tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11477543389315928062024-02-19T17:44:14.980-08:00The Daily DementorBerniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-78533589080880701562018-02-08T14:14:00.002-08:002018-02-08T14:21:50.633-08:00HiatusIn the style of Silverchair, I've decided to put this blog on indefinite hiatus at a time when it's obvious I've had it on pause for a while anyway.<br />
<br />
None of the blogs I've ever started have made it, and it's all because I put too much pressure on myself when it comes to writing. No matter how informal the blog, or how easy it is to publish, or how casual the posts can be, I'm too much of a perfectionist. I guess, even as a digital medium, blogging comes too close to "real" writing for me to shake off the inner critic. Not seeing my ideas come to fruition only gives me more reason to self-blame, so I'd better give myself an official break so I can get closure and focus on the things I do well and be honest about what really helps me instead of forcing myself to do things for the wrong reasons.<br />
<br />
Thanks to all of you - if there are any of you - who have read what I've posted either here or at <a href="http://vacuumingonholiday.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">Vacuuming On Holiday</a>. I don't regret attempting, even more than once, to write a blog. And thank you for the opportunity to read your blogs and stories, it has helped me a lot.I'm grateful for those of you who have shared your very personal stories about depression, which has supported me through some dark times.<br />
<br />
I still write, and I'm getting help, so maybe some day I will feel unashamed to share my feelings and thoughts to the world in a format so close to my private journal entries, which at the moment, seem childish and melodramatic no matter how I try to reframe my perspective.<br />
<br />
I could be back in a day, or a year. I hope I come back to write and eventually publish enough posts to have a functioning blog; I do have longer thoughts and ideas that I often want to share. I just don't make the time or energy to do it. So I figured, since I don't know, I may as well call it what it is, and for now, say farewell.<br />
<br />
If you are curious to still see me about, you can stalk me on <a href="https://twitter.com/beeblele" target="_blank">twitter</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/beeblele/" target="_blank">instagram</a>, I promise I won't freak out. I haven't shared my social media yet as I try to keep all my accounts as separate as possible, in the vein of my 13 year old self who took internet security and online privacy very seriously (social engineering and cyber profiling is real, folks).<br />
<br />
I share a lot more about my depression on Twitter than anywhere else; probably because not many people in my "real life" know about it, and the character restriction helps force me to shorten my thoughts and prevent painful mental spirals. I'm also looking into places where I can safely and comfortably post audio journals, because it's becoming slightly easier to reflect verbally than in writing - as long as I don't listen to myself afterwards. Instagram is where I indulge in visual memories of past good times, and relax in other comforting imagery without the noise of too many more words hammering themselves into my brain.<br />
<br />
In general, I try to stay away from anything that makes me scroll mindlessly for more than 90 seconds. But yes, I am still around.<br />
<br />
I'm not on facebook much so don't bother.<br />
<br />
So to close this up with a nice TBC shot, what have I been up to, and where am I at?<br />
<br />
-I have a new job.<br />
-I bought a car.<br />
-I have a new therapist.<br />
-Therapy is (so effing) hard.<br />
-Therapy is worth it.<br />
-I'm more frank about my mental health.<br />
-I'm not dating.<br />
-I'm getting better.<br />
-I frequently experience low mood.<br />
-I will be okay.<br />
<br />
Wishing you all good health and happy living, lots of love, Me.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-50815508078242891182017-11-13T02:30:00.000-08:002017-11-13T02:37:17.091-08:00Thoughts on solitude and isolationI drafted this weeks ago, maybe it was even months ago, after I had one of those "emotional revelations" which seem to be the only time I have been able to write in recent years.<br />
<br />
I never published it, thinking it was too mopey.<br />
<br />
Tonight I attempted drafting it again, and it's even mopier.<br />
<br />
There's just no way to win. I'm not even sure what to make of all this.<br />
<br />
I suppose the truth lies in the combination of both - one is hopeful; the other, miserable - the fact being that I actually feel both ways, almost all the time. I am often at war with myself.<br />
<br />
So where does that leave me?<br />
<br />
<b>A few weeks ago...</b><br />
<br />
Anyone who knows me, and even those who have just met me, knows I'm a real negative nelly.<br />
<br />
I spend a lot of my days thinking how much everything sucks, and it's exhausting. When I was younger I had no idea this was even a thing. And now, witnessing exactly how every single little way I think affects how I feel, doesn't make it any less tiring. In fact, it makes me even more helpless. Because there's nothing quite like seeing something happen and not being able to stop it, and knowing no one can help you stop it.<br />
<br />
I go through my low periods; they cycle around every few weeks or months. I lose track of time.<br />
<br />
But every now and then I get a glimpse of light, a breath of relief. I had dinner tonight with my old workmates. I've missed them. I don't socialise much. I've been sick [with bronchitis] and keeping even more to myself than usual. But it was such a great night. The laughs were non-stop. The hugs were warm. I felt so touched they still think of me and invite me out, even though I haven't worked with them for nearly a year.<br />
<br />
This weekend I'll be going to trivia with another group of old friends I haven't seen in years. I'm feeling a little socially anxious, but the reason I said yes to joining them is because they are compassionate people who like me for me, and I suspect they will never want me to be anyone I'm not. I know if I get overwhelmed by anything overstimulating, I'm safe in their company.<br />
<br />
I took this chance to remind myself I am so lucky. I tell myself I am so alone. But actually I have good people in my life. People who support me and value me. People who understand that sometimes what I need is to step away, because the way I cope is different from how other people cope. Amazing people who are incredibly patient enough to let me come to them when I'm ready. People who will not push me, but who will also not let me forget that I am loved.<br />
<br />
It's this gratitude thing again that I've touched on recently. But it's more than just feeling grateful or feeling blessed. It's about finding perspective to put everything in it's right place.<br />
<br />
Some people refer to the process of finding perspective by saying "don't sweat the small stuff" - the idea being that you recognise what's worth worrying about, and what's unimportant and should be let go. Sometimes this phrase helps me, but mostly it just enrages me to no end. If it felt like a small issue to me, I wouldn't be "sweating" in the first place. You don't tell someone to calm down when they're panicking. You don't tell someone to get a grip when they are freaking out. You don't tell someone to "not get upset" when they are feeling vulnerable and emotional. You just hold them, or give them space (whichever one they need), and be there for them until the panic passes. Finding perspective is a tortuous journey that is different for everyone.<br />
<br />
This experience doesn't grant me happiness, per se. (Oh if only it we're that straightforward!) The best that I can describe it, is that it soothes me. When you're lost in the dark the first tiny pinprick of light that you see feels like salvation.<br />
<br />
It's like that. It gives me peace and a bit of relief. Most of all it gives me a tiny measure of hope. They say that without love we are nothing. I would say that without <i>hope</i>, we are nothing. For what else is it but that when we love anyone we are hopeful? When we love ourselves, are we not showing faith in ourselves?<br />
<br />
One of my favourite things to do is to hop in the car on a sunny day and drive down the coast, stopping at every beach, every lookout, and watching the horizon; and admiring how something can look so much the same no matter what angle you look at it from. Talk about reassurance right? Yes, I love road trips and I love driving and that's what I think about when I relive these days. But what I really love about them is feeling like I'm moving forward all the time, but constantly with the safety and security of my freedom, my space and my independence. I need my time alone in a way that only few will understand.<br />
<br />
To use a cliched pictographic metaphor, I am like this rock, standing apart, but making a show of solitary strength. Like the mainland, I keep my family and friends as close as I can and need. But when things are too close and the details make me dizzy, I must step back to get the whole picture.<br />
<br />
This is what I need. This is how I am reminded that everything is beautiful, and just where it needs to be - including me.<br />
<br />
<b>Tonight...</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Anyone who knows me, and even those who have just met me, knows I'm a real negative nelly.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
I am a natural devil's advocate. Yet, I'm more than his advocate. I'm his defender. I can follow up almost any idea or concept with a "but".<br />
<br />
I spend a lot of my days thinking how much everything sucks, and it's exhausting.<br />
<br />
When I was younger I had no idea this was even a thing. Now that I'm older, witnessing exactly how every single little thought I have affects how I feel, doesn't make it any less tiring. In fact, it makes me even more helpless than I was as a depressed teen. Because there's nothing quite like seeing something happen and not being able to stop it, and knowing no one can help you stop it.<br />
<br />
I often think about how alone I am. Most of the time, it's an empowering thing. Ever read those hipster blog articles written by twenty-something single women born and raised in developed countries, espousing an epiphany they had about the benefits of dining alone, watching movies alone, travelling alone? In a parallel universe, a happier Me wrote them.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I agree with them. I wholeheartedly agree that everyone must know how to be alone. Being alone is more than simply existing with the absence of other people's company. It is learning how to enjoy your own company, putting time and attention into noticing things that aren't there solely to distract you from being alive. Do it long enough, and it is about learning who you are. So even if you stop enjoying your own company, you can survive it.<br />
<br />
Cliched, but it is my true belief. This is coming from someone who has not only spent a lot of time alone, and not only needs a lot of her own space, but also enjoys it. I can attest to the power of knowing where your soul ends, and the rest of the universe begins. And you can only discover the point where they meet, by being quiet, and listening, and watching, and not speaking. This is best done, alone.<br />
<br />
But - there's that "but" again - there is an even finer line between embracing the beauty of something you know to be true, and spouting platitudes about something to disguise something else.<br />
<br />
I don't always want to be alone. Despite the scientist in me whom knows that humans are social creatures and require some degree of interaction to live healthy lives, I become more and more convinced with time and experience that being alone is also my safety net. I protect myself from others by withdrawing into my lonely bubble. I do this even when I don't want to be alone.<br />
<br />
Lately, I have been feeling very sad, because I believe the best way to protect others from me, is to disappear from their lives as much as possible. I feel like a constant screw-up, hurting people even when I'm doing the best I can to do things right. Being alone can be lonely, but the risk of loneliness seems far smaller than the risk of proving to myself that I am actually a bad person.<br />
<br />
I know this is the kind of thought that desperately needs to be shared, and boy, do I wish I could do that easily. My therapist has noted how vocal my "inner critic" is, and even being aware of it, I can't always silence her. I'm beginning to think of her as "Dreadful Me". The party pooper who stomps on all my fun and convinces me my shame is deserved. She tells me not to expose my vulnerability, my weakness. "Don't admit your feelings, you'll be a burden on everyone," she assures me.<br />
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So I don't. And more and more the evidence piles up that solitude is the way to go. The picture is confounded, of course, by the fact that I also genuinely take pleasure in it and require large doses of it to maintain my balance.<br />
<br />
But what about when I don't need it? What about when I actually need a shoulder to cry on, or a voice outside my head telling me my feelings are valid and my thoughts are reasonable? Or even just a voice to remind me that being alone is a choice and not a sentence? That's when I start to do Dreadful's job for her, and I whisper to myself that I was always better off anyway without... well, everyone.<br />
<br />
<br />Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-71129347391873792632017-09-04T06:09:00.000-07:002017-09-04T06:12:44.850-07:00Self-forgiveness and Spring magnoliasThis past weekend was a bad weekend.<br />
<br />
It was sunny. I stayed home. I spring cleaned. I walked the dog. I watched movies in bed. I drank tea. I took photos of our beautiful flowers. I had dinner with my family.<br />
<br />
That's not why it was bad.<br />
<br />
It was bad because I was in such a crappy mood. I was horribly irritable and snappy and rude. I nagged my mother over tiny unimportant issues and bullied her. (I apologised.) And when I wasn't feeling this foul, I was sad and melancholy and ran over miserable thoughts in my head that didn't need my attention.<br />
<br />
When I feel this way, and especially when I behave as badly as I did to my poor loving patient resilient mum, I am 100% certain I am a bad person.<br />
<br />
When I feel this way, I believe there is no time or therapy or mental agility that will fix me. I feel unchangable, and unworthy. I can see myself from outside, like a disembodied set of eyes, watching my actions with shame and disappointment, but I can't stop myself.<br />
<br />
I have been seeing my psychologist on average once every 2-3 weeks for the past 4-5 months. Every time I go to see him, I doubt whether I should see him. I doubt my need to see him, and I question my intentions. Do I really need his help, or is improvement something I can do myself but I'm just too lazy to? Am I sick enough to see a doctor, or am I seeking attention? Ironically, my psychologist says it is part of my psychological makeup to have such a powerful inner critic, and that it explains a lot of my troubles.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, after this weekend, I am a crappy confused mess. In our last session, my psychologist and I agreed that if I wanted to stop going to therapy, it would be okay because I have been feeling better lately; he assured me that certainly a lot of people cease therapy when they are no longer in crisis, as I was. Stopping, or continuing, was my choice. I chose to continue. We made a set of goals to work towards in future sessions. But now, I don't know what my goals are anymore. If I am doing so much better, why am I so emotionally erratic? If I want to be better, why don't I try harder?<br />
<br />
Do you know what set me off this weekend? It's so stupid. <i>Rain.</i> The laundry was out on the line, nearly dry, the forecast was for hot sunny windy weather - then it rained. It did not rain hard. The clothes were not very wet. But still, I lost it. I didn't go fully into temper tantrum mode, but I was definitely shitty. My shittiness was completely disproportionate to the situation. My mum even helped me bring the laundry in so the few drops that had gathered on them could dry properly. All was not ruined. But I utterly, absolutely felt like everything was a ruin.<br />
<br />
I was a wreck. I was wild with blame and frustration and anger and helplessness. Nothing was my fault. The world was against me. Things did not go as I had expected; my plans had gone awry. Everything was just wrong. The sun was meant to shine all day. I was meant to take the clothes in, hot and dry as if they had been tumbled in a machine. Instead, I had to run around in a panic and flee the precipitation and risk damp clothing. And I hated that. I hated being pushed into doing something unexpected and unpleasant at last minute with no warning. I hated doing something I hadn't given my permission or consent to do. Those few minutes of light mist and grey cloud was my enemy.<br />
<br />
Afterwards, the sun did come out and it was actually the warmest day we've had all winter, signalling the approach of spring. It was a stunning day. I sat on the porch and gazed at the magnolias in our yard, and was frightened of the person I had become. My outburst had been undeniably unnecessary. Who was that crazy, unfair, selfish, angry, and simply unpleasant woman? Where did she come from, so rudely uninvited? And was her presence my fault?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1QC4rS-o2G8sACPRQ463s0SbA_GQ2sSMBhZ9wIX71e9PKbcaQwTO6hEKWcYyCdbK4Ybe_7W-gVUHp1K21ew8XqTXQSS1uOke4Il-7uBbdbFOGywxgqr2xnBK-uiOlXyOilg-Neu87vY/s1600/magnolias+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1QC4rS-o2G8sACPRQ463s0SbA_GQ2sSMBhZ9wIX71e9PKbcaQwTO6hEKWcYyCdbK4Ybe_7W-gVUHp1K21ew8XqTXQSS1uOke4Il-7uBbdbFOGywxgqr2xnBK-uiOlXyOilg-Neu87vY/s1600/magnolias+back.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
I would not like to say that outbursts like this are a signature of my character, but in my darkest moments, I do think this. I fear that my happy self is just a shallow facade, a thin false layer covering up my true inside which is ugly and enraged and furious and negative. In these moments, I look at the revolting person I turn into, like a scary real-life Mr. Hyde, and I hate myself, and I am certain I am evil and undeserving of anyone's love, least of all my own. Worst of all, in these moments, I have zero hope.<br />
<br />
A blanket of melancholy settled over my weekend, so deep and heavy, and totally incongruous with my psychologist's assertion that I have improved because I have been feeling better and happier. My family noticed it, and it was all I could do not to snap again every time they asked me if I was okay. I stared harder at those beautiful blush pink flowers on the tree before the porch, and tried to summon peace and calm and patience from them.<br />
<br />
If there is any miniscule modicum of promise left in my self-awareness that I have improved, it is this: that despite the intense power of what I <i>feel </i>and what I <i>believe</i>, what I <i>know </i>is that <b>I am not a bad person.</b> I know, with the simple frankness of my rationale, that I am essentially a good person - even if I disagree with it. I hang onto this. I have to. It's the rope that I need to drag myself out of the metaphorical pit of despair that I fall into without warning sometimes. One is not a bad person or a good person by virtue of their accidents, as long as they continually try not to make them. This weekend, I tripped, and unfortunately, I fell back into my depression. The stains of my dark mood bled into this Monday, so much so that I was seriously worried I'd do something terribly unprofessional at work and get reprimanded by my boss.<br />
<br />
In the end, it was fine. I had a fine Monday.<br />
<br />
I am fine. I will be fine.<br />
<br />
And I took lots of photos of flowers. Looking at them, and photographing them, gave me a quiet kind of joy and serenity that I really need.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQim-eMvrnXSf7CpguQRPJIsdHqocKlZal7JasWHw6bDiBULYWkwIa64_xd9dOXpoShO6xEzcoxg_WnAtOHw5YxkZyO8jdCb0U8xcifvPJozBC7DzZRPGvOfvw2BRqkz46dLNPtD397Cw/s1600/magnolias+fore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQim-eMvrnXSf7CpguQRPJIsdHqocKlZal7JasWHw6bDiBULYWkwIa64_xd9dOXpoShO6xEzcoxg_WnAtOHw5YxkZyO8jdCb0U8xcifvPJozBC7DzZRPGvOfvw2BRqkz46dLNPtD397Cw/s1600/magnolias+fore.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The point of this entire monologue is to teach a lesson in self-forgiveness.<br />
<br />
My psychologist says the key to improvement is self-awareness. I agree.<br />
<br />
I have discovered for myself the transformative power of gratitude. This is key too.<br />
<br />
The stamina I need to last the distance in this mental health marathon, is self-forgiveness.<br />
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Why self-forgiveness? Because you can be alert to your own state of being, and you can be thankful for what's around you, but if you don't love yourself, you won't get anywhere.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-41266477580381802272017-08-30T04:37:00.002-07:002017-08-30T04:38:21.192-07:00Metaphor for my thoughts<i>I'm a boat on the horizon.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To every one else, I'm so small and far away, seemingly headed to exciting things, and okay on my own (because I wouldn't have set out otherwise).</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To me, I can't see the horizon, and I can't see you. You're so distant, you don't exist. I'm all alone, surrounded by so much empty vastness, and I don't know which way I'm going. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm the only one that knows I didn't plan on coming here; I got caught on the wind, and drifted away.</i>Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-10658664156330019802017-08-20T08:51:00.003-07:002017-08-22T06:38:57.445-07:00Red FlagsLately I've been feeling like my rationale occupies a totally different space than my emotions. Instead of occupying the one body, mind and soul, they're separate entities fighting over how best to manage me. And it's a bloody fight too. Bits of grey matter flying everywhere, arterial blood spurting in all directions...<br />
<br />
When they're not fighting, they're having major communication issues. It's as if they are two eskimos shouting to each other through a roaring arctic blizzard over a broken down two-way that was built in the early twentieth century. Each one kind of gets the gist of what the other is saying, but as soon as the message becomes more complicated than "what do you want for dinner?" / "yeh mate fish is fine", then devastating confusion ensues - and it's no surprise because the connection wasn't great to begin with... the technology was outdated, there was a lot of distractions, snow, gale force winds, polar bears, etc.<br />
<br />
Okay, bit of a labored metaphor, but you get my drift.<br />
<br />
I actually drafted a post several weeks ago that never made it past the Publish button. I asked myself, Am I Actually Depressed? I've been feeling the way I feel for so long, I've lost sense of what's normal and what's not. Add that to my crippling insecurity, and my meter is totally out of whack. So even when I feel terrible, I'm not sure I'm the best judge of my own happiness, and nor do I believe I deserve happiness anyway so it's kind of a moot point. 100% self-doubt, 0% self-esteem. Terrible brain formula. Something upstairs has malfunctioned. Eskimos, shut up and crawl back to your pathetic little igloo.<br />
<br />
I read an article called <a href="https://themighty.com/2017/05/depression-red-flags/" target="_blank">22 'Red Flags' That Might Mean You're Slipping Back Into Depression</a>. Normally articles like these do me more harm than good because I misread them in either one of two ways that sit at opposite ends of the spectrum: 1) complete denial, or 2) simmering panic. So I either think, "nah, what I'm experiencing is not exactly the same as what other people have experienced, I'm not as bad as all that, I'm not suicidal or anything, so I must be imagining my pain, let's completely discredit the past few weeks I've been feeling off". OR else I think, "uh oh, I've felt a little bit like that person before, I overslept last weekend and I cried watching that movie, I knew it, now I'm done for, time to freak out now because it's happening again, depression is coming and it's going to be so shit like last time, I can't believe I'm back in this dark place again."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mhCYMWZlW6KtssNBS3QrbLse9BQulGXyDrbX_QEesYEzP07MVf18PHXoikB9nsDaLR3rbQ1vt7rO3U1MlaZvTZ-sHXwIlXaJkRdYUaIlGY556fb7nr0YxRJyHltoL__Kr8DG79nVmS0/s1600/monsters+in+your+head.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mhCYMWZlW6KtssNBS3QrbLse9BQulGXyDrbX_QEesYEzP07MVf18PHXoikB9nsDaLR3rbQ1vt7rO3U1MlaZvTZ-sHXwIlXaJkRdYUaIlGY556fb7nr0YxRJyHltoL__Kr8DG79nVmS0/s320/monsters+in+your+head.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Not my image.)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Since then, I have been assessed by my psychologist. When I first entered his office, he set me a test, but didn't immediately give me the results because we didn't really need them to move through our sessions. But when I started feeling like it was becoming an important issue for me, I asked him, he scored me, and basically I now know <a href="https://thedailydementor.blogspot.com.au/p/about-daily-dementor.html" target="_blank">I am depressed but not terribly so</a>. I am anxious and easily stressed, but it isn't debilitating.<br />
<br />
To be clear, my psychologist rated me as currently sitting at moderate levels of depression and higher levels of anxiety and stress. In contrast, when he looked at my early scores from before I began therapy with him, my anxiety levels were lower and my depression was at severe levels. I felt simultaneously both relieved and invalidated by this information, because it means I'm responding to therapy, and I've improved, right?<br />
<br />
Until he said that in terms of my suffering, I <i>am </i>severe. He specifically said "suffering". I remember that word, because it seemed strange applied to me. It's a word usually I assign to people in situations which I think are extremely bad - the homeless, the disabled, the war stricken, the terminally ill, the abused, the bereaved, etc. My life is not bad. My life is good. I am blessed with family, a safe home, a good education, a job, food on the table, friends and even a few luxuries. Me, suffering? What the hell is going on in my head to make me feel suffering in this way? And why do I still feel this way if, clinically, I am actually doing fairly alright?<br />
<br />
The point is, my uncertainty regarding my regular melancholy is less likely to be an emotional mediator triggered by my rational brain, and more likely to be a symptom of my depression and "suffering" caused by my unstable emotions. A fact I was already aware of but just couldn't settle my bets on.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZB3U2RIvxMPq_rZu0FJZPiXUn-b12-Yzlt9dEZ75gL-jspByefqxCqUIkOxTu_c-XvlrfYdpkRYA41Kyovi7JXRvRpiiClNxH81BmIGwNPPeVSTYuOzp_993PPxgBbJfn2x7NCuzuYE/s1600/what+ppl+think+what+i+actually+feel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="539" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZB3U2RIvxMPq_rZu0FJZPiXUn-b12-Yzlt9dEZ75gL-jspByefqxCqUIkOxTu_c-XvlrfYdpkRYA41Kyovi7JXRvRpiiClNxH81BmIGwNPPeVSTYuOzp_993PPxgBbJfn2x7NCuzuYE/s640/what+ppl+think+what+i+actually+feel.jpg" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Not my image.)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As you'd imagine, any depressive benefits greatly from knowing they're not alone in their feelings, and that they can relate to other depressed people.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://themighty.com/2017/05/depression-red-flags/" target="_blank">The article</a> helped me with that. I don't have all the symptoms, and they're only anecdotal anyway, but reading about other people's experiences reminds me to give myself a break once in a while, and try to keep things in perspective - <i>and</i> furthermore, that it is harder for me to find perspective compared to people who don't have depression.<br />
<br />
I can be a hateful person. I have many examples of becoming so lost in my hateful, dreadful, critical, judgmental, irritable thoughts. My latest example is very recent - from tonight. I spent a wonderful weekend interstate with my sister and brother-in-law, surrounded by his friends and family, playing with his adorable happy grandkids, having a great time, enjoying beautiful sunny weather and delicious food. I really felt blessed. But the minute I came home, nothing was right, nothing was good enough, everything was a cause for anger, and I even took it out on my poor patient exhausted mum who was in no way to blame, and she put up with all my negativity, frustration and blame. Nothing that I complained about was worth it, and even if they weren't petty, it wouldn't justify my sour temper. I feel awful, and like I'm a different person to who I was just a few hours ago before I boarded that plane home. If you simplified this scenario, you could say I was just cranky and tired. But if you face the bitter truth of the matter, I was being a mean bully. And besides hurting my mum, I was really hurting myself.<br />
<br />
My instinct is to feel sad and guilty, and to hate myself, and settle for being a bad person, and find ways to remove myself from others to protect them from my pessimism, because I just don't know how I can change. However I know I'm not a bad person. When I'm happy, I can be kind, patient, understanding, accepting, resilient, flexible, adaptable, generous, calm, caring. I have seen it. I'm disappointed in myself because of my behaviour tonight, and it's natural to be ashamed of myself. But if I don't aim to improve, and if I don't expect better of myself, then that's not okay.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="493" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryTjUZWVlDnOJqZbq_B32a6wffjGAuqB2CkV0ZaYdqiSKm8llXCDDR4Pu2HO2257UL8n1jHN0f2SlqBQcbmIoC5rfr1-ByjPgpbIkvvphXfbDLXZ1DWkWlrIhKTVm6Ue1eiQr7aAdk_I/s400/princ_rm_pet_scan_of_depressed_brain.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Taken from <a href="http://www.webmd.com/depression/ss/slideshow-depression-overview" target="_blank">WebMD, "Depression: What Is It?"</a>)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have to admit to myself that this kind of behaviour is a symptom of something greater. Reading about other people's "red flags" for depression, makes me realise maybe <b>I'm not a bad person</b> - maybe when I struggle to behave well, it just means that I'm getting a personal warning for my depression. Lately, I have been struggling, and I have been feeling like I am such a terrible person, but maybe my struggles - my irritability, my doom and gloom attitude, my self-imposed isolation - are my red flags.<br />
<br />
It's much harder to dig deep and fix the root of a problem than it is to smooth out the symptoms sitting on the surface. I have to admit this so that I can accept it, forgive myself, and move on. It's so hard. It's one step forward, two steps backwards. But we all have to start somewhere. And the good thing is, I <i>am </i>already working on it - by going to therapy, by writing this blog, by being brutally honest with myself.<br />
<br />
Please have a look at <a href="https://themighty.com/2017/05/depression-red-flags/" target="_blank">the article</a>, and if you can relate at all to these peoples' experiences, take comfort in it where and when you can. If you cannot relate, try to find insight in our stories so that you can practice empathy and compassion for those of us who do.<br />
<br />
This is a safe space. If you wish to share your stories here on my blog, thank you for your courage, and remember how beautiful you are.<br />
<br />
Thinking of you and hoping you find peace today. Love Bernie x<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Useful readings:</b><br />
<a href="https://www.health.harvard.edu/mind-and-mood/what-causes-depression" target="_blank">What causes depression?</a> (Harvard Health Publications)<br />
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1999/01/19/science/new-theories-of-depression-focus-on-brain-s-two-sides.html" target="_blank">New Theories of Depression Focus on Brain's Two Sides</a> (The New York Times)<br />
<br />Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-30608529436028588722017-07-21T04:59:00.000-07:002017-07-22T04:55:24.480-07:00Hello, gratitudeI'm really proud to say I've improved a lot over the years by putting more energy into being happy, and less energy into being unhappy. It's a bit like what they say about weight loss. <b>Eat less + exercise more = healthier.</b> Right? The formula is <i>simple</i>. But implementing the formula is <i>not easy</i>. As with the body, it's the same with the mind.<br />
<br />
It takes a lot of self-awareness, and many small habits practised very often. I'm not saying I've become a totally different person, however I will say that everything - work, people, study, just life really - feels much more manageable when I think this way.<br />
<br />
I've noticed a lot of conversation lately about gratitude - in blogs, self-help books, articles, and all over social media. When did that happen? I don't know but it's awesome. This tells me I'm clearly on the right track. I say this because I "found" gratitude a couple of years ago, all by myself, before mainstream society stepped in (as it always does) to tell us how to live better.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKlDnDC2mKgg3OH1XjraUyp-PgX8dFos0waDA71rENKPGJOnUclNotTSfdCEFqD8JiAQ_kDKDxQhSUqs2Fz2sTUJcrN5eFfawDJryPIFNtlI17-7SLprXRjAgt4yjTwu3o7OqY2MmacQ/s1600/amsterdam+koffie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKlDnDC2mKgg3OH1XjraUyp-PgX8dFos0waDA71rENKPGJOnUclNotTSfdCEFqD8JiAQ_kDKDxQhSUqs2Fz2sTUJcrN5eFfawDJryPIFNtlI17-7SLprXRjAgt4yjTwu3o7OqY2MmacQ/s640/amsterdam+koffie.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wood, the cup ring stains, the slanted sunlight... all the little details <br />
that I noticed because I felt so grateful for that morning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
I remember it clearly. I was sitting alone in <a href="http://wijsenzonen.com/" target="_blank">a little cafe in Amsterdam</a>, waiting rather a long time for a coffee because they were understaffed and there was only one poor girl rushing around. I didn't care, and when she apologised for the wait, I told her "it's okay", because I genuinely meant it, because I didn't want her to feel harassed, and because I felt like I had all the time in the world. Right at that moment I wanted to spend that time doing nothing more than enjoying the fuzzy amber colour that the sunlight made on the wooden tabletop beneath my hands.<br />
<br />
The fact that I was a world away from home, all alone, without any deadlines or stress or judgment or expectations, really sunk in. I had studied hard for almost as many years as I had been alive, and now I didn't have to do anything to prove myself - no tests, no exams, no assessments, no grades, no presentations, no peer pressure, no comparisons. I had already proven myself, <i>to</i> myself, and I was reaping the rewards. I didn't need praise, gifts, or parties - just a coffee, and a morning to myself. I suddenly felt so much appreciation for every second of my life that ticked by; the feeling was like sinking into a warm bath and I was floating in a sea of peace.<br />
<br />
I've tried to remember that feeling. I admit, it's been getting harder to do lately. The formula is changing. I don't know if it's just hit its expiry date, if I'm running out of the energy I need to keep the gratitude-machine running, or if I'm just getting worse so I need a new higher-performance formula.<br />
<br />
It's gotten to the point where I'm merely shutting out the negative thoughts and filling the leftover space with any distraction possible - because if I don't, I get stuck on an express train heading to Depressionville and I get way too worked up and upset to function properly. I've identified this with my therapist and we're sorting this out...<br />
<br />
Returning to my dementor analogy, I guess the difference is between having a weak patronus and a strong patronus. You need a happy memory before you can chant <i>Expecto Patronum</i> - and what do you know, gratitude works hand-in-hand with the ability to recall happy memories! If you can summon the energy to conjure a strong patronus, it will chase down the dementors and banish them for good, so you'll be left feeling relieved, cleansed, alive, and safe. If you don't have the energy, skill, training, or experience, you'll only be able to muster up a weak patronus, as Harry Potter did when he was practicing with Professor Lupin in the classroom with the Boggart... nothing more than a feeble, thin shield standing between you and your darkest, deeper terror, which just looms there, waiting until you break down and it closes in.<br />
<br />
My shield is weak. Nevertheless, in the meantime, I keep up with it anyway - i.e. unhappy out, happy in, maintain the shield - and I can say, in some ways, it works. I used to be such a broody, angry, irritable teenager. It was awful. <i>I</i> was awful. Gratitude helped me relax. Gratitude is powerful. It wipes away my worries and my fears... It puts my problems into perspective <i>without </i>making me feel guilty, the way other corrective mindsets can, like "get over it, there are starving children in Africa" or "forget about him, it's his loss" (please please please don't ever say these things to people when they are upset and depressed!)<br />
<br />
Gratitude makes me love this very moment, just for what it is, and not think about anything else, past or future. And although each moment of love is small, if I can string them together, I have enough moments to just about get by. Sometimes that's all we need. A bit of help to get by, moment by moment.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-19540335688688660392017-07-14T04:37:00.000-07:002017-08-22T06:43:20.291-07:00The Secret Garden, The Secret SorrowLately I've taken to making audio recordings on my phone instead of writing in my journal. I never used to do this as I am self-conscious about my voice. But sometimes speaking comes more easily.<br />
<br />
I usually never share them; they are as private, and often more revealing, than my writing because it's harder to hide the vulnerability in my voice. But tonight I had a thought that seems important, and I'm okay with sharing share it even though it feels quite private.<br />
<br />
In fact, I'd really like to hear your thoughts. So I hope you will listen and comment below.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/df/31/93/df3193014e9a375c5dd41308391c143a--garden-mural-garden-doors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="508" height="320" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/df/31/93/df3193014e9a375c5dd41308391c143a--garden-mural-garden-doors.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
It's about the book <i>The Secret Garden</i>, and how, in it, I really identify with one man's secret sorrow. I think it's important for as many people as possible to understand this man's pain; not only for those people who haven't witnessed or experienced depression to gain some insight into what it's like, but also for fellow depressives to know there are others who have been through similar heartache.<br />
<br />
<iframe height="80" src="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzssAmxpXtzpaHpXTjc1NDNFeGM/preview" width="400"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thanks for listening. Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-8640278532150935842017-07-12T06:03:00.003-07:002017-07-21T04:59:49.881-07:00*Please stop telling me I'm great<i>This is a better version of a longer post/ramble <a href="https://thedailydementor.blogspot.com.au/2017/07/please-stop-telling-me-im-great-and-my.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</i><br />
<br />
A lot of my depression is based in my poor self-esteem and inner critic. Everyone has self-esteem issues. Everyone gets an occasional scolding from a voice inside their head when they make a mistake and feel embarrassed.<br />
<br />
Apparently, mine is next-level. My inner critic is so overpowering it has become constant background running commentary. It causes me to make mistakes because I'm not being honest with myself. My terrible self-esteem is an actual obstacle, causing me guilt and shame almost every minute of every day for the smallest things. In the long term, I experience self-doubt, confusion, and negative self-worth that prohibits me from making good decisions to improve my life. On top of that, I am led by my fears because they are almost always the focus of my attention, and they distract me from the many healthy, positive influences that come my way.<br />
<br />
I am used to people feeling frustrated when they are confronted with this aspect of my personality and attitude. This is perfectly understandable and normal. I get frustrated by it too. I even get frustrated by it in other people. How hypocritical, right? But this means that I can totally empathise with what you are feeling, and I own up to my double standard. It means that I can expect more of other people than I am even capable of expecting from myself. I am not perfect, and I am doing my best to improve, every day. I am writing this to help you understand just what "my best" really means, because I'm quite sure everyone thinks I should do better. Here's why I can't (at least not right now).<br />
<br />
I have spent most of my life seeing the negative before the positive, the cons before the pros, the whys before the why nots. Our brains are muscles, and all muscles are trained into habits over time. For example, I am typing this without looking at my fingers or even at the screen, because my fingers have learned where all the keys are. I taught myself to type. I don't know how, I just picked it up, bit by bit, because there was a need for this skill. I can see myself doing it, but I can't stop, because my fingertips just flow so smoothly and familiarly over the keys, and they do it without even needing to think about it.<br />
<br />
Similarly, I taught my brain to think badly of myself, over time, bit by bit, without realising it. I can't stop it, it just happens without much prompting. Sometimes I see it happening, sometimes I don't until someone points it out. I can't tell you what need was originally satisfied by me thinking this way, but something definitely prompted it into action, and I only assume it served a purpose back then - maybe to teach me modesty or shame as a child, but now I'm an adult and it's gotten a bit out of hand.<br />
<br />
All habits need a lot of effort, time, and specialised skill, not to mention constant vigilance and firm guidance, to change. Just as someone would need to actually teach me to type as well as I do now in a foreign language, I need a lot of help to teach me to think better about myself.<br />
<br />
<i>So when I say negative things about myself, please try to understand that I don't even notice that I'm self-bashing. </i>It's as natural to me as is my short height or dark coloured hair.<br />
<br />
If it is hard for you to endure this, please try to imagine how hard it is for me - to know that my own weaknesses are holding me back, and making me miss great opportunities. My choices should be led by light and joy, but I'm more often than not led by darkness and despair. Please try to put yourself in my shoes, and visualise how infuriating it is to put in 110% and go nowhere. I'm running on the spot. I'm spinning in circles.<br />
<br />
When faced with a really big challenge that requires confidence and self-affirmation to solve, I get dizzy, and sometimes blank out completely. This happened during my HSC. This happened when I was writing my thesis. It's happened with pretty much every relationship I've ever been in, both platonic and romantic, and family ones too. I lose track of time as well as recollection of important memories. When I used to write daily in my journal, I would be shocked looking back on my entries months later, because nothing happened the way I remembered. When this happens, I feel scared, unstable, out of control, and very helpless, and hopeless.<br />
<br />
I don't expect anyone to shadow me and point out every time I put myself down, sell myself short, or seek out the bad side of a situation when the good side was staring me in the face. It's an impossible task anyway, because it happens far too often to track. Plus, it would make me short circuit from information overload, because I would get overwhelmed by the wealth of evidence showing how unhealthy I am, and I would just clock out. I am not asking for a coach. I have to do this myself.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I catch myself, and try to pull myself back onto the right track. I never used to be able to do this at all so I'm counting it as an improvement! So far where I'm at is simply trying to do this more often so I get better at self-awareness. I don't think it's reasonable or fair for me, or anyone else, to expect more. In my experience, putting pressure on me to speed up this process will only have the opposite effect.<br />
<br />
There are beautiful people in my life who I'm very lucky to have as friends, family, and general support, who share their love and happiness with me. I hope you don't stop. I know your instinct is to try to pull me up when I'm down. I'm so thankful and grateful for this. Your words of wisdom, of safe advice, and of real life experience, are like gold to me. I use them carefully and sparingly.<br />
<br />
But it is also terrible to be told the way I think is wrong, and that I need to be someone else if I'm going to survive. Even if that is true, it's awful not to be accepted for who I am, which is a very sad, depressed person. I am struggling. I really am. I "need" to be happy? I "need" to love myself? Honey, if it was that easy, I'd have done it by now, because you have no idea how hard I've been working for it my whole life.<br />
<br />
All I ask, is that sometimes, not all the time but sometimes, when I am feeling so disgustingly shitty, that you don't tell me I'm great. Please don't assume that what would help me is a rapid reminder of all my virtues, talents, traits and skills. Please don't think that identifying me as a worthy person will cheer me up - because my problem is precisely that I believe I am worthless. I genuinely dislike myself. I honestly feel unlovable. These are not the fleeting melodramatic comments of a martyr. These are actual terms that have come up when I've tried to navigate my self-image. They are a real and serious problem.<br />
<br />
Don't try to rationalise my bad feelings either, because they operate in a completely separate domain from my logic and reason.<br />
<br />
So what might help? Honestly, I don't know, because I am very good at upsetting myself and sometimes I will be inconsolable for a while. But I think what might help is just a bit of patience, and not feeling like you need to say anything, because comforting silence is very helpful sometimes. If you feel like you can't handle me as I am, don't try to change me with words - that might make me feel worse, or I might just not register it at all (which will only leave you feeling even more frustrated and neglected, thus continuing the cycle of negativity). Mostly it would tell me that you can't accept me when I'm down - I don't blame you, it's a hard thing to bear - but the truth is, acceptance would help me the most. Just accept that I am depressed. I'm trying to accept it too.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-35605189014879731172017-07-12T06:00:00.000-07:002017-07-21T04:59:59.684-07:00*Please stop telling me I'm great - and my reasons why, explained in strained analogies<i>I wrote this post first. A second, less rambling, version of this post is <a href="https://thedailydementor.blogspot.com.au/2017/07/please-stop-telling-me-im-great.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I chose to keep them both because they reveal different aspects of an idea that I have a lot of trouble with, and I do find it hard to explain. </i><br />
<br />
A lot of my depression is ground in my poor self-esteem and inner critic. Everyone has self-esteem issues and an occasional scolding from a voice inside their head when they make a mistake and feel embarrassed.<br />
<br />
Apparently, mine is next-level. My inner critic is so overpowering it has become constant background running commentary; if you see my eyes glaze over or my face slacken when you're talking to me, it's because your lovely conversation has just been interrupted rudely by my inner critic and I'm currently struggling to tell her to shut up. Doesn't help that I have an epic resting bitch face. I have actually gotten in trouble for it more than once. I'm sorry. I don't know that my face does that until I see your face drop or frown with anger or confusion. By then it's often too late to apologise, and I can't take it back.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile my negative self-worth is an actual blockade. You know those fire ships wreaking havoc and mayhem in the Spanish Armada? My inner critic is the fire ship and my self-esteem is a confused, chaotic mess.<br />
<br />
So when I say negative things about myself, try to understand that I don't even notice I'm self-bashing. At best, I notice how terrible I feel, but telling me to face up to why I'm so sad and helpless is like asking me to drive at night without my headlights. Imagine it. There's just enough to see by the moon which is why you said go for it, but it's dangerous and risky as all hell and my shoulders will be up to my ears with anxiety and stress and the fear of dying in some giant car crash and possibly hurting you and other people too. You want to push me to drive faster, but not help me find the headlights? That's just going to make me blank out and pull over and give up, because the destination is not worth the risk, no matter how hungry you are for pizza; I'm sorry, I know I said I'd pick up the pizza for us, but I didn't know before setting out that the headlights would be down, so we'll just have to ask them to deliver, because I can't do this great thing you want me to do, even though I am well aware of all the benefits of getting pizza and even how fun it could be doing something spontaneous and out-of-the-box, 'cos who drives in the dark?!, but you're just asking me for too much. <i>I'm sorry. </i>And so when that pizza finally gets delivered and you are munching away in happiness, and forgetting completely the ordeal I just went through, all I will be able to think about is how I totally failed you, and failed myself.<br />
<br />
Okay, so bit of a long-winded analogy, but it's like that old saying: don't challenge a fish and a monkey to race up a tree. I'm the fish. I've already lost.<br />
<br />
If a someone could read minds and had access to my thoughts, and for one day, was put in charge of slapping me every time I thought something about myself in a negative way, my face would be bleeding, and that person would be very rich and have a very sore hand. Maybe even a hand injury. I'd pass out from the ceaseless physical torment, probably within the first hour or so, and therefore the experiment would have to stop for the day... This is like telling me I should look on the bright side. Trust me, I try, but if you just keep pointing it out, eventually I go into both information overload and overwhelming desensitivity, and it Just Doesn't Work. Plus you'd get pissed off because instead of me magically finding my happy ever after, I'd just stop responding. You'd see it as stubbornness, laziness, denial, what have you. But definitely it would take too much out of you, without much benefit to either of us.<br />
<br />
It's hard for me to admit this, because the loving, caring, patient, generous, and most of all, positive people in my life do give me words of wisdom about how to banish the darkness of my depression and seek positive affirmation and self-love. These words are like gold. You don't have much and its precious so you treasure it forever. But who carries around bagfuls of gold every day and doesn't start hurting from the pain and wearisomeness of constantly dragging something so heavy? Ever seen a happy dwarf? NUP. Because even beautiful things can feel like a burden if you are unable to fully appreciate it. And it's not the dwarf's fault. He's not an ungrateful little sod, even when he acts like it. He's just a different race from the others. He was born differently to begin with. Like, literal different species. He doesn't know he's being a twat, and most of the time he's trying to be the best he can be anyways. So don't hate crime. Don't get frustrated with him. Just let him be. And accept that him be-ing, is him being grumpy a lot. I'm that dwarf.<br />
<br />
I'm a fish-dwarf. I'm a dwarf fish. A dwarvish fish. A fishling dwarf. However you want to call it, obviously I'm a weird thing you won't even being to understand until you take this post seriously (and please keep in mind I'm coming down with a cold so I'm a bit delirious writing this too).<br />
<br />
I love that you try to cheer me up when I'm down. I love that you call me out on my self-hate and my constant self-bashing and just all the negs I embody and project. I LOVE that you share your love and happiness with me. And I want you to know that NONE of it is wasted or forgotten or mis-used. I value every bit of it and when you may not be here to witness it, I use it to help me in very hard times. You are my role model, my example, my guide, my dear friends and family, and I am so lucky and grateful to have you as my anchor. There is a noisy conversation going on inside my head, constantly, and you are not in a position to hear all the twists and turns of that discussion, but if you did, I can promise you, you'd be exhausted too.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel immune to good things. Often, I feel undeserving of good things. Always, I dislike myself. I won't say hate, because I have hated myself before and I know what that's like, and thankfully I don't hate myself presently, but basically I honestly and truly do not believe I am a good person, and I dislike myself. That's hard, mostly because I can't leave. Me and I are stuck together for eternity. Most of the time, I just want to slip away, silently and quietly and without fuss or attention, so that I can manufacture distance from all the things that cause me stress and despair and panic and just generally make me feel pressured - which is almost everything, unfortunately. Being alone is lonely, and sometimes unbearable, but solitude follows a formula that I'm familiar with, and therefore, I can determine some stability if I am afforded the conditions of minimal stimulus. Does that make sense to all you happy people? So even if some of that stimulus is undeniably, clearly, obviously HAPPY and HEALTHY and POSITIVE - it can definitely be too much.<br />
<br />
Please don't stop what you're doing. You are genuinely saving my life.<br />
<br />
However, and I hope this isn't too weird or too insensitive or too selfish to ask for, what I wish is that sometimes, just sometimes, only occasionally really, that when I am completely and utterly down in the dumps and hating on myself so hard, and also hating the world and everyone and everything in it, and I am basically being a miserable pathetic woesome son of a muck, that you don't try to perk me up by telling me that I'm worthy, or reminding me that I'm a nice person, or recounting some various number of good or impressive things I've done, or whatever else you think I deserve to hear. You are probably right. And I do need this challenge, for sure, of listening to things that are hard to hear, and being put firmly in perspective. But sometimes, I just want it to be okay, to feel horrible. If it's not okay to feel horrible, then I'm in the shits for real, because I feel horrible most of the time.<br />
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Please don't stop being your beautiful, gorgeous, full of life, joyful you.<br />
<br />
But do please stop trying to make me a beautiful, gorgeous, full of life, joyful me. Because I'm living in a different dimension, and there is a hidden wormhole hiding your world almost completely away from sight of mine, and it is just tiring being told things I cannot see or hear or touch or smell or feel or even believe exists.<br />
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It's like what I've learned about some people with eating disorders. Medical professionals, friends, family, constantly tell them they are beautiful, they do not need to lose weight, they are too skinny, etc. I remember watching a documentary where the thinnest girl I've ever seen suffering from anorexia was standing in front of a mirror next to the interviewer, also a tall slim woman, but of healthy weight. Despite the fact that she was staring the truth blankly in the face, she still thought she needed to lose more weight, and that the interviewer was skinnier and more beautiful than herself. I was gobsmacked by that blatant denial. But it wasn't mere denial. It was a real and serious body dysmorphia where what she had was just not what she could see - and that was that. It eluded logic and reason. You could not rationalise her into realising she was about to die from thinness. (I've also learned that many disorders arise more from a need to seek control than anything else, which is certainly something I can relate to as well.)<br />
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I am lost in negatives. I already feel bad about being so depressed. Please, just let me be sad. Let it be okay for me to be sad. I just cannot see or feel things about me that you can see and feel - we are looking through two different windows. I need you to understand that my sense of logic and rationale and reason is mostly intact and agrees with everything you are saying about me being a worthy, admirable, inherently good person. Nevertheless, that does not penetrate my emotions, my psyche, my habits and instincts, which are immune and completely unaffected by that rationale. I honestly and intensely BELIEVE that I am unlovable. So if you try to reconfigure the math in multiple scenarios and variations, there will be no Q.E.D. that convinces me. If you try to tell me that I gotta love myself because I'm great and I deserve it, it will just not compute.<br />
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What might help? I think just patience. And acceptance. And a shared mutual understanding that we all know what it's like to feel shitty, even if you're not like me and don't feel shitty all the time. It helps to know that you do know what it feels like even just a bit. And that it's ok to feel shitty.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-42910445522936607082017-06-12T22:30:00.001-07:002017-06-12T22:30:02.242-07:00The Daily DenialEvery day in the past few weeks I have read something that tells me I need to share how I'm feeling.<br />
<br />
I've been reading a book, <i>Shoot the Damn Dog</i>, written by Sally Brampton, a woman who suffered from depression so badly she went to hospital more than once for it, and eventually, I now know, died from that depression. She tells me to share.<br />
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Countless blogs on the internet written by depressives sharing their own stories - they tell me to share.<br />
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Countless comments from people suffering from depression, anxiety, and all other manner of mental illnesses, diagnosed or otherwise, co-mingling in this tired cyberspace, agreeing that it all just sucks - they tell me to share.<br />
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They all say: don’t keep it quiet. Tell someone. Ask for help.<br />
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Every time I read these things, I experience a small moment of hope (or you could even call it faith).<br />
<br />
Could it be? Could it really be that simple?<br />
<br />
Be honest, be open, be frank if you must. Just tell someone. When they ask, “How are you?”, instead of responding automatically with the standard robotic answer, “I’m fine”, try saying “Actually, not so good.”<br />
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Seems too easy...<br />
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Well, it’s not easy. Not at all. But it is simple.<br />
<br />
So I go home. I write this stuff. I type a lot, rapidly, at my typical 90+ wpm. I let my brain vomit words.<br />
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I think about starting a blog, of posting it, of clicking 'Publish'. How simple. Then it’ll be there. It’ll be shared.<br />
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But then I think, how petty, how small, how undeserving of notice, my problems are. How irrelevant my complaints are. How invalid my reasons are for feeling this way.<br />
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I panic when I think of my family, my boss, my co-workers, my old acquaintances from college, and numerous mutual friends and overseas connections, reading this. Knowing I wrote it. Knowing I mean it.<br />
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I'm not afraid because I think they will dismiss my depression.
I worry because I think they will dismiss my life. My story. My reasons for being so low. Or even my lack of reasons for it.<br />
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We live in such a PC era that I doubt anyone, except the very opinionated or intentionally-provocatory people, will actually dismiss someone’s condition if they were to say they were very sick and very, very sad.<br />
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But I have no doubt that people will either shrug, or roll their eyes, or stare blankly and uncomprehendingly, upon hearing the events (or lack thereof) that a depressive will claim has led them to this point.<br />
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As BS as I know all that crap is, I am nevertheless afraid of it. I’m not sure I can handle it.<br />
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And I don’t blame them. I’ve <i>been </i>them before. Even with all my history, I have been guilty of failing to fully empathise with them – I am guilty of impatience, of not listening patiently, of not accepting a person as a whole being for what they are. I was incapable of being the help they needed, and I can only hope they don’t blame me for it; maybe they sensed it was as foggy inside as it was outside.<br />
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So I think, better to go a little bit longer in silence (in private, I call it – because privacy seems less woesome than silence). When I’m a bit better, then tell people. Then they won’t have to help so much. I’ll be alright by then. But I’ll share it later, when I’m okay, so they know I wasn’t hiding or being dishonest.<br />
<br />
...See how I did that? Tricked myself without even realising.<br />
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I learned only recently that this kind of self-denial is practiced by many more depressives other than myself. It's actually a self-sabotaging symptom of depression.<br />
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Kind of adds an extra layer of irony to the entire purpose of this post, doesn’t it? The irony that the things we want to share is nothing new, nothing rare. This unhappiness is disappointingly common. But still, we curl ourselves away, afraid to rock the boat we all sail on in this grand metaphor of life, not aware the boat is already well into the storm and tipping wildly on turbulent waters.<br />
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That’s the point, actually. When depressed, we don’t have that saving perspective.
Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-89045840402896413182017-06-06T08:48:00.005-07:002017-07-21T05:00:32.457-07:00*Don’t be a dick, be a dude.Been thinking about this for a little while and I need your thoughts to help me process it. <u><i>Disclaimer: this post is a bit intense.</i></u><br />
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Fact is, I have every reason not to rely on men.<br />
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Growing up I had few male figures in my life. My parents divorced when I was six. No brothers. Not close to any uncles or cousins. Went to an all-girl school for most of my teen years.<br />
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The other few significant males in my later years turned out to disappoint in some major way or other; they ended up being manipulaters, cowards, what have you.<br />
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But I don’t hate men.<br />
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In my late teens/early twenties, I had just about enough self-awareness, foresight, and self-forgiveness to anticipate that unless I did something, I would spend the rest of my adult life fearing and despising men, and that it would cause all sorts of problems.<br />
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So I reached out to them. I made friends with them. Still not as many as I would like; my female friends definitely outnumber, even if you include the male halves of couples I am friendly with.<br />
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I joined a dating site, spoke with men, found my boundaries, broke past some of their boundaries too, had casual flings and hook-ups or sometimes nothing more than a coffee date. I learned how to say yes, and I learned how to say no. I think what I was ultimately trying to learn was how to be okay regardless of what men did.<br />
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But the point is, I interacted with men, found the ones that I could share with, made connections, and learned their beauty and uniqueness. Or at least, what one can learn in short-term exchanges. I found pleasure in their company, and satisfaction in giving them my time and accepting their time in return. It felt mature, and mutually beneficial, and just very sensible. Most of the time, it did not feel chaotic. I controlled who I contacted and how much of my time I offered.<br />
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For a long time, I thought that strength comes from solitude and emotional distance. It is hard for me to admit this, but I do realise now that connection is important to me. I am an introvert who is distrustful and needs a lot of her own space, yet I still crave and miss connection if I have been alone for too long. I wish I didn’t; it’s a lot easier to be alone. But then I would miss out on a lot.<br />
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I am proud of myself for having had meaningful encounters with men that were very transient, especially when there was sex involved. Usually there’s an assumed formula of <b>sex + time limits = meaningless</b>. Not me. I connected with people, shared something special, then said goodbye and parted ways. Sometimes we only spent a night together. In other cases we met up semi-regularly for months. These arrangements all seemed very grown up and beautiful. I enjoyed it. And I felt sure in my own skin. Being independent gave me the security and comfort that comes from having control.<br />
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So no, I don’t hate men. I don’t hate men for wanting sex, because I want sex and other women want sex too. I don’t hate men for wanting to meet women for sex, because women want to meet men for sex too. These days it’s so much more appropriate and accurate to leave the “man” and “woman” out and just say people, because we seek all kinds of people for all kinds of sexual intimacy.<br />
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So far, nothing about my distrust of letting people get close to me has anything indiscriminately or unreasonably linked to men and/or sex. But with my history, it very easily could have. I am proud of myself for avoiding that trap.<br />
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And yes, I did say I have trouble letting people get close to me. Sure, I was sexually involved casually with several different men for many years, but I always met them online. Online dating gives me the power to pass suitability and safety assessments before investing face time. To paraphrase <i>The Big Bang Theory</i>, dating got me thinking outside of my box, but online dating kept me pressed up right against it.<br />
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My walls are high and constantly up. I don’t let people inside those walls until they pass a vigorous series of explicit and implicit tests conducted by a combination of my observational skills, time spent with them, conversations shared, and gut instinct and intuition. Of course, a lot of it also has to do with my whimsy and decision-making, and whether I decide in the moment to take a chance and wing it, or avoid risk and pass up a potential opportunity.<br />
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Despite all my efforts, men of course have let me down. Women too. Just people, really. And I'm guilty of letting them down, because I’m human too.<br />
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Importantly, it’s always affected me more when men I have been intimate with let me down, especially the ones who got into my head and engaged with my emotions and deeper feelings. When I drift away from my female friends, somewhere inside I forgive myself and I forgive them, understanding that people don’t always stay the same. But when men leave me without explanation or goodbye, I have trouble letting go of feelings of shame and rejection and regret. I suddenly feel very attached to them; sometimes I didn’t know I was getting so attached to them in the first place. I question myself every time they leave, wondering what I did wrong, and why I don’t deserve integrity from men. My brain tells me I am worthy of all good things and more, but such bad behaviour and unfair treatment sends me into a flurry of emotions that constantly disagrees with my logical reasoning.<br />
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So here’s the thing – I am not a man hater. I believe in justice and fairness. I believe in challenging myself to look objectively at a situation even when my bias is overruling my judgment. I believe in giving people second chances. I believe in not cutting someone out based on first impressions or a mistake caused by their vulnerability.<br />
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<i>However, men (read: people) who constantly misbehave should expect to be met with some level of hatred and anger.</i><br />
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Therefore, I also believe a woman (read: person) is allowed to put up her guard for no reason other than self-protection based on past injuries, even if there is no evidence to suggest there is a current threat, and moreover she should not be called psycho or unreasonable for doing so.<br />
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When a man I have loved treats me poorly, there is a voice in my head that says they are a terrible symptom of a greater evil which is: greedy men who use women for their selfish needs and are not responsible for their actions. But there is always, and I mean always, a second voice that calms that first voice down. The second voice reminds me that men are human too and we all make mistakes and blaming is pointless. The second voice reassures me that bad behaviour from men is not always personal.<br />
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I believe that second voice is true.<br />
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I believe the first voice is only speaking on behalf of my heart, which is all too easily shut down. (I am honoured and grateful to say that first voice also exists in my friends and family who also speak on my behalf every time I self-bash.)<br />
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HOWEVER. Just because the second voice is often true DOES NOT mean men can get lazy.<br />
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If you are a man who has been unfair to a woman, but you know you’ve done nothing really very wrong, DO NOT COUNT ON THE SECOND VOICE.<br />
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Yes, you may defend your actions by saying “but I didn’t actually cheat” or “but I never promised anything” - or maybe she’s even defending you for you! If she is making excuses for you, it is natural that you will feel vindicated. You might think, "See, even she doesn't hold it against me. I did nothing wrong!"<br />
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But if you keep on taking cheap ways out to avoid doing the right thing by someone, then your actions speak for themselves – that is, it shows that you are clearly not just a person who let his emotions get the better of him, but a man who took advantage. One mistake or even two mistakes is wrong, but human. Multiple “mistakes” of the same kind is not only wrong, but it's also sheer laziness, disrespect, and manipulation.<br />
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I am not a man hater. I am hurt whenever I hear a person say awful things about men as a global generalisation instead of recognising men as individuals – I think this is laziness too. I refuse to hate all men in order to make sense of why only one or two men have personally upset me.<br />
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BUT when it keeps on happening, to women all over the world, by countless men who start off nice but then fail to do the right thing when it really counts because it’s easier for them... well, no wonder some women begin to hate all of you.<br />
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I am learning to understand why some women begin to hate men in order to explain men’s behaviour and protect themselves. This is my letter, to all women, to say I understand, and I am here to give your feelings value, and to bear witness on how you may have been affected by terrible treatment from a man.<br />
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This is also my anthem, to men everywhere, to bring you to account, and to champion you to greater accountability and more compassionate behaviour. If you cannot stand by your woman for any reason, do not disappear, do not make lame excuses, do not accuse her, and do not sleep around. You are only hiding behind your emotions. Think they your emotions are too much to handle? How about the woman who carries her emotions every day including the ones you wounded by wimping out? How about her persistent strength and resilience?<br />
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I swear to you, it is not only better, but it is also simpler, to be honest and open and say what you really mean and want. Need more time to figure yourself out? Say it. Need more freedom to experience life before committing? Say it. Too busy for a relationship right now? Say it. Met someone else without meaning to and you have feelings for both? Say it. Not sure what you need but you know you can’t be with her right now? Say it. When you open up, a burden will lift off your shoulders, and you will feel relieved. You will not only be respecting her by being a better man, but you will be respecting yourself too.<br />
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Of course, please remember you can read through this entire post and replace every instance I've used the word "man" with "person". <i>Because this is true of all people - even if you did not do something terrible on purpose, if you keep on doing it and don't learn how to improve, you are still in the wrong. </i>Make an effort with the people you're involved with, for goodness sake. Women who mistreat men - stop it. Men who mistreat women - stop it. Women who mistreat women, men who mistreat men - just freaking stop it.<br />
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For me, I refer to men specifically in this post, not only because my negative relationship experiences mostly involve men, but also because I think there's a broader mainstream tendency in society to disregard a woman's feelings of misuse when the woman in question has an overall distrust of all men. Men who complain about women tend to be supported by the immediate assumption that women overreact emotionally - we demonstrate this by saying things like "bitches be crazy" or rolling our eyes when women express a concern that men don't think is valid. But women who complain about men are unjustified man haters? No, that's a total cop out - we need to think more compassionately about what brings such women to a place of generalised hatred. Maybe it's men's consistently poor behaviour as a whole that has eroded our trust. Earn that trust back.<br />
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<u>I've had a lot of trouble gathering my thoughts in this post, but I know I'm hitting on something that, deep down inside, is clear and precise.</u> <u>When I finally tunnel my way to it, I will edit.</u> <i style="text-decoration-line: underline;">In the meantime, I am truly sorry for any offence I may have caused.</i>Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-68543987064540030922017-06-05T16:08:00.001-07:002017-07-21T05:31:59.317-07:00The BurdenRecently I read that <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/media/2016/may/11/sally-brampton-obituary" target="_blank">Sally Brampton died a year ago.</a><br />
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I’ve been reading her book <i>Shoot the Black Dog</i> and it has been helping me greatly to sort through my feelings. On almost every page I’ve stuck a sticky note to highlight some significant point she perfectly made.<br />
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Her experience was very different from mine, but every fact or truth she gave about the illness resonates deeply with me, sometimes bringing me tears or pain. It's the pain of knowing that, even though I am not alone and must take comfort in shared understanding, this therefore means there are others hurting too... so this isn’t just some freak accident or cosmic joke, but a terrible global weight we all carry.<br />
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I always just assume that, unless a book is decades old, that its writer is still alive. It's a logical assumption to make, that they were able to write it because they made it through to the other side of the story they are sharing with you.<br />
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Nevertheless, it wasn’t a blow, a shock, or a devastation, to learn that Sally died. It was a surprise, yes. A numbing surprise. It is tragic, definitely. I am a little unbalanced by it. I feel lonely. I thought we would get through this together.<br />
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Moreover, it is a reminder that the first mistake I’ve already made about my own depression - which people mostly make about other peoples’ depression - is that once healed, I will stay healed. Obviously there's a balance to be maintained between managing one's own expectations for the purpose of self-forgiveness, and keeping hope. I assume I will be cured, and that once cured, I will not relapse. This is not true. Anyone who has made it through depression can fall back into it. It is a slow long process. A period of time that feels like recovery may actually just be a period of less severe symptoms. I believe I have experienced this already - a few years of reprieve before cycling back into a more difficult stage of depression.<br />
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Sally's reminded me of this.<br />
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It is a reminder of how many of us go through depression, and how it is a fatal illness for many.<br />
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It is a reminder that even with all the help out there, we still know very little about it.<br />
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I was not the only one who wanted to see her live a long, happy life. I envisioned that when she finally let go of life, she would do so for a happier reason, and when she was ready, and in peace.<br />
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Learning about Sally's death only a week after learning that <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/news/chris-cornell-death-suicide-wife-vicky-funeral-letter-children-audioslave-soundgarden-a7754926.html" target="_blank">Chris Cornell also died from his depression</a>, adds to this sobering reminder. I can’t tell if this news normalises depression, or sensationalises it. Neither is ideal.<br />
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Similarly, learning about Chris Cornell’s death didn’t rock my world to its core; it has not even shaken my foundations. That would suggest a violent, cataclysmic emotional event.<br />
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What it has done is made me feel like the grief and sadness I already feel is like a bowling ball inside my chest, and now someone has taken a second heavy bowling ball or maybe a cannon ball, and hung it off the end of the first one, so I’m now glued permanently in this place and time, and no amount of exertion will move me.<br />
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Robin Williams, anyone...? Need I say more? <br />
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It’s things like this that erode hope. Glacially slowly, but eroding all the time.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>What, then, brings hope?</i><br />
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Please, I know this is an awfully low, blue post I've written. But I truly <b>hope</b>, in some sick way, it helps you somehow. I especially hope it doesn’t make you worse. Maybe it brings me closer to you, if you can at all relate to any of this. Maybe it brings all of us closer to those lost souls, Sally and Chris, whom we miss so much.<br />
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<u>Please, tell me what brings you hope. What do you hope for?</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
<u>I would love to hear from you.
</u><br />
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And whatever it is that you hope for, my hope is that it helps keep you loving life and surviving life's challenges.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-41794618421088503252017-05-27T07:02:00.001-07:002017-05-27T07:02:22.090-07:00Better Out Than In“Better Out Than In” is a universal truth I often take comfort in. Usually in terms of bodily functions like vomit and diarrhea and snot.<br />
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When it comes to pain, I think it's better let out than kept in. Especially emotional pain.<br />
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Depression makes us hide ourselves away at times when we need more support than ever. Depression makes us lie about how happy we are, because we believe we should keep the pain inside.<br />
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I hope this will be a gentle reminder that, to help ourselves, we need to reach out for those who care about us, no matter how hard it is to do that. It’s not an instant miracle cure, but it’s one step further away from total darkness.<br />
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It’s ironic, because saying "better out than in" might be misinterpreted as me saying that we have to “air our dirty laundry”, so to speak. It might sound like I think it's a good idea to unload our burdens indiscriminately on the world, and make public matters that are very sensitive and private indeed.<br />
<br />
This could not be further from the truth. I am a classic introvert. I tend to think a lot before I speak. When I think, I often overthink. When I do speak, it's usually only to a select few. I naturally do better in quieter, calmer, less crowded places. The noisier it is, the less I say. Often my perfect day out, is a day spent in.<br />
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But when I am as depressed as I have been, shutting myself inside, both figuratively and literally, can become dangerous very quickly. It’s easy to understand why a typical extrovert suffers without lots of activity and stimulus, because it’s not their native habitat. Imagine how bad it must be, then, when a typical introvert is in his/her ideal environment, and still deteriorates fast.<br />
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I am a great example. I've been going through a hard time lately, and I often cry when I come home to the empty house, oppressed by the silence and loneliness. This is not normal for me. I normally thrive when the house empties, like a heavy weight has come off my shoulders. My happy time is to light candles in every corner of every room, make tea, park myself on the couch with a fluffy blanket, and soak up some movies, safe in my solitude. I know that when there's two or more other people in the house, I have to step outside. Some weekends, after several days of just too much face time with too many faces, I hire a car and drive a few hours out of town to "get a breather". Yet, other weekends when I'm alone again, I stand on the front porch and watch soccer games in the field across the street, hungrily lapping up the sounds and sights of all that life and energy - meanwhile I'm facing away from the cold, empty house behind me, afraid to go back inside and confront its hollowness. It's exhausting, carefully managing my emotional sensitivity when I don't know which way it could turn any minute.<br />
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There are many reasons why a person might not want to tell others about their depression. Stigma, shame, misunderstanding, to name just a few. Creating worry, confusion, or gossip - other good reasons. Lack of energy is a big one.<br />
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For me, another big one, is not wanting to "wallow" or "indulge". There is a difference between opening up to someone about my negative feelings, and overanalysing it with someone until I am trapped by it. I can easily stray from one end of the spectrum into the other. Much easier not to tug on that thread at all - just say nothing.<br />
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I am a big believer in the power of perspective. I have personally experienced the magic of being able to transform the world by reshaping how I frame it in my own view. It's not easy, but I've done it at least once or twice in my life at times when it really mattered.<br />
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There's another saying that's worked for me in the past: "Fake it till you make it." I have had people tell me I seemed really confident when I was actually shitting marbles, because I just told myself to focus on the up.<br />
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So I worry that by putting the spotlight on my sadness, I make it grow. I try to put the spotlight on the good things instead, to hopefully make them bigger than the bad things. I'm certain this is a healthy habit. It's something I constantly try to foster, facilitate and improve on.<br />
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But sometimes I stumble. Sometimes I miss the point of what I'm trying to do. Sometimes the good things just aren't the priority. Sometimes they're just not good enough to outweigh the bad. When this happens, I begin to freak out, and I worry I'm going to stray to the wrong end of the spectrum again (yes, I have control issues).<br />
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So I start to do whatever I can to keep the bad things at bay. Often, all I can think of doing, is to make the bad things seem smaller. How? By reminding myself they're not that bad, or that other people have it much worse, and that I've been through worse before too. "What's the big deal?" I ask myself. "What's with all the drama?" I think.<br />
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Very quickly, my attempts to find perspective, and to avoid straying into darkness, turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy - and before I know it, I've lost all perspective, and I'm well and truly lost in the shadows of shadows. I tried to make something small, and instead, it grew into this huge thing! I'm consumed by how sucky I feel - and at the same time - by how invalid my feelings are. I'm so far away from where I started, I can't possibly imagine asking for help without feeling incredibly petty, sorry for myself, ashamed, and embarrassed.<br />
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Last week, an icon of the music world, and a special icon in my world of music, Chris Cornell, took his life. He was depressed.<br />
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I was totally blind sided by this news. I had no idea. Thinking about how he might have been feeling before it happened frightens me. My chest chokes up when I imagine his grief and despair, and then I grieve for him all over again.<br />
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Nothing reminded me more harshly than his death, that sure, maybe I don’t want to tell everyone everything about my most intimate struggles; but regardless, I should tell someone. More than one someone if I can, that I am struggling.<br />
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So here I am. I am not well. I am struggling. I have discovered that I do not love myself. I come close to hating myself some days. And I am telling you this.<br />
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I am not suicidal. But I am not happy either.<br />
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If you feel even a tiny bit similar to me, remind yourself you are not alone. And as you read this, I will try to remind myself I am not alone either.<br />
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Please don’t be scared to tell the truth about how you are feeling.<br />
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You don't have to bare your soul wide open.<br />
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But if someone asks you, "How are you?", don't respond automatically with "I'm fine / Okay / Good / Alright" like you usually do. Try to be honest. Be gentle on yourself, though. You could say, "It's been a hard week", or my personal favourite, "Up and down". Because it's the truth, and it's not all bad. I have my ups, I have my downs. Like everybody.<br />
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Pain is always better out than in.<br />
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Please don’t give up - if not for yourself, then for me. You are not alone. If no one else, I am here. You can always be honest with me. If you need to talk, I'm here to listen.<br />
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Thank you for listening to me too.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-53713257751938920502017-05-26T04:16:00.000-07:002017-05-26T05:19:47.624-07:00Black Dogs and DementorsI have moments when I'm alone, when I am hit with a wave of intense loneliness.<br />
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Generally being alone doesn’t lead to loneliness for me. When I am stressed or anxious, there are certain things I imagine to calm me or give me peace, like fantasising about going someplace far away into nature... perhaps sitting on a mountain peak and gazing at the vast beautiful expanse of the world below, empty of all people but me, and therefore empty of obligations or responsibilities or
expectations or guilt.<br />
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Now, though, mental images or thoughts like these fill me, not with wonderment or empowerment or freedom, but with sadness and loneliness and grief. Like I'm the last human on earth.<br />
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Then instantly following, I'm hit with another wave, this time of fear. Rattling fear. I can't remember feeling a fear like this, not in a long time. It's mystifying because there's nothing causing it. Bombs are not raining down on me. No one is holding a gun to my head. No one I love is chronically
sick. It's simply - fear. Fear caused by an invisible phantom.<br />
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It doesn’t seem right, somehow. It doesn’t seem logical, or sensible, having this unexplained fear.<br />
What is this fear? It's fear I'll never be happy again... mixed in with other awful fears too, like not being good enough, being broken or wrong somehow, being rejected, or abandoned, or worthless, or
punished for mistakes I've made that I was already regretting and feeling guilty for.<br />
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The black dog is what it's commonly known as. Yes, there’s a lot of anxiety there in what I just described. Nevertheless, I’ve known the black dog since early adolescence. Known it intimately.<br />
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But I find “the black dog” a difficult analogy for depression because I love dogs of every colour. I just can't use that.<br />
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Is there some other metaphor I can use to describe how horrible this experience can be? Is there some way I can make sense of it, and conceptualise it, and from there, turn it about in my mind to possibly find a way out?<br />
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Thinking of the black dog as a menacing phantom makes me wonder, are dementors real?<br />
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Think about it. Dementors are dark shrouds that take away the happiness from life. Sounds terrifyingly familiar,
doesn’t it? Maybe dementors are not just a figment of J.K. Rowling's mind. Maybe dementors represent the darkness within, personified as a monster haunting us. In fact, it's perfect, because they can exist in broad daylight too, because although we muggles can't see them, but we can feel them. Depression is like that. Hiding in plain sight.<br />
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For me, depression manifests as the habits or beliefs that sucks the happiness out of me, much in the way dementors suck the happiness out of wizards and witches in Harry's world - which if we don't fight off, will suck the very soul out of us.<br />
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If that is so, then my Patronus would be my friends and family and other members of my support network. I wave my wand and cry <i>Expecto patronum</i> and something bright (loyalty and acceptance) surrounds me with safety and protection - and most importantly - a reminder that I am not alone.<br />
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Keeping in touch with my network is not always easy... well, that's like spending hours in a classroom practicing a spell until I get it right. If I don't practice, I leave myself vulnerable and without help. It means the dementors never quite go away until I've mastered the skills to fight them. So those ghostly, scavenging, terrifying phantoms continue to dance in my peripheral, reminding me that darkness is only on the other side of the line where light ends.<br />
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Yet, when I wave my wand, and call my friends to me, that sadness disappears, for just a moment. And that moment is precious - and it's worth it.<br />
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I just have to keep practicing, and keep pushing them back, bit by bit. In the meantime, as scary as it is, it's not surprising to feel this crippling desperation and fear from time to time. And it's <i>not a sign of weakness.</i> It's merely a sign that I am human and susceptible to the same vulnerabilities all people have.<br />
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The best thing I find about this metaphor, which I'm trying to hold onto right now, is that <i>dementors don't hunt you because you deserve it.</i><br />
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Of course, it's easy to start thinking otherwise. It’s natural to question, why is this happening to me? It’s normal to want to find reasons to explain this.<br />
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You're already weak. You're already exhausted. You're confused and lost, and so you start believing it actually makes sense. Of course, this must be happening because you are a bad person, and this is your penalty. You are being followed by the dementors, because they chose you for a proper cause. It is acceptable, reasonable even, to expect punishment.<br />
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Sure, there may be selfish people who deliberately send these monsters to you for their own wicked benefit. But everyone, and I mean everyone, knows that dementors don’t need any encouragement from evil people; they will go after absolutely anyone they can get their claws on if you don't stop them. And where
there's one dementor, others inevitably follow. Like vultures to a carcass. Which is why spending too much time with negative people can bring the black dog to you too.<br />
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I don't deserve this. No one does. We all deserve happiness. If you too are being visited by a black dog/dementor <i>(Blacktor?/Dementog?)</i> then I know you're probably low on energy, and in no mood to fight. It can be so much simpler and easier, you think, to just succumb to it, right? To replay negative thoughts or experiences in your mind until your head is spiraling out of control in a terrible dark fury. By then, you're easy pickings for those soul-sucking dementors...<br />
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Don't succumb. Don't give up without a fight. Don't give in to that psychological self-manipulation.<br />
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Just try. Try to remember, you deserve happiness. As do I.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147754338931592806.post-10572711601480067812017-05-25T05:13:00.002-07:002017-07-21T05:45:47.943-07:00Welcome to The Daily Dementor<h4>
<i>"THE DAILY DEMENTOR: A new deadly edition of every witch and wizard's favourite fold-out..."</i></h4>
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A frightening title if you ever saw one! I know most magic makers would rather eat slugs than face the prospect of trading in their beloved newspaper for a dreary, gloomy, mournful replacement.<br />
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But this is what I've decided to call this blog.<br />
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Why The Daily Dementor?</h4>
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It's what I came up with one cold night, on my way home from work, when I was waiting at my bus stop. I was hit twice, in immediate succession, with cripplingly intense emotions of loneliness and fear. I could have sworn a dementor had just floated by. I had no idea where those emotions came from, but they were distinct, and strong. I think I actually had to physically pace on the spot to shake off the feeling.<br />
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I got home and <a href="http://thedailydementor.blogspot.com.au/2017/05/dementors-and-black-dogs.html" target="_blank">wrote about</a> upgrading that old metaphor for depression, "the black dog", to something more modern and broadly known. I was trying describe how I'd felt, and in a way that I could easily imagine without having to evoke the memory itself too intensely.<br />
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A quick Google search showed me that I'm not the first one to draw analogies between J.K. Rowling's fantasy demons and the real life terror of having depression. There's no subtlety in their name. <i>Demon-tor. </i>In fact, I think <a href="https://themighty.com/2017/01/dementors-harry-potter-describe-depression/" target="_blank">Matthew</a> describes it perfectly - the way dementors, and fighting dementors, fits into very real experiences of having this mental illness, and finding ways to cope with it and overcome it.<br />
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What's nice is that I found a symbol that helps me understand my experience in my own way, at a time when I really needed it. Knowing that other people find the same symbol useful too only adds to its validity, and reassures me I'm not making it all up (a paranoia I have from time to time as well).<br />
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Blogging about Depression and Mental Illness</h4>
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There are many blogs about depression and other mental illnesses out there. They are very good. I suggest you find them and read them. Use them. They are there to help. Many of them provide tips and hints on how to get by.<br />
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I don’t aim to give advice, not because I don’t want to, but because I’m not sure I can.<br />
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I’m writing this blog because I suddenly had the idea for it and it just feels right and I want to pounce on it before my fear or lethargy or perfectionism or procrastination kicks in.<br />
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I have started other blogs before in the past that never got anywhere far for various reasons - maybe I'll come back to them at some stage, but for now, this is what keeps me going: writing, about how I feel, and about what gets me down... with no specific reader in mind, but merely following the sense that by sorting out this stuff in my head, and piecing it together on the screen, I can help myself. And if someone chooses to witness this, and perhaps even join in my journey and share parts of it with me, maybe somehow, I can even help them too.<br />
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Those who have depression, or have had it before, know how hard it is to want to tell all, yet not feel safe enough to confess. We want to address how bad it is, but at the same time, we're afraid of making it worse by giving it a name, so we minimise it by saying we're fine or that it's not a big deal. We think we can tough it out. That it'll pass with time. Or that we'll get used to it. So we zip the lip, and it becomes normal, and before long, dementors are visiting us every day.<br />
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First steps</h4>
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As a start, all I want to do on this blog is share. Share - with no goal or intention, except to practice honesty and openness. To exercise my voice by revealing my vulnerability and battling my instinct to stay quiet - and in so doing, try to be a voice for people who feel like theirs
can’t be heard. To make it okay to admit that we're not okay.<br />
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There is a group of us out there, singing (and often sobbing) in chorus. We all know how terrible this feels. I want to join that song, so that our voices echo more loudly in unity - and just maybe, someone suffering in silence will hear us, and they will be convinced that they are not alone.<br />
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If this is you, please know, you are not alone.<br />
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Should you ever need a safe place to do your own bit of sharing, you will always find it here on this blog. I am not qualified to advise, but I am always here to listen.<br />
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Thank you for listening to me too.Berniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02423572958053629364noreply@blogger.com0