Lessons

 Lesson of the day/week whatever

Think about how what you say affects others

Try to hear yourself when you're speaking to others

And not just when you're speaking to a stranger or a person of authority.

Think about it when you're speaking to your loved ones, your co workers, your kids, even your pets.

Are you still chosing your words carefully?

Making sure to come off as polite and kind?

Is your tone condescending or curt?

If the person or persons you are speaking to are intimidated by or look up to you, think even harder about how you sound. 

Do you want to give off an air of rudeness? Do you want people to dread your conversations? Think of that negativity that you are putting out there. If you believe that what you surround yourself with affects what you get back, then consider that maybe the bad stuff that's happening around you may have something to do with how you are treating others.

Ps passive aggressive comments followed by laughter cut just as deep, deeper than honesty.

Mistakes

 You can't forget all the mistakes you've made, because you don't want to forget all the things you've learned from them. 

 As painful as it may be to remember it all, it's part of who you are and you're better because of it all. 

Time for change

 I wasn't me, I wasn't happy

I was drowning, just getting by 

I didn't see this truth until I was told that what I thought didn't matter, that my voice was not to be heard, and that's when the inner me screamed.

I've had a year of insight and growth 

Time to heal and find me again

But now all I see is how lost the rest of your are

Where is your joie de vivre

You inner sunshine

Your grateful to be alive

Now we're all just negative and cold

Slogging through the same mud but not seeing anyone else

It took me a year to see how dark my lenses were

No longer rosey, not even clear, 

Dark, jaded, twisted, tainted.

We do so well, shoving it down, 

Letting the tidal wave that is bad news push us ever forward

But always down, to a dark and scary place

But this doesn't have to be the end, maybe you'll crack too 

And one day you'll say enough is enough

And you'll see the sun again

Grief

 Can you grieve something you never had

Can you grieve an idea

What about a dream

A fantasy

It never happened but knowing it can't

That can break the heart

A dream can shatter

A heart can break

These are figurative things falling apart

But they can hurt like a literal wound

Are we missing the physical body of a loved one we've lost

Or are we grieving the conversation, the feelings, the company

There is no one who can deny the physical effects loss can have

But most of it is inside

Invisible to others but still feels real

How do we treat these things

You can't put a bandaid on a broken heart

You can't stitch a shattered dream

They say the only way to heal is time

Distraction to get by, until memories fade

My depression an unguarded explanation/expression of the struggle

I remember when my depression really started. At first it was just episodes of fatigue and disinterest or lack of motivation.  Then it started to affect all parts of my life, my relationships, my friendships, I started losing interest in things I normally loved. I felt trapped in a hollow blackness. Like something dark and evil was wrapped around my heart. Making me feel cold and disconnected. Sometimes feeling completely melancholy, other times completely overwhelmed and able only to cry hysterically, screaming into my pillow, wishing someone would hear me and ask if I was ok. I don’t know what I would have done if someone had asked, but I wished I could express it, name it, instead of masking it with a cheery outward disposition. I stopped feeling strong emotions when they would be appropriate, and feeling them only in overwhelming waves of anxiety and sadness. I wonder if I’d been given a diagnosis in my second year (2007), when I first started having those bouts of hysterical crying, a lot of my friendships might have been salvaged. I let a lot of important, wonderful people drift away as I sought solace in a single person. It must have been hard to lose your friend, the instigator and motivator of hilarity, and watch her stay home some nights where all she could do was cry or hideaway, I was probably exhausting to be around. I wish I could have explained what was happening to me. I’d give anything to get that time back, those friendships.

I will absolutely never forget the month (January 2008) that I spent in my mom and dad’s bed, crying hysterically, screaming that it hurt, that I didn’t understand, that I couldn’t do it anymore, crying until I could cry no more. Not eating, not showering, the only thing that got me through was that they were there for me, listening even when I made absolutely no sense.  I watched all 10 seasons of Friends, too. Some may not like the show, think the jokes are lame and the romance cheesy, but that show, along with my families support, are what saved my life and got me through the darkest time in my life. Pure distraction mostly, and something that could make me laugh, without thinking.

Thankfully, after a couple weeks of this, my mom and I insisted I see a doctor and that they start me on anti-depressants, any kind, just get the process started. I remember sitting on the paper on the exam table in emerg, not even worried about how I looked, or that I was revealing a taboo struggle, just too tired to hold back, and I told him I just needed help, that the bad days were more than the good, and that even though sometimes I knew I had no reason to be, I would be bed bound with what felt like grief.

Now that I’ve been medicated appropriately for 8 years, I have normal, human, ups and downs.  I have good days and bad days like you’re supposed to, but I don’t feel like there is a darkness lurking. A weight was lifted on my heart.  I’ll never forget that January in 2008. Some people have asked, “Aren’t there health risks to being on medications for so long?” And my answer to that is, “Those risks are nothing compared to what my mind does to my health without them.” 

Teachers

I really appreciate that my parents were well spoken and well educated. And even though I complain about not being able to draw or maybe write stories, I am able to express myself in rambling posts like these pretty well. It's also a therapeutic way for me to focus my thoughts and it relieves some anxieties.

I love that when I was young they didn't simplify or dumb things down for me but made sure I could understand. If there was a word I didn't know, I was always encouraged to ask and when I needed a definition, I got the dictionary version and not the thesaurus version. I was explained what the word meant, how to use it, where it came from. So I could use it again on my own. I won't lie and say that I always appreciate this, or that there weren't times I rolled my eyes and snapped "just tell me what it means!" But I can absolutely look back and see where my talent, we'll call it, for expressing myself came from.

I was also encouraged to do just that, express myself, when I was angry and all I wanted to do was shout "Nevermind" or "Whatever" or "I hate you!" I was encouraged to take a deep breath and explain what was going on. What I wanted. When I wanted to go to a friend's house but this would require a drive into town, I didn't always get a yes right away. Sometimes I had to make a case for why my dad, on his Saturday off from work, one of 2 days of the week he didn't have to make the commute into town, why he should make that drive just so I could spend a couple hours dressing up and giggling at Emma's house. The poor man, I guess it was his desire to raise smart, well spoken children, but it must have been exhausting hearing "Oh my god, NEVERMIND, I'll sit in my room ALONE!" and still calmly (not always ;-P) explaining that he wasn't saying no, but that I had to make my case. ... Oh crap! Maybe he was trying to make lawyers out of us... and instead he got a teacher, an economist and a veterinary technician... oh sigh.

But really, it wasn't just my dad, I had a lot of incredible teacher types in my life, my mom was just as smart, and well spoken, and so easy to talk to. I had a wonderful care taker, Sandra, who always encouraged make believe, story telling and reading. Parents of close friends and extended family, too. Wow, how blessed I am to have been raised like that, in such a loving environment where education, whether in school or out, was so highly valued. I guess this may be sounding a little cheesy but its something I guess I don't think about too much because that was my life, I didn't know another kind. But I get annoyed with people on the phone, who ask questions I think they should know the answer to if they have a lick of common sense, and then I worry, "God, do these people have kids?" What are they missing out on because nobody taught their parents any better? Now, I know I sound judgmental and that's why I'll stop at that, but I am reminded on a semi-regular basis that I am who I am and where I am, because of the people who helped raise me, and to them I am forever grateful.

Falling Short..

Blagh, do you ever feel like despite your best efforts you always fall a little short... or maybe a lot short. I seem to be capable of dreaming big things, beautiful stories, awe inspiring images but when I attempt to bring them to fruition, I fall so, so short. I don't know that I find much else, more infuriating. On a daily basis I can't quite put what I'm meaning to say into words, but on a slightly less regular basis, I attempt projects that just fall short of what I was hoping for. Now, I realize this sounds very pitiful and a little like I'm whining, but it really does bother me on a pretty deep level. I do wonder though, if most of the time, the reason things don't look like they should, or when they don't on the first try, I give up out of laziness, and really, with a bit more patience I could make something half decent out of what I've started. But I also feel a little bit trapped by my lack of skill, I'd give anything to be really good at one thing, maybe drawing, painting, or even writing, to get across the things I'm thinking, not because I think they are earth shattering-ly profound, but because maybe it could help someone else understand what's going on in their mind, or help them understand what it is that's been eating at them.
One way I might convey the frustration, is I dream really vivid dreams, sometimes which play out like movies, and I wonder if they might have something to them that could make for a good story. But then when I try to write down what happened, or worse, try to tell someone, it just comes out lacking. Some movies have touched on fancy futuristic technologies that go into your mind and either link you to someone else, so they can move about in your memories. Or like in Start Trek with holograms, God I would give anything to have at my fingertips, some kind of program that I could slowly piece together ideas, talking it out, and it would lay them out in real form, and bit by bit, I could mold them into what it is I saw.
 Sometimes when I write like this it helps, but I still know, that all my life, I could write just fine, but my endings were always terrible. Even if the ending didn't matter, even if it was a summations of points already made... I could never get it flow just right... Maybe I don't want the discussion to end, maybe I want to leave it open-ended, or is it simply I just don't have the patience to bother.