Saturday, September 10, 2011

A few thoughts on depression...

Okay, so I'm pretty sure no one reads this, but that doesn't really matter. And, no, I'm not saying that to be pitied, but rather, to throw out some heavy stuff. (And to let you know that I have a love affair with the comma)

The main character in one of the books I'm writing is suicidal. And I know a thing or two (or twenty) about that. I'm not right now (please don't call the police or try to have me baker acted -- been there, done that), but I have been in the past. I can't say that I've actually *tried* to off myself, but I've thought about it and there *may* have been some cutting. Anyway, I've been thinking about suicide/depression in relation to my character...drawing on my own experience.

Lately, I've been pretty sad...I've been stuck in bed because of the back pain. I'm hoping that will change after my surgery. But the guilt is overtaking me. I cry because I think I should get up. I cry because I can't do anything without resting. I cry because someone looks at me the wrong way. Am I crazy?

Friday, September 2, 2011

22 Years

I can't believe it's been that long since my dad died. Well, technically it won't be 22 years until Monday...but close enough. This is one of the few times of year I get sad over his death. Well, I'm not sure that I'd classify it as sad, per se...maybe reminiscent? Is that even a word? If not, I'm making it one for the purposes of this blog.

I've never really identified with having parents because they both died when I was so young. I find that kind of weird. I mean, it's not like I was raised by wolves (although my behavior sometimes might suggest otherwise); I lived with my dad's stepmother (my grandmother) until I went to college. Looking back on it -- I have to say that God turned that situation around. I was truly heading...well, I'm not sure where. I was not a happy child. Don't get me wrong; I loved my parents very much -- and miss them immensely, but it was hard. I'm not sure they knew how to deal with a child who was disabled, and therefore, did their best to protect me from the world.

Is it weird that this is coming up now? I don't know...

Speaking of things I don't know...I don't know a lot about my parents. How they felt about having a child with disabilities. How they felt about each other. Those are not the things a ten-year-old asks...or even thinks of. I do know that my parents fought. I do know that they loved me to the best of their ability. I do know that my dad scared me a lot of the time. Maybe I know more than I thought I did...

What kinda sucks is that I can't ask these questions. Well, I can, but I won't get an answer from them. What good would knowing those answers do anyway?

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if my parents came back and saw me today. Would they even recognize me? I believe they would recognize parts of me...not the whole package. The main thing being that I've gotten worse (physically). I'm not sure whether they expected that. Did they even know what would happen to me? Did they think I would live this long? I certainly didn't.

I miss my mom and sure would be nice to have that I'm at the age to appreciate them...