Tag Archives: depression

Hello Friends and Strangers.

It has been a little over two years since I last posted here but this place has not been forgotten. Far from it, actually.

I was talking to a friend just now, about how we have such good lives but it can be harder at times, to see the beauty through and in our struggles and our mundane.

We both had had a good day that just kind of, slipped out of our grasp once we were done with work.

In talking about these things, I brought up that I’ve been wanting to write here again and just…haven’t. I’ve actually been thinking about it most days, for months.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve tried. There are half finished drafts scattered through my post list like roadkill.

Before talking about it with this friend, I hadn’t been able to pinpoint what was holding me back, even in the broadest of terms.

If it truly was time, I would have prioritized it over distracting myself on my phone, so it had to be something else.

Maybe it was fear? Oh, that’s something.

Has it been the fear of feeling everything that I’ve pushed down far enough to forget for a time? The fear of my own genuine thoughts , normally chased away with cute animal videos and endless scrolling? The mask that is so fitted to me, that I forget how to take it off?

Or is it the fear that it will all come out awful, only about one thing over and over in different ways; or that no one will read it and it’s just my documented stupidity on the internet.

The internet never dies they say. Well, what you put on the internet, more specifically.

But the dream that started this blog feels like it died. Not in some soul wrenching loss, but more like the passing of a family member who you only remember in flashes of memory from childhood, and hearsay.

Feelings and imagination that were so full of life once, now are reduced to warm coals. I don’t know how to rekindle those things into a proper fire.

Yet, here is a post.

Silence

For some, silence is that uncomfortable feeling creeping up on you in the dark; uncontrollable, except to be broken. Others may find it peaceful. There are of course, different kinds.

Loud
Mine, right now, is filled with a low whirr of the laptop trying to breathe, a high pitched frequency from some utility – accompanied by it’s own white-noise-type fan, clicking and shifting of metal: the oven preheating, a shhhhhh of water and then fmp fmp of (I think) the heater warming it, all rounded out by a faint but shrill tinnitus in my ears and sound of typing.
Neighbor’s music through walls, people shouting at fireworks outside, footsteps or moving furniture overhead; loud, as you sit in silence.

Soft
When quiet enough to hear candles crackle slightly as they flicker, or gentle rains approach, the small sighs of pets surface and whispers feel like they float; it’s those nice things that tend to produce a spirit of rest. Even then, another kind of silence can linger.

Either or Both
Sitting in a room full of lovely, laughing, happy people, there can exist a deep silence. If you seek someone in that place, first find their eyes, more still than expected, like undisturbed water. Alas, pain can be perceived as comfort if “better” comes like waves.
A blank wall is not loud, yet a mind afforded generous silence in multiple senses, can fill with chaos of brash, banging, rushing thoughts. One does not even need to finish before another cuts it off, yanking back and forth, here and there, with no mercy.

If you have read this far, I thank you. My mind has been both so dill, silent and avoiding any opportunity for rabbit trail after rabbit trail of spiraling, confusing, endless chaos of thought. I’ve found it difficult to care about anything except sometimes to distract myself, scrolling social media posts, videos, Pinterest pins, nothing of any real creative value since I’m almost completely zoned out then.
At the beginning of next month, it will be two years since I started this blog. I had such excitement and passion then, that it makes me sad to look back and see the slow fade. So much has happened and changed since, not just in my life but in our world even still. It makes me wonder if it’s worth it to hold on to those things that used to ring so loudly in my heart.

This is what happens when I get silence. I start thinking “what is realistic? what is worth it? what do I need to prioritize?”. The questions don’t end and I never feel like I’ve done enough. Finding the small things in life, the quiet beauty, being still and able to enjoy silence, I’m trying to get back to that.
For me, posting on all creative platforms has slowed to once in a blue moon, not just here. In the endless scrolling of them, my mind shouts “you should post! why haven’t you posted? what is wrong with you? post!” and I have no answer. Eventually one comforting thought timidly stands up in my grey matter. “I am not only valid when witnessed.”

I am not only valid when witnessed.

Stephanie – Rabbit & Crown

Most days, silence is the monster under my bed, saying that not much matters, especially me. I’m hoping to get back to days where silence is sunshine on my skin and the quiet beauty of life around me.

I’ll be around, Friends and Strangers. Thank you for being here.

Holes

“Everyone’s got stuff.” is a statement that I sometimes repeat, to remind myself, the person yelling at me on the phone could be consumed or overwhelmed with something far less trivial. The person practically pushing my bumper as I drive the speed limit, in the right hand lane could be blinded to their own actions by worry or urgency of an event.

How do we deal with our stuff? Most of the time it’s bad habits, unhealthy coping mechanisms, really anything to fill the holes that only hope holds together. Even when something is found to try filling it, it was dug up elsewhere, simply moving the problem, instead of a solution filling it.

I am hungry and tired, day after day moving dirt around my pockmarked heart. As soon as a hole seems filled, close to overflowing with sweet temptations, it’s empty again, just as fast.
“You said hope holds them together. What hope, if this is a never ending push and pull?”
In a world where our happiness rules supreme, and comfort decides value, where is hope indeed. Unlike many, I don’t believe that the point of living is to be happy. This doesn’t stop the addict in me, always looking for that fix. Yet, accepting that the point of life is not, to “be happy” or achieve top social standing, is resolutely freeing.

I often fall into my holes. Cycles still haunt me, whispering, taunting. I know I could be, can be, so much better, so much more. But still, I am hungry, tired.

Someone told me, not too long ago, that in order to change something that you keep going back to, you first need to find the underlying reason. If you keep falling in a hole, get to the bottom of it. Dig deep, so to speak.
It’s a very personal, raw and vulnerable act, to face that place that we keep trying to cover.

If you couldn’t tell, by the lack of posts, and the tone of what is there, being as it is, I’ve been dealing with some holes. I still am.
Would you do something for me, friends and strangers? Would you try facing your holes instead of filling them, covering them? Would you sacrifice the façade of alrightness, the clinging to what feels like control? I’m not asking you to succeed in a single attempt, just try. Take off the VR goggles, the filters and fronts, face whatever your emptiness is and get to the bottom of what you’re trying to fill it with.
It might not make you happy, but it will make you free.

Chasing

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about life; what gives it meaning, who I am in relation to it and the impact that has on how I proceed.

Everything we are and do comes from what we consider truth. The world seems to be overwhelmed with contradictions and misinformation. This isn’t a political standpoint, no, it’s a life standpoint.
Have you asked yourself lately why you keep going? For some of us, it’s a painful question. People tether us to this place. Maybe you have a strong sense of purpose that keeps you moving forward or maybe you turn the query back around. Why am I still doing this, day after day.

For me, I too often find meaning in acceptance. As much as I put on a devil may care attitude, if I’m truthful, other’s opinions have impact. My internal voice is “not a good friend” as a TikTok trend would say, and I find myself constantly craving validation while simultaneously struggling to accept it. That’s embarrassing to admit. Maybe by exposing my own struggles and weaknesses, more of us will grow and heal from the internal battle I believe we all have on some level.

Identity is everything, a filter which experience and thought are passed through. What do you accept as truth about yourself? There’s a good chance that I’m starting to get on your nerves with all this talk of truth but, I care, and this is important. Who are you? What are you chasing? Is it enough?

Thank you for joining me again, friends and strangers.