punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,

Weekend Folly... and more on depression

takayla was in Norfolk at the end of the week, and didn't come home until late on Friday. I missed her a lot, and it was good to see her.

Saturday, we went to bulsi's party up near Mt. Airy (his parent's place). We drove up in anyarm's Explorer, and met some people we knew, some people we knew from way back, and a lot of people we didn't know. But we had fun anyway. There was a pool, a hot tub, and lots and lots of good food. Whenever I got to one of bulsi's parties, I stop at a Dollar Store, and pick up some cool pool toys like squirt guns, novelty flying disks, and maybe some assorted sea animals. I was happy to see children and adults alike playing with them. There's something about playing with a rubber shark in a pool you just can't resist.

Sunday, I did some yard work with Chance. She kicks ass at yard work. My asthma has gotten to the point that being outside is troublesome even when standing still, much less doing work, so her (paid) help is invaluable. Chance told me about what she might do over the summer if she keeps her grades up. Spy Camp, for one, which sounds really cool. She also wants to spend a weekend at our house, just to hang out, which I am amiable for.

The kittens are well. Peaches is still a bit skinny, and since her sister died, I feel paranoid about her as well. But she's alert, eats, and is bright-eyed and active. Harley is a loner, but healthy. When you let him out, he immediately runs around. Tony and Jumper want petted, and it used to be Jumper was also aloof, but now he wants petted, too. Let me tell you, kittens are messy. I never dreamed they would be this messy. I mean, they keep themselves clean for the most part, but man... that guest bathroom is going to need a deep cleaning when their six weeks are up. I clean it out about once every two days or so with a Swiffer Wetjet and some wet rags, but I have to change their box daily (which they do use, they haven't had accidents on the floor). Damn. My three grown cats don't have nearly this much poop in them. Where do the kitten get all that poop? They also recently choose to sleep in the sink instead of the box I made for them (which they have already chewed up). I always catch them sleeping in a furry bunch in the sink. When you open the door, they all leap from the sink to run around the guest room while I clean. Except Peaches, who meows and stays close to you. I have accidentally kicked her twice; I have to be more careful.

I can't sleep tonight, which is why I am posting this at o-dark-thirty. I usually have trouble sleeping Sunday nights, but tonight, I have the combination of some food that didn't settle well, along with worrying about another friend who is collapsing into a self-pity spiral.

In the years 2003-2004 my life sucked. Sucked HARD. Relatives kept dying, I was on the edge of having no money, I had various health issues, and my job went from great to suck to pain to ennui. There were also a lot of little things that got to me, that, had I had a more sane environment, I would have dealt with in a few rants or less, but with everything else... I really wanted to curl up into a ball a scream myself to a numb-educed death. But my friends were there to help me, pat me on the back, offer a sympathetic ear, and I was humbled and grateful. So far, after February, my life has rapidly improved.

I want to repay the kindness that was shown to me threefold, but you have to let me in. And you have to not be a dickhead and start fights with people over stupid crap.

Depression is an evil monster. It makes you say and do stupid things. Like throw shoes at people, take logical arguments into bizarre directions based on insignificant facts, or twist other people's words into somehow being a plot against you. It makes you want to fight something tangible, rather than something hard to fight like lots of little things from all over. I know, I have been there. I am also a control freak: I want to control everything and be prepared, which is why I was a pessimist for so long: protection. Pessimism is a tool for the control freak who feels his or her life is out of control. "Haha!" you say, "Something will go wrong, and this time, I won't look like a fool and be vulnerable! I will predict something much more horrible, and that way, whatever happens will seem better in comparison!" You actually get "rewarded" when the worst does not happen, which makes you repeat the behavior. But then, once in a while, you thought you predicted the worst, and something even worse that never even occurred to you happens. Over time, this makes you more and more paranoid, because you assume you can predict the future, and you can't. I am a semi-Wiccan with a tarot deck and pretty decent weather-magic, and even I cannot predict the future. I can predict trends and those are pretty good, but I still get thrown for a loop from time to time.

When a human being cannot resolve an inner conflict, frustration occurs. This spawns a lot of sub-processes, often looping like sticky strands, catching onto all kinds of things and getting your thoughts tangled around insignificant events. You see the wrong details, and build a twisted "big picture." Like the "dark side of the force," it clouds everything. It turns a rational human being into more of an emotional animal. I know, I have totally been there. In my case, I turned it inside myself and cut myself because somehow the physical pain made my problems more tangible.

And the biggest problem of all, for control freaks like me, is letting go and saying, "OMFG! I have a problem, and I need help." And many of my friends came to my rescue. Which is why friends are good. Some people did not come to my rescue, and either avoided me or said useless things like, "Cheer the fuck up," or "don't be a whiny baby." But that was okay, too, because they had other things to sort out in their lives. I didn't take their turning away from me personally. Enough people said, "I can't do a damn thing, but... here's some pie," or "That sucks, dude. But I just got an award!" I learned to feel joy through my friend's successes, and were inspired by them, not jealous or envious.

But, in the end, it really was all up to me. I could have curled up, cut myself, and screamed until I was numb. I could have lashed out and made fun of others to make my situation look better. I could have turned down wisdom, and substituted it with sarcasm, exaggeration, and jaded ignorance. But I didn't. I had to let go, and see what lessons I could learn. I wanted to better myself, I wanted to feel better, and I wanted to help others feel better. I felt I was worth it.

And you're worth it too, Mr. Pity-party. Yes, you do deserve better, but you can't bite the hands that try and help you. I might understand your anger and exaggeration, but others may not. You have to admit you have no control, and let others steer for a while. Learn from them. Don't make this an issue of defeat, but a Chance to learn.

And that's all I have to say about that.
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