[RL] It has long been my practice in these blog posts not to dwell on the negative, but rather to accentuate the positive. While not all of my posts could be described as happy and joyful, the ones that have not been still I would not describe as negative. They have been somber observations, and, in a few cases, stern lectures on propriety.
The few posts that could be called negative have been works of poetry, and these, more than anything else, show the workings of a subconscious that I have unwilling to face. More exactly, it is a subconscious that I have been trying to deny, for I have been trying to accuse if of trying to lead me in a direction of self-pity and woeful wallowings.
The force of this subconscious has more and more been overtaking my conscious of late, and the fact that I am depressed is becoming more and more apparent to those around me. I hesitate to say it, if only because I don’t wish to add to the burdens of my little circle of friends. What, after all, are my excuses for being depressed, compared to the valid sufferings of those around me. I have a steady job and I earn decent money, both in real life and in second life. I have a solid, warm, suburban house around me, and good health. My standard of living, modest though it seems to me, is vastly superior to that of perhaps 9/10s of the world’s population.
Nevertheless, such is my state of mind, and such has been my state of mind, on and off, since early childhood. And I won’t deny that this state of mind acts as something of a source of shame to me. I know that shame is not appropriate. I know that my feelings are just as valid as the next persons. I know that my condition is partially chemical, and that, “pulling myself up by my own bootstraps,” and just, “getting over it,” are not helpful expressions or indeed in anyway possible. Nonetheless, there is some part of my that is screaming that I don’t have the right to be depressed. And perhaps the time has come for me to acknowledge that this screaming part, rather than being my champion, may indeed be part of the problem, and that part of the reason that there are times that I don’t seem to have feelings if because I am so vigorously denying the ones closest to the surface.
So where I go with this next I am not sure. Perhaps the reason for this public confession is a kind of apology to my friends, for I feel undependable, and not there when they need me. This undeniable state of mind that I have been so vigorously denying has caused me to fail to keep commitments, and to wander aimlessly from project to project. Even now, with this confession I have a part of me screaming that I am just making excuses for my bad behavior, that I am whining, that I am just looking for sympathy from my friends, some of whom are suffering from ailments far worse than mine. Well, I honestly don’t know what the reason for this confession is. It may indeed be all of the former.
And now I fear a feedback loop. I have said I am depressed, so therefore I must act depressed in order to justify the fact that I have said I am depressed. I am afraid to act happy, for to do so may be denying my underlying feelings. Self reflection does not always seem to be such a wonderful thing. It leaves one confused as to how to act…how to be.
Oh well. The time has come for me to stop writing and to go to work. I must leave early in a desperate attempt to prepare at the last minute for a meeting that I have not had time to prepare for because of the stresses of the week.
And yes, Mykyl, I will look for the joy. I may even find it. I must confess, however, that I do not expect to remember it for any length of time.