and so that time rolls around again where I ponder killing the blog, for it’s inevitable decline is like a cocktail stick being repeatedly jabbed in my eye, very very slowly, i.e every few days when I remember that it exists and that I never post, and that I miss my blog friends, but really, truly no longer no how to communicate what is going on in my head these days.
Writing about everyday tedious crushing depression is easy. It goes like this ‘lalalala life sucks, I suck, there is no hope of life or me ever not sucking, what is the point of it all, oh the anguish, fuck it all I’m going to listen to some Sigur Ros and cry’…
You’d think one would get bored of writing various versions of that essential nubbin, but really, not so much. I managed it for months, and never really seemed to tire of it. It was an outlet, I explained to the world at large my pains, there were some oohs and ahhhs, and I felt justified that my life was indeed a bit crap and there was no hope for anything other than a tortured disappointing half life.
Now, things are a little different – I feel I am actually on the path of ‘recovery'(as gabe terms it, but I prefer to think of it as learning how to manage the crap). I have a full time job, which I am actually managing to not only keep, but almost enjoy, and be involved with. Granted it is exhausting at times, but compared to how I was two years ago, it’s a minor miracle that I can keep going for 8 hours a day never mind doing it 5 days a week.
I have a partner, and am slowly learning how to not let my moods, anxieties, selfishnesses, and general craziness interfere TOOO much with the general enjoyment of the relationship, although I still manage to fuck things up royally from time to time, but you know, who doesn’t?
The problem is, I had built up a whole lexicon of suffering, a dictionary of despair – I knew how to eloquently express my vague sense of disatisfaction with the world, my angst, and my heartache. It rolled off me like so much miserable water.
I have no idea how to communicate what is going on in my life now, I don’t have the words, or the eloquence to effectively portray the more subtle rhythms of recovery. The small triumphs when I avoid anxiety ripping me down into depression, when I breathe deeply and tell myself I am being an idiot, and these thoughts are the result of insecurity and fear. It’s easy to describe the violence and power of a tornado, it’s more difficult to lay down a soliloquy of sanity.
Do I even want to, or need to keep a blog about how things are improving?
Should I start writing about my favourite recipes instead? Was I ever writing for anything other than to reach out to others? Or is it just for myself?
I don’t know. I am pondering it.