Of Another Hiatus and an Indecent Deception

I haven't been telling the whole truth.

It's been a while, hasn't it?

So often when I have good stretches of time, so often when depression is off my back, I often forget to chronicle it all. Forget is maybe the wrong word. Deception is perhaps a strong word. It's not fair to anyone, myself included, that I don't make an effort to publish the positive.

If this was a true and honest recollection of my journey with the Dog, then I should make the time to jot down the strides I've made in the fight. A honest recollection of the positives should also be represented. I still only find myself retreating to these confines when I'm ruminating and stewing with my own negativity in some sort of terrible black broth.

If this blog is some sort of rudimentary art, which an argument could be made for any form of writing, then I lose my muse without... the blues?

I just rhymed there. It was terrible. I feel bad about it. You get a little rusty when you don't habitually pick up the quill (keyboard).

I've had a really great couple of months and have come up with a lot of life realizations, habits and methods to battle the beast, and even changes in thoughts and concepts to what is is to really live the Good life. Maybe this is all the philosophy from the Greek rock-stars we all know and (should?) love. Maybe this is existential and tough-to-chew-on reading from the French existentialists. It's probably a whole mixed cocktail of the above and the heavy dosage of theology, mythology, stories, experiences, and just real live people in my life.

It's difficult to track the points in which you have those eureka moments, even more so just looking back on recently past time and trying to recall with a furrowed brow. I find it easier to dispense half-cocked wisdom and armchair therapy when people ask these days. It should be noted that people only ask in the first place because I'm the asshole that decides to be all open and gooey about all this brain stuff. It's kind of becoming my shtick at this point.

It's not even like I've turned a page now.

I'm only here staring at this window because I'm in a moment of crisis. I have no wisdom to dispense. I have no knowledge bombs to drop. I'm completely bare to the teeth of this disease in moments like this.

Alone. Worthless. Ugly.

These thoughts are still constant, they're still inelegant. boring, and cruel deceptions part of me tells the other part of me.

There's a point somewhere in here. If I root around a bit with words maybe we'll stumble on something.

These thoughts are still constant and they're almost impossible to refute. I know when I get this way, this way I am right now at 1:10 AM in Black Hawk, South Dakota, they're almost considered as facts to my mind. Disproving something that your brain believes to be so true and so powerful isn't easy. You can't just flip a switch and feel empowered. You can't just turn a key and feel beautiful.

You have to remember.

You have to remember the way this moment feels, just like you remember the way it feels after kissing the girl for the first time.

You have you remember this loneliness and this hurt and this sorrow and this loathsome feeling in your gut, just like you remember what it feels like to take off restrictive clothes at the end of a long and arduous day. (Think of your bras, ladies.)

You have to remember the pain, the racing thoughts, the aimless pacing and wandering, just like you remember the smell of the warm summer morning and the fresh cut grass.

The trick to this way of thinking is that each and everything amplifies the other. The lower the low, the higher the high. Be present in this terrible and loathsome moment because there is immense value in experiencing this terrible and loathsome moment. It's still a moment and every second has an unprecedented and unquantifiable value in our lives.

Anyone would agree that we'd work to extend the good moments. We want them to last as long as possible. There's nothing except your perception that is labeling this particular moment as good or bad, right or wrong. This can be a remembered moment in your personal story. This can be the moment when everything turns around and life has meaning and worth.

It's easier said then done, that's for damn sure.

You can run and find a crutch, you can source a distraction, you can nullify and diminish the experience. Pick your poison.

Or...

You can choose to think differently about the whole nasty ordeal and breathe value into an otherwise dismal and hopeless stretch of time. It's very possible to create worth in even the most seemingly worthless moment.

Then again, this may just be the insomnia talking. You probably shouldn't listen to the heavy-handed soap-boxing of a depressive and sleep-deprived lunatic, but sometimes the crazy loons have just the right dose of lunacy to solve a problem. I never said it was a common occurrence, but, hey, anything can happen.

This is all more for me right now. Writing always helps, strangely. Shameless self-reminder to talk about jealousy and attachment next time. Hopefully not in another four months, but much sooner.