Depression hurts

Two words, one phrase, one reality, one life in those two little words.

Here, in the city I live in, someone I knew well, was found shot, dead at her home two nights ago. A murder-suicide they call it. Husband/dad shot and killed wife/mother and son, nine years old. He was depressed. Maybe hopeless, hurting, and in financial trouble with no job for a year.

My dad is depressed, so lonely, talks incessantly, his thoughts confused, his mind leaping with connections that are starting to not make sense, and unable to sleep. Oh so sad to watch him in such pain.

I am depressed. My chest hurts (not metaphorically) as I breathe.

What some people had said to me as a way of cursing me or with disgust or with anger, is what I have become.

I have become my dad.

If I drown

I re-surface.

Stuck/UnStuck

Move! Get up, go, forward, just do it.

Mulling, analyzing, caught in my story, attached to my bed.

If there was a mood monitor, like those heart rate monitors next to hospital beds, mine would be a flat line right now.

Stuck. Can’t. Get. Un Stuck.

Two days and nights sleeping then one staying awake all day and all night, then two days and nights sleeping, and so on.

Housework has made me sore like I ran a half marathon. Pathetic.

I still dream of you S, but much, much less than before. When you complain about your new wife, it re-affirms for me that you didn’t make the right choice. If you are happy with her, content, I may be able to let you go completely.

A singular emotion at the bottom of it all, Fear is running my life.

Over

There is no I anymore.

This birth is ready to dissolve into nothingness.

Shut.

Bahadur Shah Zafar & his poetry

The original:

naa kisii kii aaNkh kaa nuur huuN, naa kisii ke dil kaa qaraar huuN
jo kisii ke kaam na aa sake, maiN vo ek musht-e-gubaar huuN

main nahin huun naghma-e-jaaN feza, koii sun ke mujh ko karega kya
main baRe birog ki huuN sada, maiN baRe dukhoN ki pukaar huun

meraa rang ruup bigaR gayaa, meraa yaar mujh se bichaR gayaa
jo chaman khizaaN se ujaR gayaa, main usi ki fasl-e-bahaar huun

naa to maiN kisii kaa habiib huuN, naa to maiN kisii kaa raqiib huuN,
jo bigaR gayaa vo nasiib huun, jo ujaR gayaa vo dayaar huun.

pae faatihaa koi aae kyuuN, koi chaar phuul chaRhaae kyuuN?
koi aake shamaa jalaae kyuuN, maiN vo bekasi kaa mazaar huuN

An English translation:

I’m the light of no one’s eye,
The rest of no one’s heart am I.

That which can be of use to none
-Just a handful of dust am I.

Why should they come to visit my grave
And waste upon my dust a wreath?

Why should they light a lamp at night?
The grave of helplessness am I.

I am not a soulful tune,
Why should anyone listen to it?

I’m the cry of a stricken soul,
The pain of a broken heart am I.

Breitenbush hot springs

One step forward or one step back?

Today I started a day treatment program at the suggestion of my psychiatrist for depression and other assorted issues of my life. It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. In fact, it’s good. Group therapy, psychoeducational groups, eventually meeting a therapist and psychiatrist there too. And structure in my life. 9 AM to 3:15 PM every day.

Why did no one tell me about this option earlier? I wasted a lot of time hiding and escaping into my own world.

I watched my tendency to want to help others, help people who are in group there, as usual forgetting that I myself am there to make some changes in my life.

We did a SoulCollage session, I liked it, will upload a photo of mine soon.

One little step to move toward a life of my own.

And as I gently toss and turn your words inside my head

And as I gently toss and turn your words inside my head,
I see a thousand shades of hue.
A silken thread of thought, moving straight ahead, swoons around
and splits into two.
The enmeshed twigs of a magnolia,
your fingers intertwined in mine.
Two rivulets swirling together,
in an ocean of endless time.

Who wrote this? Do you know? Can you tell me?

Someone sent it to me a few years ago, and I didn’t ask him then. We went our separate ways since, and

now I can’t ask him.

Secret desire

I have a little secret desire. No one knows it. No family, no friends, no virtual friends, not my therapist, nor my Dr. I will tell you what it is though, gentle reader. Here it is: I want to melt into oblivion. I want this Life to end, I also want this Death to end, I want it all to end. I am a flawed flawed human being, who does the best she can every moment, every day, and suffers, because in the end it’s my own attachment, my desire to not accept things as they are. Buddha knew. Life has suffering built into it. The origin of suffering is attachment. It is possible to end this suffering. They way to do that is the Eightfold path, a middle way. (no extremism) I’ve been walking that path the best I can, with what capacity I have. I am tired though, I want to lie down under a tree in the shadow, take deep breaths, and merge into nothingness. I want Nirvana, the Ultimate Reality, the True Freedom.

I want to dive from a tall mountain into a valley and disappear, as though I never existed, and never will.

Is suicide another path out?

A poem and a lesson

I am shivering in the cold.

May I open your skin, crawl inside, wrap you around my body like a warm blanket?

I can hear the content in your voice, the Happiness.

It sickens me.

whywhywhywhywhywhywhy

Why did you not choose me?

I am happy. For you.

Fly away.

Last night I listened to Ajahn Brahm’s dharma talk on Love. He said, most times when people think they love someone, they actually love the way that person makes them feel. He gave this little example. If you truly loved your partner and s/he  runs away with the milkman, you should be very happy. I mean, isnt’ that love? That you want them to be happy? Well, now they are happy! Instead, you would probably not be happy at all. Why is that? Because you want them to be with you. But what if being with the milkman is what makes them happy? I thought, well, I’m not angry that S has chosen someone else. So, I’m okay. I truly do love S. Then it occured to me that I may not be angry but I sure am deeply sad. And why should that be? Isn’t it because I wanted him to choose me? Instead he chose someone else. If I truly love him, then I should be happy. I look within. I am happy that he is happy. I am also sad. I suppose I truly love him and also love the way I feel when he was around me.

Now, the possibility is gone.