[Personal diatribe - not meant for public consumption]
Where does one go when one has no place to go? We find friends, we find hobbies/interests, we find many activities/thoughts. And when/if/where/how/who no longer exists, then what?
Personal reflection time. No material to write about. No thoughts to put down. Depression sets in - the other side of life, the shaded windows around one's thoughts, the shutting in, the shutting down. One person out of seven billion, more or less.
Where is the pick-me-up? Where is the "it'll be better tomorrow...no, wait, it'll be better in the next moment...just hang on"?
Feel all the neurochemelectric states of energy flowing through this temporary state of existence called a body in the form of a male member of one species. Feel them and weep. Feel them and laugh. Feel them and feel numb.
I am one person, dependent on my wife, making me codependent and crazy without her. I miss my wife when she travels - I lose my mind because I am only half a person, half as attentive, unable to complete common phrases in many languages I normally know how to speak with Chestney and her friend, Hillary. I am like the walking dead without my wife. I find no words to share with Maggie or Abby or Aspen or Nicholas or Keri or Rachel, Bruce or Anne or Kevin. I exist only because I know my wife is somewhere out there in the world and will be with me soon. Thus, my year of dedication to women is a year of dedication to one woman. She is my all, the only reason I exist. All else is billboards and Hollywood stage sets, bright lights, false store fronts and empty movie sets when she's gone.
There is no script in life, even when we have fun, like my nephew as assistant director in the local production of the Threepenny Opera, Brechtian in all its Brecht-like social commentaries poking fun at the very idea (if such exists) of the idea of the three-act play/musical/opera/name your favorite three-part performance. Poverty is perennial. We are all beggars of one sort or another. Even when a governor has a "VISION FOR VIRGNIA" [sic] per the spelling geniuses at the Richmond Times-Dispatch (don't get me started about journalism as a professional career; remember, I worked in the industry - incompetence is infectious, don't passssss it onn).
Today, I feel clouded over, but if I could see the sky at night, the moon would reflect my thoughts like a wornout old penny. I wish I could stay in character but I have no character to stay today other than who I am, a wornout middle-aged man, lost in La Mancha, no windmills to knock over, no Tiger Brown or Macheath with whom I can chew the bull.
I have seen the past. I have seen the future. I know all there is to know. I have become who I wanted to become but never thought about what or who I'd be once I reached this position.
Now what? Now who? There are no mounted messengers to wing their way through the raucous crowd. There is only me, a meek mouse wandering through the field of wheat, eagles, hawks and owls on the prowl.
Childless. Futureless. Gone before I arrived. When the end has appeared, the applause died down, the fans and followers dispersed and on their paths to life, then what's left?
Silence.
The absence of light.
Nothing.
Supposed to be the perfect time to meditate, right? Meditate on what? Meditate on waiting until the next moment to write about, I suppose. The rest is forgotten details. Thankfully so. Let silence reign for a while. I have nothing new to write about. I am nothing but random states of energy. Let youth rule. Let them figure out if there's anything truly original. I never had kids to begin with. What do I know? I'm a deadend branch on the tree of life. Flowers are on other twigs, not me. Fruits are found on the living. Seek the blooms. I'm ready to be fertilizer, feeding the worms and roots. Blended into the background. You can't see me. I've disappeared.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
17 January 2010
29 October 2009
Lost In Allemagne
Mad, Hopeful, Dazed, Depressed, Contented, Ashamed, Famished, Cranky, Stressed. The many moods of mes chats mâles.
A day of contemplating life through another's eyes.
Meanwhile, on the battlefront...
A day of contemplating life through another's eyes.
Meanwhile, on the battlefront...
David McWilliams: Rich get richer as rest of us pay for their mistakes
Kierkegaard on the Couch
The Mismeasure of Woman= & =
A day of contemplating nothing and nothingness, happiness a stranger in a strange land somewhere. What's the point of using ASCII or binary if the text won't type itself since today's not a day for one to be typing one's thoughts? :^(
The recession over and less than 90 percent of the people fully employed. Should the remaining folks jump for joy? Best be quiet, eh? Guess I should be a good bloke and eat me fish and chips and drink me draught. Daft, I say. Here's my fully Monty to those who put us in this mess, guilty and charged up. Maybe there's something numbing on the telly to take my mind off me. A couple of mouse hunters my companions for the day.
27 October 2009
Clinical Chill
When writing the types of stories I write, I look at the junction of wordplay and madness. Deep in the bowels of the bowels, bacteria gather to feed on our discarded youth. In the bacteria gather other goodies.
Condensed versions of what matters.
In the meantime, small rubber cylinders spin incessantly, grinding rock upon rock in hopes of creating polished gifts to give out at the end of the year, the muddy goop poured off the front deck onto the roots of azaleas which may or may not add colour beneath the redbud tree in spring.
Bach concertos on earpieces.
When in class at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville in the early 1980s, I listened to a professor discuss the issues of death and dying, the majority of my classmates nurses who dealt with the elderly or terminally ill. I the oddity. I the curious. I obsessed with mortality in my second decade of hesitating, halting living writing. A comment from the teacher: "Those who've thought about self have thought about self's death. Those who step into the abyss find desire to go back, some taking the permanent route. Some put off self's death until their 50s, waiting for something stronger than the abyss to keep them on this side." Studied Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and other authors. Don't go into the light, etc., because the light's not real, just the decrease of oxygen to body parts, including the aerobic bacteria fending off the anaerobic bacteria in our guts.
A year before our 30th.
Within a calendar year, two secondary schoolmates have taken their lives from the rest of us. Snuffed. Eliminated. Subtracted. Of my ~477 classmates, how many others have ended their lives with their own means?
Depression in a depression.
Or a recession. Words have no meaning except when you're facing yourself in a mirror asking why, why, why. Where are the answers? Reactive reagents. Organic or inorganic chemistry. Beakers. Stopcocks. Microscales. Notebooks.
I know that mirror. I've stared at my face looking for answers. Whose face am I? My long-lost grandfather? My parents? My...what? Temper tantrums as a child. Red hair. Scandinavian rage. Scandals. Scandalise. Vandalise. Valise. Valet. Anger and nowhere to release because no one upon whom berserkers should attack.
I know the questions. When will it end? What's the point? Why bother? What's the difference? We all know them. We've asked them or asked them of others.
Alone but not lonely. Lonely but not alone. Any time, any place. All the time. No place. With or without words. Chemicals pumping through our bodies, driving us insane. Artificial chemicals - drugs - a plaster mask over a crumbling wall. The abyss, known or unknown, desired beyond rational responsible logical 40238tmnF)$MDS_$
Meaningless meaningful mean meanings means
Can...not...wait...five...more...minutes...of...life...
Two-stepping, two-timing or twelve steps. Don't give a damn. It's just another fucking minute on this planet that can do without me.
And never at a convenient time. Pounding headaches. Unbearable silence. Screaming without mercy. Can hell be any worse?
These moments curl around us like a boa constrictor that hasn't eaten in a month. We're but little mice in the vice.
If this is madness, where's the line that divides us from genius? Why can't we choose? Why be normal if the cycle's going to hit the mountain trail and sling mud and rocks into our sore spots over and over and over and send red rover to simple simon's clotheslined the pieman and got the cobbler nailing the little old lady in the shoe?
Where are the signs that help others help those who think that help is forever out of reach?
I lost two classmates recently, both who took their lives. They thought what they thought and did what they did because of who they were. In my stories, I see the reflection of those with whom I've spent my life. My life is not yet spent. I still have breath. Where in my stories are my classmates whose lives are spent? What can I learn? What have my characters learned? Is there a lesson in what we call clinical depression, bipolar personalities, or other mental twists and turns that make normalcy a bad joke we never get? I don't know. I have a normal life. I have normal friends and normal family. Of course, normality is a statistical mean to which none of us wholly belongs, according to John Weightman.
Statistics. Sadistics. Permutations. Connotations. Mathematics for masochists.
Today, I am sad. Happiness will have to wait its turn tomorrow. I miss my dead classmates. I miss my fellow secondary schoolmates who are still alive. In the depths of our depressions - real, imagined, temporary or permanent - we miss ourselves, too. A good comforting thought or relief valve of a funny joke is out of my sight right now. I am p-p-p-pefdurhitdaqwty perplexed.
We cannot solve the world's problems by ourselves. It takes time and effort to see what's really going on. We may never figure out what's wrong with ourselves but we move forward and try anyway. Trial and error. Fall down and get back up. Two steps forward and one step back. No, it's not easy. No, it's not hard. It is what it is. Some of us will choose to kill ourselves and there's nothing we can do to stop the action. From another galaxy, I can't see if that's what we should expect of a growing population of one species getting more and more crowded but that's what population studies show. Murder, violence, depression, suicide. The other side of longer lifespans and healthier birthrates on less and less arable land.
I like to write. What I write is not always what I like. I don't like this blog entry but it's one I want to write down and observe. I have met the clinically depressed. I have met schizophrenics, bipolar, obsessive-compulsive and manic-depressive types. I have met the disenfranchised and the despondents. I have met those who feel they have no hope left. Drug addicts. Suicidal loners. People who've found a way to live despite their desire to die. All of us alive, breathing, kicking and screaming our way through the next minute, five minutes, hour, morning, afternoon, evening, night, day, week, month, year...
Every moment is not a blessing. Every moment is not happiness, joy, peace and quiet. Every moment is whatever we do to get through the moment.
Can we get through the moment? We just did. We will again right after this next one. Can we save our schoolmates, coworkers, family and friends from killing themselves? We hope so. We may not be able to. In the moment when we lose one or more, we face ourselves and what we feel we might have done. Why? What if...? The answers never appear. Or do they? We're left with ourselves. You see, that's the answer, don't you? We're left with ourselves. We're the ones who go forward with each other, looking at the remaining questions to be answered and working together for solutions.
No matter the reason or what we believe, every body dies. We had our lives and lived them, no matter how short or long. We interacted with those around us the best way our bodies could, good or bad.
The past few days, I've tried to maintain a happy demeanor but I've been sad. The older I get, the more I become a sympathetic old fool. I lost a classmate to suicide and there's not a thing I could have done to stop her. Her life was hers to do with as she chose. I want to blame the knuckleheads who created this economic downturn but I know that's just the Viking in me who wants some bloodletting to feel better. I want to grab someone by the collar and punch as hard as I can but who's at cause? Too many chemical-laden instant meals? Too much breathing industrial pollution? Clinical depression is a disease beyond my comprehension, a label I know little about.
One less person in the world. One less smile. One less tear. One less hug.
Tomorrow's another day. Tonight's a long time, sleep far away. I don't have enough arms, smiles or soothing words to reach out to all my classmates at once and tell them they're more important than anyone else in the world. If you can read this, whoever you are, I love you. You are important to me. I need you more than you can possibly imagine. I don't care what you look like or what you think. We may be worlds apart in thought but we're brother and sister in fact. Look in the mirror and imagine someone(s) beside you or behind you smiling at you smiling back at them.
Some moments are tough to handle by ourselves. If nothing else, the Internet's here to help us see we're not alone. We can share our problems anonymously, if we have to, to find creative solutions from online strangers when we feel we can't turn to immediate friends and family.
I wish you a good night, my friends. Here is my virtual handshake or reassuring pat on the back. You'll have to pardon my emotional outburst here. I'll get back to my humourous ways soon enough. I want to feel every emotion, even sadness and depression, when the moment for one arrives. Why else live? Why not live? There's always tomorrow. Procrastination is a good thing!
Condensed versions of what matters.
In the meantime, small rubber cylinders spin incessantly, grinding rock upon rock in hopes of creating polished gifts to give out at the end of the year, the muddy goop poured off the front deck onto the roots of azaleas which may or may not add colour beneath the redbud tree in spring.
Bach concertos on earpieces.
When in class at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville in the early 1980s, I listened to a professor discuss the issues of death and dying, the majority of my classmates nurses who dealt with the elderly or terminally ill. I the oddity. I the curious. I obsessed with mortality in my second decade of hesitating, halting living writing. A comment from the teacher: "Those who've thought about self have thought about self's death. Those who step into the abyss find desire to go back, some taking the permanent route. Some put off self's death until their 50s, waiting for something stronger than the abyss to keep them on this side." Studied Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and other authors. Don't go into the light, etc., because the light's not real, just the decrease of oxygen to body parts, including the aerobic bacteria fending off the anaerobic bacteria in our guts.
A year before our 30th.
Within a calendar year, two secondary schoolmates have taken their lives from the rest of us. Snuffed. Eliminated. Subtracted. Of my ~477 classmates, how many others have ended their lives with their own means?
Depression in a depression.
Or a recession. Words have no meaning except when you're facing yourself in a mirror asking why, why, why. Where are the answers? Reactive reagents. Organic or inorganic chemistry. Beakers. Stopcocks. Microscales. Notebooks.
I know that mirror. I've stared at my face looking for answers. Whose face am I? My long-lost grandfather? My parents? My...what? Temper tantrums as a child. Red hair. Scandinavian rage. Scandals. Scandalise. Vandalise. Valise. Valet. Anger and nowhere to release because no one upon whom berserkers should attack.
I know the questions. When will it end? What's the point? Why bother? What's the difference? We all know them. We've asked them or asked them of others.
Alone but not lonely. Lonely but not alone. Any time, any place. All the time. No place. With or without words. Chemicals pumping through our bodies, driving us insane. Artificial chemicals - drugs - a plaster mask over a crumbling wall. The abyss, known or unknown, desired beyond rational responsible logical 40238tmnF)$MDS_$
Meaningless meaningful mean meanings means
Can...not...wait...five...more...minutes...of...life...
Two-stepping, two-timing or twelve steps. Don't give a damn. It's just another fucking minute on this planet that can do without me.
And never at a convenient time. Pounding headaches. Unbearable silence. Screaming without mercy. Can hell be any worse?
These moments curl around us like a boa constrictor that hasn't eaten in a month. We're but little mice in the vice.
If this is madness, where's the line that divides us from genius? Why can't we choose? Why be normal if the cycle's going to hit the mountain trail and sling mud and rocks into our sore spots over and over and over and send red rover to simple simon's clotheslined the pieman and got the cobbler nailing the little old lady in the shoe?
Where are the signs that help others help those who think that help is forever out of reach?
I lost two classmates recently, both who took their lives. They thought what they thought and did what they did because of who they were. In my stories, I see the reflection of those with whom I've spent my life. My life is not yet spent. I still have breath. Where in my stories are my classmates whose lives are spent? What can I learn? What have my characters learned? Is there a lesson in what we call clinical depression, bipolar personalities, or other mental twists and turns that make normalcy a bad joke we never get? I don't know. I have a normal life. I have normal friends and normal family. Of course, normality is a statistical mean to which none of us wholly belongs, according to John Weightman.
Statistics. Sadistics. Permutations. Connotations. Mathematics for masochists.
Today, I am sad. Happiness will have to wait its turn tomorrow. I miss my dead classmates. I miss my fellow secondary schoolmates who are still alive. In the depths of our depressions - real, imagined, temporary or permanent - we miss ourselves, too. A good comforting thought or relief valve of a funny joke is out of my sight right now. I am p-p-p-pefdurhitdaqwty perplexed.
We cannot solve the world's problems by ourselves. It takes time and effort to see what's really going on. We may never figure out what's wrong with ourselves but we move forward and try anyway. Trial and error. Fall down and get back up. Two steps forward and one step back. No, it's not easy. No, it's not hard. It is what it is. Some of us will choose to kill ourselves and there's nothing we can do to stop the action. From another galaxy, I can't see if that's what we should expect of a growing population of one species getting more and more crowded but that's what population studies show. Murder, violence, depression, suicide. The other side of longer lifespans and healthier birthrates on less and less arable land.
I like to write. What I write is not always what I like. I don't like this blog entry but it's one I want to write down and observe. I have met the clinically depressed. I have met schizophrenics, bipolar, obsessive-compulsive and manic-depressive types. I have met the disenfranchised and the despondents. I have met those who feel they have no hope left. Drug addicts. Suicidal loners. People who've found a way to live despite their desire to die. All of us alive, breathing, kicking and screaming our way through the next minute, five minutes, hour, morning, afternoon, evening, night, day, week, month, year...
Every moment is not a blessing. Every moment is not happiness, joy, peace and quiet. Every moment is whatever we do to get through the moment.
Can we get through the moment? We just did. We will again right after this next one. Can we save our schoolmates, coworkers, family and friends from killing themselves? We hope so. We may not be able to. In the moment when we lose one or more, we face ourselves and what we feel we might have done. Why? What if...? The answers never appear. Or do they? We're left with ourselves. You see, that's the answer, don't you? We're left with ourselves. We're the ones who go forward with each other, looking at the remaining questions to be answered and working together for solutions.
No matter the reason or what we believe, every body dies. We had our lives and lived them, no matter how short or long. We interacted with those around us the best way our bodies could, good or bad.
The past few days, I've tried to maintain a happy demeanor but I've been sad. The older I get, the more I become a sympathetic old fool. I lost a classmate to suicide and there's not a thing I could have done to stop her. Her life was hers to do with as she chose. I want to blame the knuckleheads who created this economic downturn but I know that's just the Viking in me who wants some bloodletting to feel better. I want to grab someone by the collar and punch as hard as I can but who's at cause? Too many chemical-laden instant meals? Too much breathing industrial pollution? Clinical depression is a disease beyond my comprehension, a label I know little about.
One less person in the world. One less smile. One less tear. One less hug.
Tomorrow's another day. Tonight's a long time, sleep far away. I don't have enough arms, smiles or soothing words to reach out to all my classmates at once and tell them they're more important than anyone else in the world. If you can read this, whoever you are, I love you. You are important to me. I need you more than you can possibly imagine. I don't care what you look like or what you think. We may be worlds apart in thought but we're brother and sister in fact. Look in the mirror and imagine someone(s) beside you or behind you smiling at you smiling back at them.
Some moments are tough to handle by ourselves. If nothing else, the Internet's here to help us see we're not alone. We can share our problems anonymously, if we have to, to find creative solutions from online strangers when we feel we can't turn to immediate friends and family.
I wish you a good night, my friends. Here is my virtual handshake or reassuring pat on the back. You'll have to pardon my emotional outburst here. I'll get back to my humourous ways soon enough. I want to feel every emotion, even sadness and depression, when the moment for one arrives. Why else live? Why not live? There's always tomorrow. Procrastination is a good thing!
07 October 2009
Where Do We Go From Here?
Perhaps we will find enough water vapour on the Moon Friday to justify accelerating the moon habitation schedule. And if we don't? Then what?
Meanwhile, I thank Rebecca and Jayna for taking care of the fresh banana pudding today - the grocery market was full of smiling faces. Some days, I need your smiling faces more than I want to admit (like today when I'm fighting off a depressive mood instead of working through it happily - there's a thin line between self-deprecation and self-hatred I'm trying not to cross today).
Oh well, time to work on class prep material after enjoying a sunny afternoon washing cars and putting up an outdoor tent to cover the '62 Dodge Lancer.
Meanwhile, I thank Rebecca and Jayna for taking care of the fresh banana pudding today - the grocery market was full of smiling faces. Some days, I need your smiling faces more than I want to admit (like today when I'm fighting off a depressive mood instead of working through it happily - there's a thin line between self-deprecation and self-hatred I'm trying not to cross today).
Oh well, time to work on class prep material after enjoying a sunny afternoon washing cars and putting up an outdoor tent to cover the '62 Dodge Lancer.
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