Hello my darlings, my dears, and my not so nears...
It's been some time since we've done this dance. I promised that I'd keep in touch and keep preachin' the word, but I guess I broke that one didn't I? Though I suppose that's of no surprise to those of you who know me: I have a reputation for being capricious and absent minded. A completely warranted reputation, mind you. Now I could cite the current state of affairs in the world today as reason for my absence and neglect but that would just be making excuses. And we ought to be better than that.
No, I cannot blame geo-political intrigue for my languor and hiatus... despite my desire to. And for once, I will hold back on my verbose, vitriolic political rant. For now. Instead... I think it's time that we had a heart to heart, but to do that you'll have to forgive a moment of introspection and self-reflection.
I am not an easy person, in any definition of the word. I am impulsively compulsive, irrationally rational and vice versa, obsessed with organized disorder, and a generally pessimistic som'bitch to use the parlance of our times. I know these things about me, and those closest to me do as well. How they've managed to stick around is beyond me because frankly, I tire of my own company on a daily basis. The problem is something beyond behavioral explanation or even cursory understanding. And that is the real problem, isn't it: we, as a nation... we still lack a supportive, embracing, and understanding dialogue about mental illness.
I suffer from depression, and I'm at the will of mania. Some of the doctors in the day have said Manic Depressive, some BP1, some have muttered incoherently about lemurs with pitchforks... though as I type this I think that might have been me. The point is there is something not quite perfect in my genetic makeup that causes me to struggle. What feel like daily annoyances can send me off into a hysterical fit of mischief and self-destruction, while a passing glimpse on a sunny day can spiral me into unstoppable sadness and tears. For those of you out there who manage with these feelings understand without question; those of you who don't probably never truly can. And while I know this sounds preachy and all self-important the truth is that's not what I am trying to do here.
As I've grown older and experienced more and more in my life I have also had to find various ways to cope with this. In the earliest memories I withdrew and insulated myself within myself; college was a blur of booze and bullshit with some of the best friends I could have asked for... people who put up with my fluctuating psycho-emotional state of mind without hesitation. As my dear friend Glen once said, "There are like five different you's, and I never know who to expect." In reality, I'm sure all five of those me's came to the dance each and every night. I've always hoped that it would get easier to deal with as I got older but the truth is, it gets significantly harder. It's a hell of a lot easier to spend a day prone in bed hiding from the world when the only consequence is a college course. When you have bills to pay, responsibilities to fulfill, people to consider... that is exponentially worse. In the time it takes for a cliche jackass to type about a drop of a hat, I can have a trigger that moves me from the ecstasy of doing cocaine with Maxim models at Mardi Gras to the sensation that every thing in my life is falling to pieces. The cliches really do not do justice to the feeling in those moments. Hope, peace, reason, simple existence becomes a goddamned fucking crucible that feels insurmountable. It is as if the very blood in your veins coagulates and your heart becomes a furnace; every smiling face is a razor blade drawing against the skin, and while you seek isolation, that very looniness just compounds the feeling three fold.
I have had close people in my life question this, and while not intentionally... chastise me for it. "Just stop it," or "get out of your head," or "so don't." If only it were so easy. I really wish it was, because I would probably be better at this whole life shit than I am now. But the fact of the matter this isn't a conscientious decision: it's just a part of who I am. I have come to terms with this, and over the many years I have learned a lot of tricks to help me along the way. I have been blessed with several compatriots and guides who have battled alongside and taught me a few things. I have also lost more than a few dear friends who couldn't keep fighting... leaving a legacy for the rest of us to continue on. All things considered... I am in a place of contentment in my life. I have a wonderful, albeit complicated family; I am blessed with a cadre of brothers and sisters I call friends who have all been there for me without question; I am on a career path that I enjoy and I am rediscovering my literary voice. It doesn't mean that life is easy, and it doesn't mean that I'm always ok. But I fight the good fight because that's all there is to do. I was raised with a Bostonian disposition and quitting isn't in that DNA.
Alright... self-righteousness aside, let me say this: open up the conversation. For those of you who don't face this obstacle, try to be patient with us that do. Understand that we are sometimes the victims of our own brains and aren't in the best place. And for any friends, family, or complete strangers that may read this who are struggling with this but keeping it inside... don't. Talk to someone: talk to your family if you're comfortable enough, your friends if you're close enough, a trained professional simply because you can and they help. Just start talking. Silence is never an answer.
To all those I referenced earlier... you know who you are. That won't stop me from saying thank you: thanks for always being there for a late night call or midday distraction beer; for being a shoulders to cry on and a supportive arm when I fall down from laughing too hard. Thanks for putting up with my impulsiveness and every other character trait that might be flawed. Simply thank you for being you and being part of my life.
Cheers,
-s.
P.S. Like the rising tide of activism in our nation, I will not be silenced nor ignored. More to come soon. Nighty night.
It's been some time since we've done this dance. I promised that I'd keep in touch and keep preachin' the word, but I guess I broke that one didn't I? Though I suppose that's of no surprise to those of you who know me: I have a reputation for being capricious and absent minded. A completely warranted reputation, mind you. Now I could cite the current state of affairs in the world today as reason for my absence and neglect but that would just be making excuses. And we ought to be better than that.
No, I cannot blame geo-political intrigue for my languor and hiatus... despite my desire to. And for once, I will hold back on my verbose, vitriolic political rant. For now. Instead... I think it's time that we had a heart to heart, but to do that you'll have to forgive a moment of introspection and self-reflection.
I am not an easy person, in any definition of the word. I am impulsively compulsive, irrationally rational and vice versa, obsessed with organized disorder, and a generally pessimistic som'bitch to use the parlance of our times. I know these things about me, and those closest to me do as well. How they've managed to stick around is beyond me because frankly, I tire of my own company on a daily basis. The problem is something beyond behavioral explanation or even cursory understanding. And that is the real problem, isn't it: we, as a nation... we still lack a supportive, embracing, and understanding dialogue about mental illness.
I suffer from depression, and I'm at the will of mania. Some of the doctors in the day have said Manic Depressive, some BP1, some have muttered incoherently about lemurs with pitchforks... though as I type this I think that might have been me. The point is there is something not quite perfect in my genetic makeup that causes me to struggle. What feel like daily annoyances can send me off into a hysterical fit of mischief and self-destruction, while a passing glimpse on a sunny day can spiral me into unstoppable sadness and tears. For those of you out there who manage with these feelings understand without question; those of you who don't probably never truly can. And while I know this sounds preachy and all self-important the truth is that's not what I am trying to do here.
As I've grown older and experienced more and more in my life I have also had to find various ways to cope with this. In the earliest memories I withdrew and insulated myself within myself; college was a blur of booze and bullshit with some of the best friends I could have asked for... people who put up with my fluctuating psycho-emotional state of mind without hesitation. As my dear friend Glen once said, "There are like five different you's, and I never know who to expect." In reality, I'm sure all five of those me's came to the dance each and every night. I've always hoped that it would get easier to deal with as I got older but the truth is, it gets significantly harder. It's a hell of a lot easier to spend a day prone in bed hiding from the world when the only consequence is a college course. When you have bills to pay, responsibilities to fulfill, people to consider... that is exponentially worse. In the time it takes for a cliche jackass to type about a drop of a hat, I can have a trigger that moves me from the ecstasy of doing cocaine with Maxim models at Mardi Gras to the sensation that every thing in my life is falling to pieces. The cliches really do not do justice to the feeling in those moments. Hope, peace, reason, simple existence becomes a goddamned fucking crucible that feels insurmountable. It is as if the very blood in your veins coagulates and your heart becomes a furnace; every smiling face is a razor blade drawing against the skin, and while you seek isolation, that very looniness just compounds the feeling three fold.
I have had close people in my life question this, and while not intentionally... chastise me for it. "Just stop it," or "get out of your head," or "so don't." If only it were so easy. I really wish it was, because I would probably be better at this whole life shit than I am now. But the fact of the matter this isn't a conscientious decision: it's just a part of who I am. I have come to terms with this, and over the many years I have learned a lot of tricks to help me along the way. I have been blessed with several compatriots and guides who have battled alongside and taught me a few things. I have also lost more than a few dear friends who couldn't keep fighting... leaving a legacy for the rest of us to continue on. All things considered... I am in a place of contentment in my life. I have a wonderful, albeit complicated family; I am blessed with a cadre of brothers and sisters I call friends who have all been there for me without question; I am on a career path that I enjoy and I am rediscovering my literary voice. It doesn't mean that life is easy, and it doesn't mean that I'm always ok. But I fight the good fight because that's all there is to do. I was raised with a Bostonian disposition and quitting isn't in that DNA.
Alright... self-righteousness aside, let me say this: open up the conversation. For those of you who don't face this obstacle, try to be patient with us that do. Understand that we are sometimes the victims of our own brains and aren't in the best place. And for any friends, family, or complete strangers that may read this who are struggling with this but keeping it inside... don't. Talk to someone: talk to your family if you're comfortable enough, your friends if you're close enough, a trained professional simply because you can and they help. Just start talking. Silence is never an answer.
To all those I referenced earlier... you know who you are. That won't stop me from saying thank you: thanks for always being there for a late night call or midday distraction beer; for being a shoulders to cry on and a supportive arm when I fall down from laughing too hard. Thanks for putting up with my impulsiveness and every other character trait that might be flawed. Simply thank you for being you and being part of my life.
Cheers,
-s.
P.S. Like the rising tide of activism in our nation, I will not be silenced nor ignored. More to come soon. Nighty night.
