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.

Autistic Adult Content

Adults who are Autistic each are unique if I may keep this simplistic. Simplicity for the sake of brevity. I met a man with Autism who was nothing like me. We had so much in common. It was a joy to witness such individuality. So majestic was the voice like a song in the office of minds. Of course they heard a gut wrenching scream as he melted down like an over worm circuit board. One too many changes for him is my guess. He filled the room with his cry for assistance. Fortunately, I stayed to myself in this chaotic display of academia. My thoughts at best rested upon the fact that this was par for this course. Then I retreated into the seat that was allotted for such abnormalities. He is an Autistic adult. He is so unique. He is nothing like me. We have so much in common.
She is Autistic as well. Different day but same place. She was prime for the meltdown of a life time. She waltz in the office with such a willingness almost to offer the receptionist a kiss. Our eyes shook hands for a brief distant hello. She dashed to her chair as if her name was on it. Immediately she began to stare at the cracks in the floor as of to determine their original form. The circuits were getting worn. Then after a few squeals and a squeak she invited her chair to enter into the conversation she was having with herself. I felt her look my way. I looked back as we had our second conversation in absolute silence. I immediately investigated the cracks on the floor in front of her to ensure they were still ok. They were. Her and I are so radically different. We had so much in common. In a few moments her private life wanted to go public. She was whisked away by the voice down the hall calling her by name. That’s when her clothes no longer felt comfortable. She took them off. I didn’t notice due to the constant screaming. Those who have degrees after their name felt the temperature rising. They noticed me. Told me that many changes were going to happen immediately. Lights and sounds. Men in uniform are coming. I was invited to leave. I obliged.
Home now, as the TV was left on. There is a guy there who is definitely nothing like me. He is definitely an Aspie if you ask me. His thoughts are so sound and even profound. He left me a clue in the shirt. A few too many wrinkles. I see the signs like the stop sign at the end of my street that I often run. Not on purpose of course. It just disappears into my thinking. Most would stop for it anyways. Most would iron out the wrinkles to go on national television. He was not very keen on answering questions outside his expertise. I knew it. That man is so unique. He is definitely nothing like me. We have so much in common.

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

Anxiety Remedy Theory

Frustration is unmet expectation coming to fruition. Agitation which can clean clothes so dirties the mind with toxic moods. The process of the the proper place is the space between sentences. The moment after the period causes more respite than the common comma but not as much as the line break.
That’s the pause that causes alarm but truly does little harm. The area between ideas. The rest that wrestles with the next thought. In this between is where the theory of growth begins.
The man is addicted to his thoughts. She is accustomed to her thinking. The solution for the problem was perhaps when the seeking ceased for a moments rest. This wakefulness of sleep. The silent pause in the crowded room begs for the reality of realignment. The Religious spoke of it, calling it meditation. The businesses mandate it, calling it vacation. What’s the thread of each idea that weaves a tapestry through the aging era? What’s the effect that causes so many, from so varied, to all agree at least in theory?
Rest.
Pause.
Take time to take no thought. That is to say, let it all go for a season to play. Have no worry, if the problems of anxiety won’t go away. Leave them be and just be. I say this with addictive thoughts vying for attention to be dispensed into ink and vibration. Finding this path. Making every effort to enter into rest. The phone song is off. Texts flash forward to test the resolve. This is the moment of letting go. Starts by going slow. Moves by forgetting. Enhanced by the sitting still. A moment to be a human. So many human doings and not enough human beings. It’s when the being becomes that the rest follows.
Oh but the asking is so incredibly insurmountable.
Easier to say to me, “calm the ocean waves in the spring storm.”

Easier to say “take anxiety and just make it the norm.”

Still. Still we were born for being. And the being is better suited in coats of peace than shirts of agitation.
Just a theory. Rest more. Take a vacation from the sensation of needing to fill every moment with a thousand thoughts when a few will do. In time, the doing will morph into being and be able to do more without the agitation of so much anxiety.
I am now a certified doctor of rest. I prescribe to you, have a nice day and take two mental vacations today of at least 15 minutes. I know, I don’t have time either. Perhaps that’s why.

Rest in the Storm

Adult with Autism Perspective

To drink or not to drink, often I don’t think of water. Another multi-doctor session via air ways to protect our air passages from passing infections. Lesson learned that once again adults on the spectrum often are undiagnosed due to lack of testing. The grapevine shakes with juicy news of new tests in the field that are being grown. Here’s my acceptance letter to assist from afar, offering the proper inquiry necessary to prevent accidental misses of adults who articulate early.
First, I don’t feel thirst. This anomaly indicates perhaps pituitary dysfunction which shakes hands with this thyroid who needs a steroid to balance. Not actually a steroid but to keep the integrity of the scheme that places words in one act plays. Syndromic Autism or as it is on my file, ASD with a specific specifier having a genetic cause.
Next stage is to zone in on this torrential waterfall a take a sip. It’s all about the perspective. The daunting dance of the psyche has finally concluded. Now we can begin again with a direction that the entire team is satisfied with. Now for the neurologist or genetic specialist to assist in naming the physical claim that has caused damage to this brain. However, not for some time as the wear of this strain is still draining like a snow cap in the summer. So, adults with Autism I salute you. Especially those who didn’t know until you were adults. All sides of the spectrum I wish you the best. I guess this is where I drink from the sink with a tank to think of all those struggling with something unnamed. As with mental disorders this genetic malfunction has been named, claimed, and then rejected all the same. To wit, out of 5 doctors (none specialists) 3 proclaimed Marfans syndrome while 2 others nodded in another way. So strange that genetics can spring forth with so much ambiguity. The good news is, that knowing this perfect label for the genetic syndrome pales in comparison to just knowing why I don’t fit. Sure, I wish to know. Soon I will obsess to find out. However, the ultimate question has been quenched. The water of the unknown psychological issue has been agreed upon and formally written in the file. Self advocacy was definitely necessary. So I feel for those with perhaps less energy or ability to shine lights where darkness looms. For those who wish to speak up but not know what to say. Not to mention, the other co-morbid issues have not gone away. Especially this OCD which is 17 times more likely in the likes of me. 75% of the spectrum moves with a mood disorder which may trump all other diagnosis in terms of order. Hence the reason so many can mask so long without detection. Anxiety…well…sure. IBD most likely due to the conflict of constant tension in the living situation called this body. Fortunately, I don’t still have the temper tantrums that I used to display when play didn’t go my way.
Next phase is the sensory processing issues. That deserves an entire post as the senseless senses played immature games with my consciousness constantly. Just a touch of sugar in my drink and I sink. Just a single degree change of temp and I fall limp from the heat. Now he is sweating but I need a cover. Now the shower is too hot so why bother. The sounds, the sounds just keep sounding the alarm harming the already radiating headache. That was just this morning. The good news is, I know why and that really makes a big difference. Due to the years of research and doctors visits, I may have been the first person ever to hear… “congratulations, you have Autism” and fight back tears of joy. I realize now what I wish I knew then, it’s all about perspective. Time now for me to take a drink from the falls, not because I feel thirsty, but because I can.

Perspective

Vacation in the Storm

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.