I'm unhappy and I'm not happy about it...
It isn't that I expect happiness. I don't consider a state of happiness my god-given right as a human being and an American. I don't think happiness is a normal base state and consider any deviation from it a disfunction. Hell, I can remember few intervals longer than a day out my life that I would describe as 'happy'.
So, why complain about it now? Because I am actively unhappy. Not just depressed; normal depression includes in its baggage a dreadful ennui which precludes any deliberate action. No I went past that state a while back and have moved into a death-spiral form, possibly unique to me, where I am fully aware of what is happening to me and have begun to lean into the curve instead of coasting my way down (normal depression) or trying to fight my way out (my normal way of dealing with normal depression).
Quick note to all of you out there: Please do not read into the foregoing any clues that I am about to do something drastic to myself. I am deliberately using purple prose and loaded language to convey my feelings. In actual fact I am far too ornery a bastard to do myself in.
Second quick note: Those who have been reading me for a while are probably surprised to the extent of which I am baring my soul here. Sure, I have done a little of that kind of thing in the past, but normally I avoid talking about what I 'feel' in this journal and instead focus on what I 'think'. This may be changing; read on...
So I am in a nasty state where I am angry and hurt and unhappy. Not a lack of happiness, but a surfeit of its polar opposite. I haven't been making much progress on my various creative projects because I am not creative when I am depressed. I haven't been writing here much because I don't have a lot to say other than the kind of thing I am saying now. I haven't talked about it much, even with my closest friends, because I don't have much to share besides bile. And I am self-aware enough that I have chosen instead to either pretend differently around others or just avoid social situations entirely.
I haven't stopped living my life, but I have stopped enjoying it. This has to end!
Now I certainly have plenty of excuse for melancholy. Enough for anyone. I don't need to go into details; those who know me can stand witness and those who don't can believe or not. But that doesn't mean I have to wallow in it. Nor does it mean that, as I approach December 10th, I have to descend to some nadir of the soul. To surrender entirely to the velvet embrace of dark dejection.
I fear that I will struggle with depression every year about this time for the rest of my life. But, in truth, my current state isn't just about losing Anita. It is also about aging. About my fears for my children and my grandchildren. About work. About the fact I haven't done so many of the things I wanted to do and the fact I may go to my death-bed without even a Wikipedia stub-entry.
Yes, the last one is stupid. It is also very real. Please forgive my egoism at wanting to have something to be humble about. (And yes, I would make a great show at not displaying pride were I even a little bit famous.) But you don't get to my point in life without wanting to skim away the dross and focus on what is truly important to your being. And part of my anger right now is at myself: for being angry that I haven't achieved a minimal level of greatness. Crazy huh?
Well, depression isn't about rationality. Being the kind of person that I am, the unreasonable unreasoning of depression is one of the things feeding into the downward spiral: I want rationality. I want control dammit! I do not like it when a feedback loop in my brain starts running my life. Whether or not I have free will, I want to choose. And I choose not to be unhappy any more.
That doesn't mean I will be happy. It does mean I can move in that direction instead of further away. Over the next few months I will actively work to break the spiral. I will not feed the demon. If I must, I will seek help; professional and convivial. Most importantly, I will get back on the creative horse!
What that means here is that I probably will be writing a bit more. However I think this little corner of the Web is about to segue into the kind of thing a 'Journal' is supposed to be; more personal, more personable. I think I may try to open up a little more in this space. (Believe me, there is a robot in the back of my brain right now, waving its dryer-hose arms and shouting 'Danger Will Robinson' to a Star Trek 'Red Alert' accompaniment: I fear sharing. It's a guy thing, maybe. Certainly a John Wayne thing.)
As to writing about what I 'think', that will be moving elsewhere. After all, one doesn't achieve Wikipedia stub-level fame without having a prestigious address and, although LiveJournal isn't the MySpace slums, it isn't exactly downtown either.
Don't expect this transformation to happen very quickly. I am all about rationality and, let's face it, it's going to take me a while to break away from my pain and focus on my future. Expecting anything else is just plain stupid. There will be reverses and life will get in the way. There will be times when I feel like giving up.
But I'm not gonna. I'm not.
I'm not!
So, why complain about it now? Because I am actively unhappy. Not just depressed; normal depression includes in its baggage a dreadful ennui which precludes any deliberate action. No I went past that state a while back and have moved into a death-spiral form, possibly unique to me, where I am fully aware of what is happening to me and have begun to lean into the curve instead of coasting my way down (normal depression) or trying to fight my way out (my normal way of dealing with normal depression).
Quick note to all of you out there: Please do not read into the foregoing any clues that I am about to do something drastic to myself. I am deliberately using purple prose and loaded language to convey my feelings. In actual fact I am far too ornery a bastard to do myself in.
Second quick note: Those who have been reading me for a while are probably surprised to the extent of which I am baring my soul here. Sure, I have done a little of that kind of thing in the past, but normally I avoid talking about what I 'feel' in this journal and instead focus on what I 'think'. This may be changing; read on...
So I am in a nasty state where I am angry and hurt and unhappy. Not a lack of happiness, but a surfeit of its polar opposite. I haven't been making much progress on my various creative projects because I am not creative when I am depressed. I haven't been writing here much because I don't have a lot to say other than the kind of thing I am saying now. I haven't talked about it much, even with my closest friends, because I don't have much to share besides bile. And I am self-aware enough that I have chosen instead to either pretend differently around others or just avoid social situations entirely.
I haven't stopped living my life, but I have stopped enjoying it. This has to end!
Now I certainly have plenty of excuse for melancholy. Enough for anyone. I don't need to go into details; those who know me can stand witness and those who don't can believe or not. But that doesn't mean I have to wallow in it. Nor does it mean that, as I approach December 10th, I have to descend to some nadir of the soul. To surrender entirely to the velvet embrace of dark dejection.
I fear that I will struggle with depression every year about this time for the rest of my life. But, in truth, my current state isn't just about losing Anita. It is also about aging. About my fears for my children and my grandchildren. About work. About the fact I haven't done so many of the things I wanted to do and the fact I may go to my death-bed without even a Wikipedia stub-entry.
Yes, the last one is stupid. It is also very real. Please forgive my egoism at wanting to have something to be humble about. (And yes, I would make a great show at not displaying pride were I even a little bit famous.) But you don't get to my point in life without wanting to skim away the dross and focus on what is truly important to your being. And part of my anger right now is at myself: for being angry that I haven't achieved a minimal level of greatness. Crazy huh?
Well, depression isn't about rationality. Being the kind of person that I am, the unreasonable unreasoning of depression is one of the things feeding into the downward spiral: I want rationality. I want control dammit! I do not like it when a feedback loop in my brain starts running my life. Whether or not I have free will, I want to choose. And I choose not to be unhappy any more.
That doesn't mean I will be happy. It does mean I can move in that direction instead of further away. Over the next few months I will actively work to break the spiral. I will not feed the demon. If I must, I will seek help; professional and convivial. Most importantly, I will get back on the creative horse!
What that means here is that I probably will be writing a bit more. However I think this little corner of the Web is about to segue into the kind of thing a 'Journal' is supposed to be; more personal, more personable. I think I may try to open up a little more in this space. (Believe me, there is a robot in the back of my brain right now, waving its dryer-hose arms and shouting 'Danger Will Robinson' to a Star Trek 'Red Alert' accompaniment: I fear sharing. It's a guy thing, maybe. Certainly a John Wayne thing.)
As to writing about what I 'think', that will be moving elsewhere. After all, one doesn't achieve Wikipedia stub-level fame without having a prestigious address and, although LiveJournal isn't the MySpace slums, it isn't exactly downtown either.
Don't expect this transformation to happen very quickly. I am all about rationality and, let's face it, it's going to take me a while to break away from my pain and focus on my future. Expecting anything else is just plain stupid. There will be reverses and life will get in the way. There will be times when I feel like giving up.
But I'm not gonna. I'm not.
I'm not!