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.
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.
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.
No need to medicate as all things seem great! Shhh! I know, just one night. Tonight my soul takes flight in the bliss of a manic kiss. From room to ruminate to the ability to reminisce. This is what the typical day will play for the norm who do not live under storm clouds. Where crowds gather to scatter the thoughts of playful delights. Coherent words like heart rhythms take wings and wade out of sight. Wow! I wish to keep this like air with a fist. Like yesterday after the wounded wrist. Wow! Sorrow makes way in just far enough to say “this is how everyone feels everyday.” For me tonight. Where did you put sleep? I asked with sincere opportunity. Sorrow was gone before an answer and without a final greeting. Wow! My sweet sorrow, why do you tease me and leave me. I wish I knew how to miss you but I bow my head and bid you adieu. At least for one night. The night where I find peace in a state of mind. I hardly recognized the calm winds of the moons dance. I can gaze at the suns shadow without the inner trance. One more glance of this cold night sky before I lie down in serene habit. Wow! Such beautiful quietness. Dogs are so joyful to bark deep in the night with sounds of protection. The courageous car shines headlights as it crawls on all four legs to the stop sign for a soft sigh. Wow! How wonderful the smell fall leaves that fell from a breeze a week ago. Look at all of this! Is this what I miss? Is this where I live? No, but yeah! I live here but only for a night. The night that depression took a day off. Wow! I just might fully engage and even write. With no idea what to say, I decline the pen and pad and decided just to feel glad. No writing for me tonight! Just another Wow and call it a night of unique delight. I must go for now. History just texted experience and offered me a group chat. Strong recommendations to open the Sunday square and swallow the contents. Somehow I know they are right. I know I have been here. Still, something else just feels right. Sunday pills, I ask and say please, just one more night.
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?
Recently received a call from a friend who has Aspergers with a strong dose of Bipolar 2. This night I sat on the other side of the desk. He was drunk and seeking methods of suicide to hide from the pride of failure. An ex felon with a job that he hates. Working hard to no end but a paycheck that doesn’t pay respect. He felt lost and abandoned and was definitely 14 cans of beer drunk when the call was made. He said that the suicide hotline often calls the police when chatting and as an ex con, that brought back traumatic memories. When calling for help causes more problems. So he decided to call me instead. Have not spoke with him in months so it was hearing from a ghost for me. No time to catch up on anything casual as life and death was upon the phone lines. To die or not to die. Not quite the poetic version but this was not a fictional story from history but a reality facing me. I am not used to sitting on this side of the desk. No training on suicide prevention. No idea what to say. So I just listened. I listened to the problems pouring out like a cold drink on a summer day. I listened to hopeless words stammering forth like sentences from a broken type writer. I realized he was sitting in a room that I had visited myself more than once. After quite a spell, he retained enough common sense to confess that Bipolar Depression is winning over his will power. That going to the local bar for counsel was not quite working to overcome such negative thoughts and feelings. I am in a mixed state as I contemplate his fate. So happy to hear he was alive. So sad to hear he is thinking about death. The previous prison record prevented him from purchasing a gun. So he went to research in the light of the dark web. It did offer a plethora of hidden advice on suicide methodologies. He shared his thoughts. I listened. Tomorrow he officially loses the job that he hates. Tomorrow he wakes up to not having a friend that he had known for years. The obituary spoke so clearly.
“If it wasn’t for my mom”
“I just don’t want to put her through this”
The thoughts that kept him around when all else was failing. Chemicals in the mind like chemtrails decline from the sky. I kept listening. Bipolar depression lesson continued for almost an hour. He almost talked himself sane and sober. Not to suicide. Sure, horrendous English but the best news. I was finally able to offer some free advice. Get help! I know that the last psychiatrist really let him down. He called and texted but she was too busy to return any message. He gave up. I hope now that he knows what so many have to learn. Bipolar depression is real. It is a big deal. Most can’t cope on their own and without help, there can be a loss of hope. He did call. He did reach out. I passed the baton onto the professionals. Hopefully, after losing the job, he finds his way to the office to find his life. Today I officially started my new job. Suicide prevention hotline. I officially quit. My number is not listed. I filled out no application. My only experience is…experience. I felt the voice of depression. Suicide has called me before on unlisted numbers. I almost answered the call. I didn’t. So far, he hasn’t. I hope that he calls me back. If he does, I will work again. He is my friend. I don’t want to lose anyone else to depression. To die or not, should no longer be the question.
Heard a novel thought about how we think. The wave of the future is now waving goodbye to traditions. A sigh of relief for breath therapy. I was also enlightened on infrared light treatment. Of course there are so many courses online to choose from. I almost hired a lawyer to decipher all of these laws of physics and quantum mechanics.
Then it finally clicked. Superb thanks to all who study superposition. It seems like it will take super powers initially but the science lines up and technology testifies to its veracity. I will soon know either way. Hope to keep up with the updates along this journey. Until then, I will be riding the waves of possibility, collapsing the past into dead seas of forgotten waters. Forgetting everything that is behind, while wading into choices which create new history. A mystery only until observed. Let’s see.
Light fades every evening. Scholars say the sun sets in the west and yet, everyone knows that it doesn’t. Why do we accept this curious lie as if…as if it’s ok to say what we always say even though it’s untrue.
Yes, I am fine today thanks for asking! I am light fading over mountains and disappearing over streams. I reel in my rays at days end. I feel in ways that plays against logical sequence. I stand still but turn on axis I. Or maybe II. From manic day breaks to personality nightmares.
Yes, I am fine today. Thanks for asking. Just as I sit and wait for the flaming gas fire to set against all understanding. As if…as if I knew the soul of the sun. It runs upon itself until itself is no more. I guess the sun will set after all. Then I will answer differently. No! nothing is ok. Thanks for asking. I just was unaware as I was entranced by the sun that rose as red rays against common sense and I was completely unaware of myself.
So we wait, I and the sun, as we face the final setting. The day that breaks never again. The night that will never end. I am fully aware that I will never see the sun face to face. But I know that I don’t know how I feel today. I know that the sun never rises or sets but I just don’t have any feelings about it. That’s the truth that the lie can’t accept. That’s the logic that is illogical. We must just accept delusion as if… as if I was the sun running on myself until…until I set. Yes, I am fine, thanks for asking.
SSI should adopt a better model for communication. To send out threatening letters to unsuspecting and disabled people can not be the best way to get in touch. Who wants to open a letter, after doing nothing wrong, only to find that the funds may be cut if…Why not just send a friendly letter that explains things first? For example…
“Salutations valued recipient, we are writing to update our files and would enjoy speaking with you on …at … in the afternoon. Thanks for making time to help us help you. The information we will cover is as follows…The call will take less than 15 minutes and is necessary for us to ensure some details. This is a routine update and everyone will have an appointment at some time.”
Obviously I was being moderately sarcastic but the point remains, just ask! Threats are unnecessary and puts people on defense before the offense even happens. Perhaps their blanket threat letter can be used for those who missed calls or appointments as a last ditch effort. Knowing the blogs that I have read, no one wants to be threatened every time info is needed. Positive reinforcement still works. Many people on disability have anxiety disorders and those letters can cause a worsening of symptoms. Those fighting depression can fall deeper in that abyss of darkness at the smallest thing. Something like all of your income will be cut if….
Not professional at all SSI. We expect better. As a bit of advice, perhaps hire people persons for jobs that deal with people. Perhaps train people that they are talking to people who may be hanging onto life, so yelling and arguing about numbers, and demanding clear and concise thinking on call, is just not always possible. If it was, we would not be considered disabled. SSI remember the mission, of you have one. If not, I suggest something about helping people rather than saving pennies! Create another letter that doesn’t threaten people. Just ask, that’s what I am doing now. Just asking.
From organizing everything from closet space to little cars that race, I made haste to even things out. Symmetry is the key phrase that unlocked the door to why if I got hit on one side I would turn the other cheek. Not as a humble man, but to be hit again or feel pain of breaking the evenness. Not a fun thing when the older brother realizes the secret of symmetry and constantly uses it against me. A hit and run. A hit just for fun to see if I would hit myself to even out the pain. I did. I was a kid.
Two score years later I still sense the symmetrical tug. In order to keep things together but equally apart. It started with a look in the reflection which showed dissatisfaction at the lack of symmetry so obvious to me, and pointed out constantly. Even thinking occupies so much space, often it’s hard to focus on the things at hand. Like my hands have different lines to the point I was going to cut one to even the sight. When will “Even” retire for the evening? I read a solution is to tap one side and suffer through the uneasiness of unevenness. I am starting a petition to have their license revoked.