Sometimes I feel like I’m wounded, and the only doctor available is myself, and I never went to medical school.
5:40 Monday. IPhone. (sorry Mom for the depressing thought. It’s only a blog. Don’t worry.)
7:36 Monday. Now I feel fine. Do I delete this post or keep it as a record of 5:40? That’s the danger of a personal blog. You can say something that will become part of your online identity when it may just be a moment in time. Does everything said here have to be a statement of fact or a strongly held opinion? Can I be unsure? Or intentionally wrong and playful with my own words because I like it, or because a person might hit on the truth more easily with the throwing of the darts method?
7:47 That update made me melancholy again.
I can relate, except MY self-doctor is insane. Hope you’re doing okay, man.
It’s one of those things where quiet reflection can help, but sometimes just getting busy doing a distracting activity can help.
Here’s what my therapist tells me: Either you can spend a lot of time with uncomfortable feelings, or you can give them a minute and then focus on something that feeds your heart the good stuff it needs.
You are wounded. This is important. It is not, however, the most important thing in your world.
Get busy doing something that makes you feel really good about yourself, Neil. It’ll help. I promise. Find your own version of “Fake it til you make it.”
Me too
paralysis by analysis.
out of my head!
People are many things. If we could teach everyone that people are many things, we could say whatever the hell we wanted.
But there’s this urge to pigeonhole. I won’t pigeonhole you. 5:40 a.m. is a good time for melancholy in any case.
This is just a postcard to yourself, scrawled to capture a moment, a small truth. See why I love making and writing postcards to myself on my blog?
Sorry you’re feeling so blue. Or up and down. I know the feeling.
I diagnose you with a soul malady. Whenever there was something wrong with me growing up, my mother believed she could fix it with a cold washcloth placed on the injured body part or, even better, with aromatherapy. When I had a broken collarbone at age 9 and begged my mother for a real doctor to help me, she lit a lavender scented candle and told me I’d be ok. To this day I can’t play volleyball.
Totally relating! I had the best evening last night, fun, great company, great music.
And since I got home I am so depressed I can barely breathe. I am so f-ing nuts. lol
My therapist has a sign hanging on her wall: Don’t Believe Everything You Think. So I will give that a try. But holy hell, it sucks in the meantime.
Neil, sometimes I feel the same way. And I did go to medical school. Believe me, that only makes it worse.
The good news is that those feelings are just *sometimes*…it’s the lows that make the highs all that much sweeter.