Category Archives: angst

Silver is not the colour of the lining (of my fuck-tonne of baggage)

Seriously,

Ain’t nobody got time for that

You should probably do something better with your time.


NB; This is part of my CB therapy. It’s one sided, it’s biased, it’s self pitying, it’s my mind and nothing else. If you happen to know me and happen to know anyone I allude to, then take it with a horse bag of salt. There’s so much left unsaid and so much probably overstated. That’s the nature of externalisation based writing therapy.

Continue reading Silver is not the colour of the lining (of my fuck-tonne of baggage)

Forty Two

Maybe because I am making my way towards this birthday milestone, the number has been on my mind recently. 

Way before I ever read the hitch hikers guide to the galaxy, the number held a mystical enchantment over my psyche.

In my formative years I was plagued by recurring nightmares. Whilst most could be diagnosed or rationalised as elements of an unfortunate childhood filled with emotional and physical violence, there was one that continued on throughout adolescents and well into my thirties.

In this dream, I am forty two years old and making my way through the laneways of Melbourne with friends who I cannot ever identify outside the dream but I perceive within it to be close. We are jovial and making our way between venues when I was hear something from inside one of the alleyways that makes me think someone needs help.

So I leave the group and make my way down the alley to see who needs assistance and *flash* my world goes white and with a sensation that my life has ceased I usually awake with a start.

Why this nightmare? Why that age? I have never been able to interpret it. I still have the nightmare, though thankfully less often than my younger years. So vivid are the images that I can practically replay it at will, but no matter my attempts to alter scenario with lucid dreaming, cognitive behavioural techniques and meditation have been fruitless.

I am no longer the naive and superstitious youth I once was, but I have wondered if it is a premonition of apropos shearing my thread on the wheel of fate.

It still triggers my thanatophobia every time I recall it, nonetheless.

 

Dealing with the monsters inside the black pit

I think the worst advice I have ever heard anyone give someone who is dealing with depression is “just smile.”

If only it was that easy.

However, there is something to be said for that simple statement. However, first let’s look at some basics.

It is far too easy to be caught in one or all of three traps that the darkened mind offers when when one deals with depression. Together they provide an environment that fosters further darkness, loneliness and personal destruction. There’s three things you need to be aware of:

  1. Anxiety
  2. Isolation
  3. Raison d’etre Continue reading Dealing with the monsters inside the black pit

regarding mortality

A dear friend of mine wrote to me to share my struggle with mortality with them as they were facing similar issues.

My response turned out to be as much a way to help myself as it was to help them, so I put it here (excluding personal references and identifiers) as a record for myself and in the hope that it may offer someone else a ray of light to guide their way.

Continue reading regarding mortality

doomed to repeat … some times … most times … all times

People are idiots and I am a class A idiot.

I, like so many of the people who are attracted to the community on tumblr, am going through “stuff.”

I, like so many others on Tumblr, forget about the “others” part.

I try to be a good person, and I try to be good to others.

Yet, there are blinkers.

Sometimes, you don’t notice the blinkers until you run into a wall.

Continue reading doomed to repeat … some times … most times … all times

A lifetime of pain, a breakdown, 2 years of psychotherapy and in the end a smile? [part 1]

So, maybe it’s time for a long, self analysis and review.

Where do I start?

My life was never one of luxery or normalacy.

It was far better than most, far worse than others.

In the end though, it was mine and it shaped me, rightly or wrongly.

Continue reading A lifetime of pain, a breakdown, 2 years of psychotherapy and in the end a smile? [part 1]