Some of you know that I have suffered from serious depression for a long time. I can honestly say it was completely situational and its gripping hold lasts as long as at did because I lacked coping skills. For those of you who are tempted to say it, let me preempt you and save your karma further harm: "Get over it!" is neither incentivizing nor helpful as "getting over it" is not a coping skill but and end result of having applied a coping skill.
Typically this time of year between October and the lengthening of days induces a kind of depression that is like cabin fever on steroids. When the sun is not shining I don't want to get out of bed; I don't want to shower; I won't watch a comedy to save my life and my heart shrinks to pre-revelation Grinch proportions that makes pre-revelation Scrooge look like his nephew Fred. It begins with August marking the start of my personal season of loss. Maternal Grandparents, a couple of pets (most notably "Peaker" whose lifelss body I carried home from the roadside and buried on my own and Spock who had to be left at the pound in Marquette), Dad, mom's decline which began in October, Matt left me in the fall, and it seemed that each of my elementary school years brought the loss of a best friend until I ceased to make best friends. After 15 years of accumulating loss upon loss with no other coping mechanism but denial the brain simply refuses to take another step under such duress.
This year is different.
It is January and I don't feel like sticking my head in a snow bank until Spring. I am not creating any artwork but my mind is spinning like mad with concepts for when I have a suitable space to live. The deplorable conditions in which I live have not induced the kind of debilitating depression I have known in the past. The financial stress is present. I still lack a steady companion. And I am now reduced to a standard of living befitting my poor immigrant ancestors fresh off the boat from Germany circa 1920. But I am not depressed. Why?
Because I finaly found, deep within myself, the most basic and fundamental necessity for living on this planet: a belief in one's self, one's purpose on this planet and the certainty that no one else's opinion of who and what I am is to be the guiding principle of my life. In other words, I know longer care about recieving positive opinions of people who live a superficial life. I no longer care what my brother thinks of me. I know longer care what my sister thinks. Both have revealed their true nature as egocrats in the truest sense of the word. Both of them have their own world view shaped by their own insecurities. Both of them view me through the insecure and myopic lens with which they view themselves. Neither are willing to see my life in any way other than their own. For my sister: since I do not live in a cute little ranch or cape cod, caring for other people's children (namely I think her own) I am a failure. Because I take the time to think instead of react she believes that I lay down my life and wait to die instead of taking the prudent measure of not compunding one problem with another through thoughtless action. for my brother: since I do not "own" a home that is too large for me to care for on my own, that can be shown off to the Joneses, because I lack fancy techno gadgets and status symbols I am a failure. What I do possess I possess prudently but in his eyes undeservedly. These are the measures in which I assessed my worth until I realised that those views were destroying me.
I am an artist. Wil keeps telling us to do what we are meant to do. The world could not have a better cheerleader than Wil Wheaton, no matter how you pronounce his name. Art is for the spirit and soul. Art is an act of intimacy with the Creator that says "I like what you do. Can I do it too?" You know, just like when we were kids and dad was building stuff in the garage. Art makes people happy.
I am a healer/empath. I can't read anyone's mind like Counselor Troi. But I feel your pain. I share your pain. And when you want to cry and you don't want to cry alone I am good to sit with you and do just that. Truly, no matter how frustrated I can get with the limitations of human existance and the limits others put on themselves, I do love everybody. And sometimes that is all god wants out of people like me. Sometimes, because everyone else is too busy for the David Dobsons (insert your local mentally handicapped person who corners you in the store or at church) God needs you to be there to give two shits about someone who has a more difficult existence than you do. Sometimes he needs a body to step in with unloved/neglected pets, kids and seniors so that for a few minutes out of the day they feel genuinely loved. Sometimes he needs a good spirit to step in where there is chaos to break its hold on a situation. That doesn't mean I am perfect. And that doesn't mean it always works. Frequently I am just as swayed by the chaos at work. Some days it takes two of us to generate enough positive energy to break the chaotic hold.
I am a writer. Mostly writing to help me understand how people's hearts and minds work. Sometimes in the form of a blog to share information. And mostly to entertain.
I am not a celebrity in my own circle of friends or in the grandiose sphere of earthly endeavors. And that is okay. Someone has to be in the audience cheering on the performers and gushing over them in person. I am that someone. And its okay. And now that I accept that... depression isn't holding me in a death grip... not even a good old fashioned vulcan nerve pinch.
No comments:
Post a Comment