Belief is a funny thing.
On my good days — and we’re speaking strictly in relative terms here so let’s not so much think Shirley Temple on crack happy. More like the thrill of the chase happy…
Where was I? Oh right, my good days, such as they are, run with thick rivers of esteem. I get bursts of free-spirited, playing in the fields affection for life and those around me. This is unusual to say the least.
I think it sometimes takes people by surprise, and is perhaps a little disconcerting. Intimidating even? I seem to get that a fair amount.
But nonetheless I get to feeling the need to ’share’, as people term it these days. Le sigh.
No, not in that “Hi, I’m CK and I take my first drink before my first breath” sort of way. Just in a “there’s something pretty all right about this whole Universe thing” sense.
I’m usually perfectly content to go as long as possible without having to pretend that I’m secretly actually a friendly person underneath it all. I’m really not. This is not to say I don’t have my moments, we all do and I’m no Grinch but nor will I ever be described as the life of the party.
Anyway, some days I believe in life in all its vigor and I am capable of seizing the moment, no matter how fleeting. And seize it I do. I’m not the sort to be much into gratitude lists or all of that. But I am grateful I’m still alive and kicking.
Because later I get into trouble. I stop believing not just in wishes but in wanting. Period…
That’s about as much fun as it sounds.
Something censors any and all capacity I have to believe that there might be another moment of such liberty. I wonder where it goes?
It’s rather like someone let the bathwater out of your brain.
I know that the belief may return, indeed likely will. Since faith is our partner for the future: if we believe in time then we have at least a small measure of faith.
But once it deserts you that feels like that. It ceases to matter that things will, in all probability, begin to move again.
Once the very idea of the essential momentum of your spirit is lost it’s almost impossible to understand how it was ever there at all. Let alone comprehend that it might return.
There are few truly impossible things. As they say, if you can imagine it then it can probably happen. But the trouble with Depression is that it steals that imagination.
And without it you can’t know anything other than exactly what you are in any one moment. That’s why we need therapy, and not just medication.
Medication resets the brain but unless you’ve got someone standing by after that happens to fill in the blanks (at least somewhat) then you’re back at square one.
And sure, we could learn to walk by ourselves if we’d never seen it done. But it’s a tough, lonely road. I’d much rather a helping hand.
Wouldn’t you?
Belief is a funny thing.
On my good days — and we’re speaking strictly in relative terms here so let’s not so much think Shirley Temple on crack happy. More like the thrill of the chase happy…
Where was I? Oh right, my good days, such as they are, run with thick rivers of esteem. I get bursts of free-spirited, playing in the fields affection for life and those around me. This is unusual to say the least.
I think it sometimes takes people by surprise, and is perhaps a little disconcerting. Intimidating even? I seem to get that a fair amount.
But nonetheless I get to feeling the need to ’share’, as people term it these days. Le sigh.
No, not in that “Hi, I’m CK and I take my first drink before my first breath” sort of way. Just in a “there’s something pretty all right about this whole Universe thing” sense.
I’m usually perfectly content to go as long as possible without having to pretend that I’m secretly actually a friendly person underneath it all. I’m really not. This is not to say I don’t have my moments, we all do and I’m no Grinch but nor will I ever be described as the life of the party.
Anyway, some days I believe in life in all its vigor and I am capable of seizing the moment, no matter how fleeting. And seize it I do. I’m not the sort to be much into gratitude lists or all of that. But I am grateful I’m still alive and kicking.
Because later I get into trouble. I stop believing not just in wishes but in wanting. Period…
That’s about as much fun as it sounds.
Something censors any and all capacity I have to believe that there might be another moment of such liberty. I wonder where it goes?
It’s rather like someone let the bathwater out of your brain.
I know that the belief may return, indeed likely will. Since faith is our partner for the future: if we believe in time then we have at least a small measure of faith.
But once it deserts you that feels like that. It ceases to matter that things will, in all probability, begin to move again.
Once the very idea of the essential momentum of your spirit is lost it’s almost impossible to understand how it was ever there at all. Let alone comprehend that it might return.
There are few truly impossible things. As they say, if you can imagine it then it can probably happen. But the trouble with Depression is that it steals that imagination.
And without it you can’t know anything other than exactly what you are in any one moment. That’s why we need therapy, and not just medication.
Medication resets the brain but unless you’ve got someone standing by after that happens to fill in the blanks (at least somewhat) then you’re back at square one.
And sure, we could learn to walk by ourselves if we’d never seen it done. But it’s a tough, lonely road. I’d much rather a helping hand.
Wouldn’t you?