it is. I’m too confused right now.

I have growing pains. It’s like my soul and heart is expanding at a furious rate and I’m not big enough to house it anymore. It’s all happening too quickly and I wonder if it’s not too late at my age to grow this much, to expand this much in such a short period of time. I should be fully formed by now, surely.

I used to think that I was bad at judging people’s characters but in fact it’s the opposite. It’s that thing I have that helps me see people for what they really are very quickly that trips me up. I don’t spend time getting to know them, I find out who they really are very quickly, I see behind their carefully crafted masks, and I know what they need and are when they don’t even know it themselves. That’s what trips me up. My worldview of them is not compatible with what they allow themselves to see about themselves. Most of the time, where I see potential for growth they see failure.

I don’t know what to do about it and I don’t know how what I should change into to stop myself from doing this. I long for closer relationships not more relationships where I keep people further away from me because I have to due to my own expectations. I want to wake up in the morning and belong somewhere, to have my own tribe that I finally feel I can belong to. I’m beginning to think that I will never feel like I’ll have that but there’s that little desperately depressed part of me that keeps hoping that something will change.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

"Open the pod bay doors, please, HAL."

Plain and simple, ever since I met Prozac and I started ingesting it I have lost my will to write. It's not that I've stopped thinking and being outraged, or even stopped being depressed and anxious, it's just that I feel I have nothing special to say.

It's hard when you think of yourself as a writer, mainly because it's how you make a living (although some would poo poo the idea of a technical writer calling themselves a writer), and then come to realize you've "lost it". What "it" is in this particular case I do not know.

Maybe it's the will and/or ability to drone on about things that don't really matter in this world. Maybe it's that thing that happens to all of us sometimes when we put fingers to keyboard and we turn out something simply genius. Maybe it's the self-reflection that inevitably comes from blogging about oneself.

All that seems to petty compared to some other things in this world...

Why do we choose not to eat the salad on the plate when we're at a restaurant when there are people who have nothing to eat? Why if most people only eat the steak and chips and leave the salad untouched is it even there on the plate in the first place? Wouldn't it be more honest to hike off to Africa, find a starving mother unable to feed her child and just slap her in the face? It's driving me insane how poorly we distribute resources and then sit back and wonder why people are angry. We think of ourselves as the noble and educated but we are the ones who continuously keep wasting resources for the sake of doing it.

It maddens me to think of how much stuff gets thrown out. We still run around and consume at an insane rate and we're conned into thinking that somehow buying more things will trade us out of a global financial crisis. All this while more and more jobs are going overseas.

The world makes no sense to me and I don't like it. Perhaps I'm better off being depressed and all wrapped up in me and my moods.

I'm just saying.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Oh, those kids are the ones that don’t think straight

My daughter and I were having a talk the other night. She was talking about how she was worried about one of her friends at school because she was being excluded from the “gang”. The reason for the exclusion is that the other girls think she’s “disgusting”.

My daughter goes to school in a support unit where the kids have different learning disabilities and handicaps. The girl in question is really lovely and always happy but she’s one of those kids that needs to be told and who will basically go along with whatever she’s told and think it’s great. It was when she managed to put her hand in some bird poo and simply wiped it off without washing her hands that the other girls decided she was disgusting. My daughter took her off the girls toilet to make sure she washed her hands but it kind of stuck, the her being disgusting.

I asked my daughter if this girl was bothered by it all and she told be no, she had other friends anyway but they’re in the S1 class. (My daughter is in the S2 class.) I asked my daughter what the difference is between the S2 and S1 kids and she simply replied:
“Oh, the S1 kids are the ones that don’t think straight.”

I couldn’t help but laugh because my mental picture of the difference was something like this:


But, it also made me think that perhaps instead of all the 3D movies we’re getting nowadays we need this:


I don't know about you but I certainly feel like my attention span is getting shorter.

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