this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve reposted something that originated from Danielle Laporte.
the following is from “The in-between place you’re in. It’s real.” and it’s very apt for my current place in life.Continue reading
in the tub. with my cell. with bubbles and epsom salt. with hot and hoefully healing waters.
in my self-hatred and concern. about my skills set and capabilities. about if my creativity is even alive anymore. about my cage called “a body”.
in my longing. for the sun. to be outside. to have a group of friends. to host shindigs. to have a home again.
in my fear. of my personal future. of what this president is doing to the whole world. of my career. of never being happy again. of being stuck in this state.
in hopelessness. because nothing will change soon enough. because I will never like, much less love, myself. because I will never truly write again.
in the tub. with cold water now. without anymore bubbles or full grains of salt. without any sense of peace that this was supposed to give me.
WELL HELLO, CRAZY NOISE!!
> THANKS FOR CHECKING IN.
SO YOU THINK WE SHOULD SLICE OUR ARMS AND BLEED, JUST TO PROVE WE ARE ALIVE?
SO WE SHOULD SLIT OUR NECK ACROSS ITSELF TO SHOW OUR OWN STRENGTH AND DETERMINATION?
> sounds great.
OR MAYBE I CAN JUST JUMP INTO TRAFFIC, DRIVE INTO THE ONCOMING, OR SHOOT OURSELVES OFF THE CLIFF.
> perfect plan.
did you disagree? because I didn’t?
I suspect tomorrow will be fine.
but I’m seriously running out of “bad days” that don’t get logged as “last days”.
the Final Day is ideal,
please allow it to come soon … or even better ASAP…..
powerful quote that I need to keep in mind.
reblogging in hopes that it will guide others as it guides me.
“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from
that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break
you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason
you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be
swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or
left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and
listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their
sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”
– Louise Erdrich
Photography by Marta Bevacqua
perspectives. things can be radically different with even just a slight alter in paradigm, or even from a tiny change of information held. small nuggets of knowledge, observations, or experiences can cause radical shifts if opinions.
I have to be more cryptic than usual (woah boy!) out of respect to the other party involved. but I feel guilty. I feel like I’ve been accidentally deceptive. I know I haven’t been, but I still feel like I have. and we all know what great of friends Guilt and I are.
as some of you know, money has been really tight these last few months. we expected me to be unemployed, at most, for three months. but here it is, six months later, and I am only just now acquiring a regular income. this means we’ve been living on a tight budget recently. but that does not mean we are impoverish.
prior to this occupational dry spell, Brian and I had comfortable lives. we had food on our plates, beds under our heads, and chairs under our butts — all while being able to afford to occasional monetary splurge or adventure; also concurrent with ensuring our past debts were being lessened, and that I acquired the necessary doctor visits and medications to ensure I stayed alive and (all things considered) well.
but then we had our income almost literally halved. so the month-to-month, week-to-week, and even day-to-day expenses were nigh destroyed. I still had my badass couch and television, Brian still had his tv and computer, and we had all of our ridiculous toys and games and books — because it was all already paid off.
what we didn’t have or had to struggle to afford was food for the week, gas in the car for the trips to work, any kind of medical expenses (docs, meds, even my chiropractic care had to be dissolved). everything we already worked for, we of course had no problem keeping. it was stuff we needed to acquire in the present or future that we couldn’t manage — because we didn’t have the income.
and really, we are still struggling. tmrw, I should be getting my second paycheck since moving our now-frozen asses up here, over six months ago. all savings are gone (including the OMG-WE-LITERALLY-MAY-STARVE $100 bill from my Dad he gave me over a decade ago). and throughout all this, we (this includes Zero) still need to eat.
but when you come to our home, it doesn’t look like there were a few weeks when literally every meal was the 10- to 20-cent packs of ramen (10-cent in LA, 20-cent in MN — because metropolises).
so what is the point of all this?
well, I have had the opportunity to become very good friendly acquaintances with an adult member of a family up here. releasing as little info as possible: said family is moving into a smaller living space, and money has become very tight for it. said family has multiple times offered to give us food and such. I was always reluctant to accept. but when said family disclosed to me their living accommodations changed, we saw an opportunity for “Team Ow to get more” and for “moving family to have/move less”.
however, the insecurity within me fears that said family may see me as being two-faced or deceptive. as in, “how could this couple not afford food when they can afford a living space and elements as spacious and robust as this?”
in a futile attempt to disillusion any concept this family unit had of our living area, I believe I may have accidentally offended them — as foolishly as always, “open foot, insert mouth”, as the saying is twisted.
and now, I may have lost a potential Friend up here.
I helped a small family to move.
I got paranoid of their perceptions of me.
I made things worse by trying to make them better.
I probably have thus acquired an enemy rather than a friend.
Goal utterly Failed
yet another beautiful post wherein I swear she’s looking into my soul.
excellent excerpts include:
“My world turns small and large equally spaced circles over and over in that wheat field no one knows where is. My world repeats itself over and over again despite the steps that I take to prevent it. Each turn of the arc is another side of the disease that I was required to understand three months ago and somehow having to learn all over again. It goes round and round and there is no stop lever that will allow me to finally get off.”
“I never know what to do with the anger when I think about the fact that everything I see and feel today will be there another day. I never know what to do with the fact that over and over again I will be destroyed. I don’t know how to find that one place of perfect safety that I can finally rest in. I never know the purpose of my world.”
“I will spend the rest of my life on this journey always sick. I will fall much farther than I will climb and I will search for that one place that is safe and secure. Because maybe in that place my world will finally open.”
I would like to take this time to introduce myself and the world I live in. Before you get excited there should be a note that you have yet to see anger like this. Before you run and show someone else this blog know that you have yet to see disillusionment like this. Its the plot. Its the scenery, the characters and the villains. Some will understand my world even when I can’t; and some will be lost by the first word.
My whole life, everything that I am, everything that I will be, my family, my marriage is wrapped up in a disease that some God decided I deserved. Some God thought that it didn’t matter that I was a good person or thought about the fact that I am not always strong. Some God decided to give me a sickness that takes away every iota that is me…
View original post 1,080 more words
I’m a pessimist. I don’t mean that so much in I see bad and horrible things all around me. on the contrary, I go out of my way to try to both find and create goodness. I admire the small child bouncing through the puddles in a parking lot; I smile at complete strangers who are humming to themselves; I extend warm thank-yous to those who hold the door open for me. but I am a pessimist. I assume that horrible, terrible things are what are most likely. not always promised, just likely.
this pessimism increases the strength of my depression. and my depression, especially when unmedicated, breeds hopelessness. I no longer merely predict things will turn out poorly; I now expect them to. and I expect them to turn out horribly with such sureness that I am surprised and in disbelief when it doesn’t. but before we get to that point, while are still waiting the demise of justice or happiness, I become hopeless.
I become so hopeless, I don’t even want to want the good anymore. the hopelessness yields this sense of despair and void, an emptiness that strips me of all effort and care and love and desire.
and that’s where I’m at these days. it’s a numb pain; it’s like the throbbing of a wasp sting after the venom has passed. you know it should hurt more; but you don’t care, because the poison’s already in your system.
in many of the scholarly pieces I’ve read over the years, it seems depression precedes hopelessness. many with depression will just mull in their sorrows; it’s not until they reach a point of actual hopelessness and true despair that they ever take any actions to either A] get better or B] get gone. in many of my research on my more morbid interests, Dr. Aaron Beck’s work reappears. as per this topic, I can bring up the Beck Hopelessness Scale. it was created back in 1974, so the assessment is very simple. but if one is being honest with himself, he’ll see if he’s in line for a path of trouble, or just having a rough ride.
for shit’n’giggles, let’s take it right now:
scoring is one point per “negative” response (and these statements make it rather clear in which direction “negative” is, lol), though an actual key is provided to the staff member. scores 0 to 3 suggests no issues; 4 to 8 denotes mild hopelessness, but nothing alarming; 9 to 14 suggests moderate hopelessness, and the staff member is to recommend treatment; a score of over 15 suggests the individual is a suicide risk.
so let’s add me up: 1+0+1+1+1+1+1+0+1+1+0+1+1+1+0+1+1+1+1+0 = 15. okay, that’s disgustingly coincidental. I was hoping for a 13 or something. you know, something to suggest I hadn’t given up yet, but was close, lol.
and again, this is an slightly antiqued and incredibly over-simplified approach to determining one’s level of hopelessness.
besides, if we’re actually hopeless, we don’t need a test to tell us so. it’s something you feel in your core, deep into your bones.