Common Sense

[Frame]

i've been wresting and wrangling because deep down i know that life is beautiful and vibrant and I should have a reason for living. i know my thoughts are my battle ground..and i have a lot to live for but it's getting a little hard today because i'm falling into very old habits of comparing and adding troubles upon each other and escaping into useless habits and routines that don't give me any real relief. my childhood was plagued with grieving and loss, my adolescence with escapism and a desire for health.

What are these good habits; these bad habits?
I Know, I know. They exist I know.
Work too much, work too little; think too much, think too little;
Run, don't run; don't give up, give up and let God;
Be positive, be realistic; look at your life with truth and honesty,
but don't let yourself be overwhelmed;
don't stare at the Sun, but look into the light...

It's Monday again. If only it were raining. Why can't it be raining?
It must be raining somewhere in the world. I guess that will have to do.

"...life is beautiful and vibrant and I should have a reason for living."
I'd like to add that living life is harder than I can bare; but I know that can't be true. Because, here I still am.

Fight the good fight, but get along;

I don't know what it means to fight. I have been vanquished. I only know what it means to be obstinate. To refuse to sit down or be pushed around.
But life is beautiful. Life is vibrant. I have the evidence.
Have they shut down the government again today.
Maybe I'll ride my bike to work.

[Frame]

Express your feelings and talk about events, this can be done with friends. Look at the consequences of internalising or pushing down negative feelings. Become aware of your own self talk and when it’s negative, change it.

Involve yourself in some voluntary work – thinking about helping others can take the focus off self introversion and self obsessiveness and can help with self esteem.

Keep in mind that all friendships are important and not just those of a romantic nature. As people initially share small things together this can lead to eventually sharing innermost feelings, which of course may take time, but friendships can evolve and be cemented

I have to admit that self talk is one of my worst habits, and as difficult as change is, it is possible (even on a Monday). It's a struggle against the tide to remain positive when you feel like erasing yourself, but I've come to a certainty that evolving friendship, (not Love) is the single most powerful antidepressant. The act of friendship is is perhaps a weaker, more prevalent type of love that forms networks of support and is more malleable. "Love", more exclusive, stronger, more polar seems somehow more vulnerable and, when broken, is a much greater loss.

When we extend ourselves and act like a friend, even when we don't feel like it, even when we don't trust the other person... well, that's the only way to get started.

[4EverMe]

Hey Frame,
Welll, It sure is raining here! Out of curiosity, why would you want rain on Monday? (because I know you cant stand mondays) But you could send some sun MY way, if you please!

On another subject, I've found that it's not only hazardous to bury the negative, but it's also an emotional burden for me to hold in something positive.
Also, pm coming later on.

[Frame]

We live; we die.
Who's life are we living?

I felt the urge to write something down, to find something inside me that gave me cause to go on with my day. I was going to tell myself that my problem is no one taught me what I would be.

There was a day; you lived your life no more than a few miles from your home. Large cities were composed of smaller villages and people lived there lives in these villages, had no need or freedom to travel. Oh, sure some people did, but for many of a society, live was local. People had no expectations beyond the town life. It was much simpler, then to tell a son or daughter what to expect from the world, how much of their life would go. They would learn from their family how to live. I'm not talking medieval here. For most of the twentieth century; people vacationed, or went to war, sometimes relocated. But for the most part lived their lives not too far from where they were born. Then Heaven and Earth opened up and (at least in the developed world) all the horizon was within reach. At least in theory, we could go where we wanted, do what we wanted, be what we wanted. At least, that's what I was taught.

That was my thought and I was going to whine that I never learned, or was told, figured out what I should be. I'm a ship floating at sea with no direction. But true to nature, I changed my mind almost before I started to write. So, yes, I'm unmoored (yet somehow trapped at the same time) have many connections (yet feel [and actually want to be] alone) to my daily life. I'm struggling and failing to meet responsibilities, yet I seem to be helping people and making contributions. I feel like I have no identity. Who's life am I living any way?

I was going to complain that none told me what to be or what the real path was. But it occurs to me (as the words take shape in my head) that I'm living the lives of all the people who have ever touched me. My mind is a soup beliefs of my mother and father and grandfathers and great-grandfathers, kindergarten teachers and college professors. This soup which is me has never clarified into something I can rely on to be me. And now, with the world beginning to halt, it's like musical chairs; the musics about to stop and there is clearly no chair before me. That one's on me. I was supposed to decide what to keep and what to throw out. But I can't seem to let go. My mind won't get rid of stuff. It just sinks into a murky intellectual mud.

So curled up in my bed, in my mind, who's life am I living here? It never seems to fit. There is this dark impenetrable core and I'm living just outside on the surface, on a shell, an onion skin. So I seem false, fake, shallow...to myself. I don't know what I stand for. I work so hard to have a story to tell; but it's just an empty narrative.

My grand father was an alcoholic (but I'm not sure I believe it); died of it they say.
My other grandfather was not an alcoholic (they say, I'm not sure I believe it.); he died anyway.
I was diagnosed as chronic depressive (but I'm not sure I believe it).
My father was never diagnosed as chronic depressive (but I'm not sure I believe it.)
We live (but who's life?); we die (but who's death?).

[Frame]

October 4, 2013 where will I be in a year? What to let go of; what to hold on to? How do I rid myself of the burdens of the past and make way for a better future? I occurs to me periodically that I don't know the value of things. What is supporting me? What is holding me back?

An honorable death, I suppose we all want that, when we actually get to where it becomes an important thought. But what about an honorable life? Is there such a thing? What does it look like? On a beautiful sunny day, when I got up out of bed, when was 9, and I crept from my room and it all seemed dark. I don't know why; but there must have been a reason. On a warm an sunny day, as I contemplate going forth, and I am 52, why does it have to seem so dark? Does it help to dwell? Does it hurt? It doesn't seem to matter. I need something to really matter; something I can handle today. I'm not dumb but I can't get things going. I can't see an end game. Nothing much honorable in death or in life. I've been trying for three hours to find a reason to "Do" something. I can almost touch the things that used to bring me joy. But the fog just won't lift this week.. Such a whiner.

[Frame]

I can't stay. I can't. Staying means doing. I want to ; I do. The strain chokes my throat. Things that aren't my fault; I can't shake the guilt or the anger. My thoughts and my actions are disconnected. I can't trust myself.

Too many "can't"s in the last paragraph. What I can do; that's what I should focus on. I don't know if my stomach can take it. Their going to blame me. That's all I can think of. They always blame the ones who don't fight back. I never learned to fight. Somehow this day has to end. Please make it soon. AutOh, sounds like a prayer. Well, I got up today. For this I am grateful. Amen.

[Frame]

It occurs to me periodically, as it does this morning, that for all suffering I inflict on myself I am not so far from the path I could have foreseen in grade school. Never mind where I am in relation to where I have been taught I should be. Never mind where I am in relation to other people's judgements or the life path I have cobbled together.

And it occurs to me that this suffering I inflict on myself, whether necessary or not, is part of a recalibration of my expectations. And it occurs to me that most suffering and stress in the world is all part of a recalibration. Some people accept change more readily; some want it faster, some not at all. But how we react to change has much to do with our suffering. The world never stood still. Change has always gone on.

And this is important because whether and how we suffer has more to do with our health than any real physical change itself. I wish I had some directions, some wise words to follow. My apologies.