Depression Mirror

I tossed away the soap but stood on the box to look in the mirror. Too many spots on the glass face but the image was not there. In some sort of serene gaze all I could do was stare at empty air. The mirror began to drip with liquid glass that reflected yesterday’s movement.
This is what it is to feel depressed. Not always the sinister drought of levity but a profound emotional emptiness with the emphasis on nothingness. If this mirror could talk, it would walk away to a place of grace where smiles grow naturally like yellow lilies on a moving blue canvas.
If this mirror could walk it would speak of powder blue roses with yellow stems and a sign made of thorns that says “do not pick.”
The amount of money to purchase honey shows that many have ignored the sign to adorn their pots for moments of decaying life. Life that drips away like water down a mirror after a hot shower on a cold night.
The mirror was so accurately accustomed to conversing with the wall that my image was completely ignored, as per chance I wanted to explore the reference window of reflection. Maybe I am not in the mirror after all. Maybe I am standing before the wall as is the custom.
This is what depression feels like today. The wall paper appears to have been worn by the very light reflecting from the mirror. How peculiar. So busy staring at the wall in the mirror that I missed me. So in like mind the mirror only shows the walls eroding errors and not the beautiful being it once was, or perhaps is. So depression is the reflection of a mirror looking for the light that has long gone. Still I see the wall because of the light in the mirror. I see the mirror. I needed the soap to wash the spots. I will use the soap box instead. One day I hope to see me.

Focus Frame Drains Dry

Small walk ahead. Small talk avoided. Shift in schedule takes a shift in consciousness to progress. But I digress to the topic of focus. Focus takes an inordinate amount of energy. To refocus takes some hocus pocus and not fewer than a few days to reclaim the train. Therapy session today is why I am always drained. Drained due to trying to maintain focus on topics that disappear without effort. Like cooking to maintain good health. Like those investment ideas to generate wealth. Like that shower seems so far away so not today. Here in lies the conflict. If the brain wants to stick to a topic, not even I can remove it. Not without effort that was for the next several days. So then I sit in the state of deficit for thoughts to return from break. Thinking drains like wine from rusty lanes. Trains of topics without tickets ride by. I scarcely have time to wave bye. When the thoughts of how to energize actively drain. When the thinking itself is the strain. This is where I find it difficult to maintain. This is where I am today. So I walk away from the rusty mind. Hoping for a sip of the sublime at some time up the road.

Tough to focus

Dove of Depression

The day like a dove dipped into darkness.
The pen sits so silent again. Streaming consciousness kisses the melodic mood on the swing set. The flame at the waters edge enlightens the ripples of an alternate reality. They roll with anticipation of evaporation like a mood made of wood. Ready for the chisel and hammer? Some use a saw to recreate the perfect mode of expression. These wood beams glare over the seas. Names not their own have been carved into their skin like tattoos of lost love. Rings of age surround the fingers of the knife that digs near the shore. In order to explore the depths, the cuts must be made. Branches like bones are broken again to fix the brokenness. Men are like trees walking towards the dusk.
Women walk along the edge of dawn waiting for the perfect place to rest under the shade.
Too close and thorns.
Too far and the fruit is out of reach.
Two is better than one unless the one is broken.
Two broken is worse than one if the brokenness is bitter in the roots. Better not to be bitter unless the bitterness is bittersweet. Better not to be sweet if it always leads to brokenness.
The bitter broken token has been paid. The shade creates a shadowy threat that is ripe with fear of pain. Fear of pain is the root cause of long walks from the park to the waters tears.
Not even sure if today existed. Tonight is perfectly perpetual. Pain carves through like a rusty knife in a wood branch. A dove dives towards the bitter broken branch brooding over the names. I still see one. It’s not my name but it still feels like mine in the dark.

Diving into depression session

Just Breathe (A short breath story)

The huge hallway was initially so wide. Then she entered in from the last office on the left. The bathroom at the end of the way is now guarded by this hulking she devil that’s so gorgeous and pleasantly petite. Eyes immediately dropped with the water weights of wear and shame. The hallways walls silently began to waltz inward towards the guardian of the room for powder. Tom could hear her serene steps grace the over worn carpet like drops of candy sunshine on a sandy beach in the fall. This hall now accents her entire small frame of mind as she spoke… “Hi Tom” as she barely missed the kiss of elbows. Unaware that he didn’t even speak back, Tom hurriedly stumbles into the restroom for a moment to lean upon the wall for support. The whoosh of the flush initiated another mountainous rush of adrenaline. Kip the first shift security guard appears suddenly with a huge smile! “Bet not go in that one for awhile” he says very proudly. Tom attempted to smile but the recent trauma was overtly detectable. “What’s wrong with you Tom? Did you see a ghost in the hallway or somethin?” Followed by another gush of joyful laughter. Tom replies in a minute monotone manner “No, I just felt a little ill is all.”
“Well Tom, just breathe!” said Kip ever so confidently.

“Ummm that’s what I do. That’s what we all do. I have been breathing since birth actually but thanks anyways.”

“No Tom not like you always do but breathe rightly. You see I used to have a whole kip of anxiety like you. I recognize the symptoms. My wife suggested that we see a breathing coach…”

“Ha!” Tom interrupted. “A breathing coach! What pray tell is that.”

“I know the feeling of skipticism as well.”

“Did you say skipticism?” with a smile to big to hide.

“Yes, there always a good way to use Kip, anyways, I was reeling initially but I kipt an open mind. Sure enough only after a few months, not only is my anxiety better, I am much more clever. I sleep better as well. Tom perhaps you should give it a try. What do you have to lose except maybe a few awkward moments from say that pretty lady in this here corner pocket office.”

“Is she coming!?” quipped Tom.

“No, not into the mens room. Relax Tom, just relax. LoL”

“Honestly, I just don’t know how…wait did you just say LoL? Kip no one says that, you can type it in a text or chat or you actually laugh” said Tom trying to fight back a smile.”

“Yeah but you almost did lol, anyways go on.”

“As I was saying, I just can’t relax anymore. The score seems to keep running up and I seem to keep losing out. Office pressure, dating pressure, oh sure, I graduated college only to fail in the office space. This race is out of hand and I can’t stand to keep losing.”

“Then breathe Tom, just breathe. Lesson 1 have you ever tried LSD?”

“Heavens No!”

“Relax Tom it just means light slow and deep. I heard it on a podcast on that metube channel.

“Exactly how I am breathing in this toilet room after your zoom conference on the porcelain porch.”

Kip bursts out in laughter… “ that definitely was a kippy but seriously try this…breathe only in the nostrils…and consciously breathe light, slower, and stomachy”

Tom smiling “I think you mean diaphragmatically”

Nope, I mean just with the belly. Just try it for two weeks and then after that I bet you feel a whole kip better. Pretend that you are always in the bathroom right after a kippy and breathe that way always. All will soon be skippy.

“Ok, sounds harmless, and nothing to lose right…so you say LSD huh?

“Yepper, and watch your anxiety fall away like your sweat leaving your forehead a few minutes ago!”

“Yet, another Kip joke but I can only hope that you are serious about this.”

“Oh I am, it really pays kipidends.”
“That was even close to dividends” says Tom with a chuckle, he continues “Well buckle up, we are going for a ride on the breath. I hope this works as it’s all I have left.”

“Kip up and giver an old school try. Dem Yogis peoples have done this for long time. Those navy diver seal teams also use this type of stuff. Best of all it only cost what you have plenty of…time. Speaking of I need to get back on the grind and secure these here premises. I will be in my office here again right after lunch tomorrow if need more Kipvice. Stall number 2 LoL!”

“Yes, indeed Kip, LOL back at you, and Kip, thank you.”

“For what? I just wanted to help is all.”

Well mostly for just being you. I am actually going to dive in. I have done some research historically but never gave it much thought. I guess now is the time.”

“Well you better start now cause look who is coming down the hall!”

Heartbeat of Anxiety

All sounds seem well. Synchronization with society in the melody with just a hint of ambiguity. But the deep sound so profound is the stepping of prehistoric fears approaching. Perhaps just a neighbor returning a letter from the carrier but the theme seems so much scarier. This uninvited terror stares up from the frozen shadow. So strange to say hello to a face. A face dripping with thoughts of small talk which present as fierce as a titanosaur. The shoulder of safer shores ignores my heartfelt plea to draw near. This danger of inclement neighbor makes its way with wings of a windstorm. The carrier delivered the letter to the wrong box. Such a horrendous error of traumatic proportions. This face with wrinkles sprinkles a sly smile in order to return the undisclosed contents to its rightful addressee. That’s me. How could he? In such a time as this when unseen phobias fly through the breeze to infect the gut with irritations and misery. This maskless man carries contaminated contents and appropriately approaches with serene steps not fearing what I am thinking. Nor I he, but I me. It’s not the tall task but the small talk that lasts for endless seconds. Why? Because that’s what neighbors do. Just not me. This time he will see. I am confident that this is the last meaningless meeting for me. It’s not me but anxiety that spoke. I heard something that resembled a joke. The icon on his shoulder made a noise like a hyena. I used the smile as a cover to get away. It’s safe now. Maybe next time. Maybe next year. For now, the meteorological reports that the entire earth is calling for more anxious patterns. I hear the footsteps like my heartbeat. It’s near.

Testing Day 2! Yes, I am Different

Zoom style micro difficult team meeting due to invisible air intruders that can not think but can kill those that do. After over an hour of testing, I was told to prepare for part 2. This for the ethic within to be sure that what was certain is secure according to statistics in a manual of the 5th kind. Spoiler alert at the end of the second test, first day… “do not stop going to ASD group online.” Ahhh! Ok. That is to say that though the testing needs yet another day, that I am already eligible for the label that I already had. To wit, I am Autistic again. Well, not really but due to the DSM 5 spectrum theory which practically eliminated…uh um, integrated the Aspie category into the same spectrum with Autism and PDD which definitely fit me. Both the Aspie and PDD. A long story that is due to my blue genes. Well, maybe not blue but I am genetically modified to think how I look. Different.
Day 2 will be to see what specifiers will be issued and for follow up to redesign the treatment plan for future face to face fun. That is to say counseling on how to be abnormally acceptable to society. Supposedly I am anti-social though not asocial which means not much for society. The “anti” social in my case is that I see society but disagree that it’s norms are for me. So, maybe I am slightly, somewhat, a little bit different. Be that as it may, I still say that laws are like lines that encourage people to color within. I just wonder who designed the lines in the first place. Perhaps the crayons were better designed to color outside the circles and shapes. Perhaps lines were drawn as lazy guides, given by some invisible system, controlled by alien life forms to force everyone to be just like them, whoever they may be. Who says that run on sentences are wrong? Just because of commas, or perhaps just tooo long to keep a thought collected. Why should there be three words for two, too, and to? Why do two of the three have three letters. I like 4 in three as written above. Yes, I am off my meds! Yes, just slightly different. Thanks for asking. The task is to manage without management. This is not advice. I am convinced that I must reconvene the medication management experience expeditiously. I am convinced that each pill has a string. Each string is a line. The lines are what I am supposed to stay in. I am wondering, who drew the lines in the first place? Definitely not the first to ask. However, I won’t know. I must go. I wanted to be clear minded for the test. Then I received a kiss from a manic mindset. Second test part 2 by the professionals is less than a week. I must retreat until then. Until then I have ASD without any lines or specific specifiers. Until then I won’t go outside, not until the inside lines up with the lines on the street. The lines that someone unknown drew who passed the test of day 2 with out any specifiers.

Different is Normal

Testing 1-2-3 Experts Beware!

Scheduled for yet another test. I guess this is the best way to find the divergence. Common sense says that this is getting out of hand. Common hints portrays this is in the plan. One more test just for assurance. Perhaps the test givers are seeking to see if they have OCD. Perhaps this has nothing to do with me. Perhaps this is just to test the test itself. Needless to say that I conveniently agreed to such rigorous rhetoric out of sheer curiosity. Personally I have already taken the aspire to be an aspie tests nearly ten times. Fortunately the sight saved me time by averaging the scores in each time. How very clever. I endeavor to take it again when the mood swings in that direction. So I am not complaining about yet another screening about this ever looming label that haunts me.
This I will say in defense of the play of testing, I am more than a little frustrated with the style of questions. “You do not like to eat in crowded restaurants alone” type of double negative traps. Wait, no I do not, so I agree…wait I disagree…No, I don’t but what do I agree to!?!
In lieu of this recent debacle I propose this:

Dear Test Creators,

Just ask me what you want to know! Thanks!

Honestly the asking double negative questions acts like a sedative on my mind. Spending more time on the question than the answer. Seems silly to have a college degree but get confused on what a simple test is asking me. Also, why such specific questions? Seriously! Sure, I love to watch slow running water. But what if I didn’t!? I also like to watch this candle flame shape shift in the wind. Why is that not on there? What if I did not like slow water but fast!? Am I not an aspie because of this ultra special, very specific question? You only have 50 or so questions to determine my label, so please make the questions more general. Yes, I did love train sets as a kid but that is beside the point. I also loved race tracks! What if my dad didn’t work for a rail company? What if I didn’t live on a street where I cloud run outside after every rain storm to watch the water run down the street!? Then I guess I would not be nuero-diverse. I would be a very untypical type of character that buys rib cord blankets just for the feel. Hey! Put that on the next test! Why not? Then I would not have been missed. I would not have been misdiagnosed. I would have been found so much sooner and realized that this abnormality is actually normal.

Ok, sure, I will try to create a test myself. No need to complain without offering to obtain some sort of solution. Sure, I will create a prototype of…let’s say…10 questions. Then you experts can intuitively go from there. Of course this is not to be expected anytime soon. This missive has consumed an incalculable amount of energy already. In conclusion, make a new test. Ask only what is necessary for general consensus. Keep the questions simple and positive, no need to try and trick the tester. If you need to spot a fake, then take time to get to know them. It’s better to counsel 1 malingerer due to a simple test than miss 1 Nuevo-diverse because of tricky, extraordinarily specific, ultra long, not negative, test questions!

Yesterday Is Tomorrow

Change is a must when not to change is the enemy of better days. Yesterday stares at the future wondering what could be. What should be. Trust that the process out of this mess is, as far as I can guess, truly necessary. It’s scary how many are growing stagnant. Older but not wiser but any means. The seasons seem to predict that constant effects are needed to promote new causes. Just because I feel safe in misery does not mean the risk outweighs the means. The committee speaks in community forums about scores of individuals on disability doing nothing.
Nothing!
Truly the process to help process this mess is better than this. Seriously! No, I am just being facetious but with a word full of tongue in cheek. Let’s speak as those who are in the know. We know that yesterday is not gone. We know tomorrow is already here. We know that if anyone is reluctant to change that it is all the same. I can predict the future. It looks just like yesterday without any change.

The Changes of Change

like a deer waiting for the fall

Off to a mountain type rocky start to the finish of a play. Playing with vibrations that transport swifter than an all terrain vehicle. Getting back to normal is a fallacy for the insecurities of fall leaves that ride the winds. They never see the tree again from the same view, only a few may stay awake long enough to notice anyways.
Why are such unmoving, but living to give by the sea type trees so bountiful? They seem to play every time a breeze visits. So stable. So able to just be. Alive and unmotivated to move beyond what the roots authorize. No surprise that they last past the blast of the winds. This tree that my little i does see has been around to see more than me. Perchance, just a glance and he has seen those who made me and escorted me into the scene to breathe. Same chance that once only this type survives, a time when this very tree will see those who read from me. Those from eternity that earth is yet to see. The deer pants and does a dance for the fall of minds. Hunted like a prey. Sought after like for play. Life and death in the tip of the arrow. Buckets of bullets pierced the winds, vibrating the leaves as the tree shook with pain, while the watcher took aim. Cheers! Another death. Someone earned a trophy for the wall case. More leaves fell. The water grew silent in view of the violent vibration of blood on the ground seeping towards the roots of the trees. Tonight we eat. Tonight we sleep. We sleep with the leaves that fell last fall. We eat with the deer that fell last night. We dream of the trees that witnessed the blood. Let me be like a tree. Let me be like a deer. Let my mind rest from the vibrant run of the vehicle that crosses all terrains.

So Far So Fine

Met with psychologist recently and everything went decently as far as I can find. Went over treatment plan to ban together on how to deal with the masking tape issues that my facial features seem to stick with. To deal with leaving the agora without any phobia of returning home drained from the strain of acting very typical.
To uncover the buried headline from recent times, my friend is doing fine. At least so far. Quite the leap from treatment plans to suicide prevention but this is how the world spins. This is how the nation winds around from experiencing exhausting shopping days to counseling former friends on the dangers of depression while alone and unstable. Now he is able to go to work again. Now he attempts to be normal most likely with the same hope that historic dark days were just a passing fad. He is glad to be alive for now. So am I.
Follow up is so underrated. He and I even debated on the entire system of mental health that was created to assist the imbalance. Much more to explore but the discussion of personal performance perfection is tough to ignore. It is not a perfect system by any means. Yet, why allow such imperfections be the reason for rejection.
I have received wrong orders from fast food establishments and still go out to eat. I have received bad advice from friends and still call those few almost weekly. I am on my 6th or 7th psychiatrist but I still keep going. They are who they are. If imperfections were the reason for rejection why do anything? Yet, the depressed mind has reasons that are very personal. Reasons from the place of pain and not quite fully functional. At least for my friend.
Today however, he is better. Today he is at work. Today I sit at home and write. This is my job. This is my imperfection written with light and letters.
My assignment is to work on masking. My treatment plan is to uncover. This is the first layer. I almost went to get something to eat today. Once my family came home I decided to just stay in my room and avoid them. The hour is later than I realize. I will eat snacks tonight and try again tomorrow when everyone is at work. Small talk is so trying. So useless. So dangerous. I will wait for the moment. I may stay in this corner all night as all day. With a mask that burns to peel away. I feel hungry. Where did this day go?