Monday, July 1, 2013

July 1st, 2013

Success is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.
 Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.
                                                                                                       -Winston Chuchill
Feeling like just another notch on that belt today. 

Decided I'm going to start writing my thoughts down about my depression.

Why Facebook? 
There are loved ones here, support groups here. Sure it's a stupid social media site, but I am who I am. If I secretly jot my suicidal thoughts in a notebook and shove them under my bed and don't tell you about it; I'm hiding who I am. We're e-friends under false pretenses. Distance is easily remedied and people that don't want to be involved in this type of atmosphere or fight can ignore these/block me/whatever.

Placing so much of myself and my persona into that of a "soul mate" has left me completely void of positive emotions.

"Plenty of fish in the sea." "Time heals all wounds." etc. etc. These are quotes that ring with hollow sound. They mean nothing to me at this point in time. I appreciate the thoughts, and in a situation where I was dealing with a mopey depressive I wouldn't have much else to say either if I hadn't been there and done that myself.  "Time heals all wounds."

I don't want to run away from these memories and problems, I want to confront them. I want to master them; but damn is it hard to feel like this. I allow myself to feel this way, I understand. I don't want pity or people to feel guilt for me. 

I made myself get two phone numbers yesterday. Randomly walking up to women and just faking confidence. You know that rush you get when you're flirting with someone cute? Isn't there for me anymore. I just want to be with her. Will that change? Hopefully. Do I want it to? I'm not so sure yet.

The Black Dog just barks in the yard, casting a shadow of doubt over whatever future I think I may have.

The Black Dog?
Referring to this intangible thing, this.. miasma of doubt and hopelessness by a phrase or word helps me imagine myself fighting it--- taming it, if you will. You can't really see depression or sadness; you know it's there, but it isn't a giant scaly serpent or hissing furry spider that you can combat and kill. Black Dog is what Winston Chuchill called his diagnosed manic depression and he was a great man by anyone's standards. He lived a life that affected the world. This reminds me that I can be that type of person. I can mean something even though my 'Black Dog' sometimes takes that away from me. 

This is really for no one but myself... However, if a random person on the internet finds some solace in that they're going through what I'm going through---and can hopefully follow back to when I eventually effectively neutered this beast; then this period of my life served some purpose. That makes it worth enduring, worth proving myself wrong, worth fighting.

That gives me hope. Hope that this isn't all just because life sucks and then you die.

...or if I can look back in however many years and laugh at how I was depressed over nothing at all and maybe put things into perspective. 

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