I've been blogging for almost three months now and - this is going to sound silly - one of the joys of posting daily is watching the total number of posts tick ever upwards. Uploading my tenth post was pretty exciting, as was my fiftieth, but I was really looking forward to reaching 100. 100 of anything is a lot, but 100 things written by me - all in one place, in one font, on (arguably) one theme - thrills me. So when I got to post #90, I started counting down. Nine posts left. Five posts left. Three...two...one post left...
And then disaster struck.
As any of you who've battled depression know, it's inescapable. It sneaks up on you with Viet Cong stealth and, by the time you realize that floppy clump of foliage is actually the camouflaged headgear of Charlie himself, it's too late, your hands are up, and you're being marched through malarial swamps to a northern prison camp, where you will stare at your jungle walls and stew in your misery, kept alive by maggot-strewn rice balls and the dim hope that your shrink will plan a prisoner extraction and somehow sneak you back to the World.
My most recent visit to the POW camp of my mind was a brief one but - like the Tet Offensive - it fell on a day that should've been full of joy and celebration: Sunday, October 21st, 2007. The day of the 100th post.
I know! Tragedy!
Instead of posting some fun little fireworks clip art and thanking those that have helped me along the way, I used my 100th post to say, "I got nothing."
And I really didn't have anything. I could think of absolutely nothing to write about. That's what depression is - having planned for weeks a 100th post celebration, only to find on the big day your face swollen, your mind blank, and your blog announcing your creative impotence to everyone you know.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
My Own Private Hanoi
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3 comments:
Since the Internet is the perfect place to make an ass of oneself in the course of sharing an unsolicited opinion - all the other kids are doing it - I think I'll take a gander.
My depression is not yours, so for all I know I could be talking out my... nether regions. But anyway. Take the best (if you can relate to ANY of this) and throw the rest away. My main reason for speaking up is to patter the whole you're-not-alone trope, anyway. (For what that's worth.)
For all the missing closure, when I found myself in my own WTF-circumstance, I did get one thing out of it: an understanding that life's too damn short.
In my case, that means that I evaluate the value of my opinon much more meagerly (or at least critically) than in the past. Put simply, I don't want to mistake you for someone who gives a rat's ass about what I have to say. Same goes pretty much everywhere else with everyone else, online or off.
Writing still matters, but the Internet... not so much. "I'll wait until I have something meaningful to say." That's a LONG damn wait, for me at least.
And unlike you, I knew that my loss would be ultimately straightforward to accept.
So when it gets really bad, I get away from all of my glowing electronic boxes, or at least away from the apartment. I can usually manage to find something to write about when I get back, even if's only a brief, impatient rant.
Not all stories lend themselves to being beautifully framed and eloquently told, but they're stories nonetheless.
...Thanks for making it this far.
Hhhmm....Richard Bach, in his book, Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah wrote, "perspective - use it or lose it" and I guess since I've joined the 40+ crowd, that has pretty much been in the forefront of my consciousness. But I do remember when everything about everything was a lot more relevant, including the fact that people really do give a rat's ass.....so, sorry you felt sad about post 100...your insightful reflection and discovery about all things sentimental was a must read...and your recent ability to hammer out the terror of depression with such apt imagery should be nailed on the churchyard gates....so, as for me and my house...every post has been thoughtful, intriguing, informative, and valuable....and maybe we're family voyeurs....but loving and caring about you and yours and even reading "I got nothing" has been an opportunity to know you and your writing better....and truly a gift....so, thanks, sweetie... : )
Time after time your grandmother - my mom - would say to me , "anticipation is usually the best part".
I would be in tears after some horrible junior high dance. Here I was pimpled face , hideous frizzy hair (before they invented hair gel), blind as a bat, but refusing to wear glasses, clumsy and half a foot taller then my classmates. I would have spent the evening in the shadow by myself and hiding in the bathroom.
Oh, I hated those words because 99% of the time they were true. Those words never helped, just like they won't help you. But, I can't help repeating them as I have time after time to Rhea.
Now, as an adult, who still feels like that awkward kid most of the time, I have learned to really enjoy the anticipation and not worry so much about the event itself. I find this helps. Thanks Mom.
From one depressed soul to another - it sucks in the trenches but just know, we are in this together.
By the way - what about those lamps for sunlight for your apartment this winter? It may help. I know the seasonal depression thing really gets me back east and those lamps are supposed to work .(i think...)
Love you
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