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Category Archives: depression

No Boot Straps on Wuss-out Wednesday

I am having the damnedest time writing and have for the longest time.  I think to myself, “I love to write!”  But all I want to do is puzzles, primarily cryptograms with a few others thrown in.  I thought to myself today, this is a symptom of depression:  you like to do something, you know it will help you to do it, and you don’t do it. What the hell, me?

The thought came into my mind, “People who have not experienced it cannot understand the mind-numbing, paralyzing, utter inability…”  I don’t remember how the thought ended, but I immediately felt I could not put such a thought into a blog post.  Nobody would buy it, I thought.  They will tell me to stop being such a whiny baby, and maybe they are right.

I am going through a few things, but let’s face it: We all have problems and many people have far worse ones than mine.  As I have mentioned before, I suffer from depression.  I don’t like to write it or say it, because it sounds like I am asking for sympathy or making an excuse.  And it feels as if I have exposed something private and secret I would really, really rather not talk about.  Some people do not “believe in” depression.  They feel it is a made-up problem and I need to just stop whining and pull myself up by those boot straps they’re always talking about.

Only I rarely wear boots and the ones I have don’t have straps.

Then again, not whining is not a bad start.  I cannot pull myself up by my bootstraps (and what a hoary cliche that is, anyways), but there are things I can do to make myself feel better.  I will try to do some of them.  For example, starting on a better blog post for tomorrow.  We’ll call this one a Wuss-out Wednesday and drive on.


Melancholy Musings Will Have To Do

I guess I thought that I could write about my depression once and never mention it again.

As I consider the misconception, I believe it is not that unrealistic after all. I went for almost two years writing every day about my life and never mentioned my depression till recently. That’s pretty circumspect, especially for me.

Lately I have been comforting myself with the thought that I am a high functioning depressant. I make it to work every day and even manage to do a few things outside work. I think there are actually a lot of us high functioning depressants out there. We keep our depression a deep, dark, shameful secret.

Now I’m out of the depressant closet (I hope no gay people are offended that I use their closet metaphor). I have exposed my mental flaws for all to see. I know, some of you are sitting there saying, “Oh, Cindy, we saw them all along. There are a lot. Physical flaws, too, don’t get me started.” You know who you are.

At this point in writing my rough draft, I was assailed by the thought that it is probably very boring to read about somebody else’s depression. It is not till much later, as I type this in, that I think, “So what? I’m ALWAYS afraid my blog posts are going to be boring. I can only write what I can write.”

The fact is, very little has changed since Wrist to Forehead Sunday (yesterday) when I had no Mohawk Valley adventures to write about. One small change: I was in a TERRIBLE Monday funk. It dissipated somewhat as the day wore on and seems to be completely leaving after a gruesome workout at Curves followed by a shower and cup of coffee at home.

So, funk gone, write the damn post, right? Well, I have a rehearsal to go to (preview of coming attractions). I’ve got time to hit publish. I’m going to call this a Middle-Aged Musings Monday and drive on. Hope to see you on Tuesday.