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Category: What is Life
The day I didn’t want to write
Content Warning: Depression
The day I didn’t want to write wasn’t so long ago.
That’s never a great start to a story, right? Especially one about a writer.
Maybe not, but it’s the honest truth. I had been slowly spiraling down into the deepest depression I have ever experienced and that’s what depression does.
Depression isn’t just feeling down in the dumps and oh well time to smile and be happy again because everything will be all right. There is a thing called functioning depression, and that, well that has it’s own miseries to it.
But if you reach the point of not wanting to do the things you know you used to enjoy, when you no longer can enjoy them even when you try, that, my friend, is a deep problem.
The thing is, it’s an easily hidden problem. It’s easy to overlook. Others may have no idea. You might not even realize what’s going on.
I’m fortunate because I was watching closely. From one crisis to another, from one unsafe or careless or inconsiderate choice after another by others, I realized I was slipping away. I didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Even as much as I still cared for the world at large, and even as much as I didn’t want the rest of my life, however long it would be, to be miserable, I felt that ultimately none of it made a difference or was worth anything.
I’d been practicing all sorts of self care methods, trying to be kind to myself, trying to make my expectations realistic and reasonable. I’d been seen, heard, understood by a few. I’d been misunderstood or perhaps even considered a nuisance by others.
I was living through trauma. We all were. And I had an extra complication on top of mine that some simply could not compute. They couldn’t see the world the way I did. I’m sure to them I was full of overreactions.
I’m not here to argue my trauma is worse than someone else’s.
I just know what mine did to me.
The day I no longer wanted to write, that thing, that singular thing I’ve been good at and enjoyed for years, the very thing I studied and realized I had found my treasure chest, something I could do for ever and enjoy the time-consuming, painstaking process. The day I no longer wanted to write was a day that part of me died and sat decomposing in my chest. And I just wanted it gone. I didn’t even want to mourn it. Because it didn’t matter.
So I stopped. In a way it was a kindness. I removed the pressure. The joy was gone; the guilt could die with it. The aspirations of publication, the wish to say something worth saying on a mass scale, and the desire to prove to myself I could do something even with the odds stacked against me, those were all gone.
Years of work and dreams no longer mattered.
It was a slow chiseling away, but not one that led to a beautiful statue or anything noteworthily good. And when that last piece finally broke off, I didn’t want to search for it.
That’s what depression did to me.
I wasn’t me anymore. I was a new being, but a shell of one. It wasn’t a rebirth; it was just a walking death.
Writing wasn’t the only thing that didn’t matter anymore. Nothing I did or could do or would do mattered.
That was a dark time, and one most people who know me didn’t know about. I’m grateful for the support from those who did. I’m grateful the intensity of that time has dwindled. I’ll tell you about the good things sometime, but for now, this is a story with an uncomfortable pause. Depression does that. Let’s talk about it. Let’s not always counter it with “happy happy joy joy.” That won’t help the people who are in their darkest moments. Listening and accepting them, exactly as they are in that moment will do more than you may imagine.
Those difficult emotions are there for a reason. And when apathy sets in, that’s a warning sign.
Listen to those emotions. Watch for that warning sign. If someone you know is going through this (likely, even if you don’t realize it), sit with that discomfort. Not to live in it forever, but to understand, to learn, to be curious.
That’s how you find the way out.
Thunder
Superman needs the sun.
I need thunderstorms.
There is no other energy quite like it. I feel it in my soul even more than my body, and it energizes me like nothing else.
Thunder has many tones. A soft, distant rumble, like a mother’s strong voice from inside the womb. A sharp, powerful crack, like a verdict that reveals truth. And a dozen variations inbetween. All of which, to me, are like the loving voice of God.
Contrary to what might be more logical, when I hear thunder, no matter how far or close it is, I feel safe. (Yes, when it’s very close I may still jump. But then I’m fine.)
I came to terms long ago that if God wanted to strike me down with a bolt of lightning then there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. And that, perhaps ironically, gave me peace.
At least with lightning.
I’ve been struggling lately with faith, beliefs, base understandings I’ve always held. Thunder, though it comes from the sky, grounds me. Maybe I don’t have to have all the answers. It’s okay if right now I’m more full of questions and doubts than certainties. When I hear thunder, blessedly a near daily gift in this seasonal weather, I have an anchor. Something bigger than me. Something unknown, strong and powerful, yet gentle and soothing. Something intangible yet physical. Something spiritual.
Superman needs the sun to recharge.
I need thunder to remind me to keep going.
A Story of Acceptance, Body Health and Mental Health
Once upon a time, there was a young woman who found a musical art that she loved. It gave her community, activity, heartbeat and song, and a freedom to scream, smile, laugh, and cry like she’d never had before.
But, as seems to be the case with good things, it had to end. At least for a time. You see, she had a physical impairment that she didn’t understand or even know what it was yet. As much as she loved time with her musical group, she had to stop, and that lasted for about a year.
She didn’t know it at the time, but once she had the chance to return, once she had accepted her physical changed, limitations in some ways, and had learned how to handle her body’s new needs, she would regain her strength and improve. She would play better than ever, feel freer than ever, and grow in the community like never before.
Until it came to a stop again. The group had reasons to all pause, for a time, but after they were back together, she found herself again weaker, tired, sick. At first she didn’t know why, but she was determined to get answers so that she could take care of her ever-changing needs yet again and get back to her community she loved.
This time, the pause was shorter. This time she had more immediate insight. This time she was determined, and once she did have an answer, it wasn’t as drastic as the first time.
But it still took time, and care, to accept.
She returned to the musical community after missing not quite two months. A relief compared to the year that had passed previously, but still a long time to be away and out of practice. Meanwhile, her senpais and kohais had continued to progress.
It was both refreshing and disappointing to be back. She was glad to see everyone, glad to play the music, glad to move her body. And she was sad that she had lost time, still did not feel completely well, and couldn’t do things to the extent she used to. She realized she was, once again, the kohai. Not a bad position to be in, especially not with this community where senpais were still equals. But a disappointment to realize. It was as if she had lost ground while everyone else moved forward.
She took an ever so brief moment to allow the emotion to well up. It spilled over for an instant, then it was gone.
Acceptance was a kindness. She realized it didn’t matter too much and the loss wasn’t truly a loss. It was simply a different detour on the path, uniquely hers, perhaps even special. And she would learn. She would regain, and she would be strong again. She was moving forward, with her wonderful community. That’s what she chose to focus on. That’s what she was able to focus on after she accepted how unfair it seemed and difficult it might be to regain the skill and strength she’d once had. But she knew then that she would be able to achieve it.
Acceptance was a kindness.
And then she played.
DeTickles Diaries 