Tag Archives: depression

Writing, Depression and Staying Away from the Cliff.

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What do you do when the cold runs in. When the snow comes to your shins, or higher, and you think…how did this happen?

I see there are things we have in common. I once felt that the snow, ice, or whatever weather you prefer was rolling in all the time. I felt my life had been switched with a meteorologist on some backwoods station, but alas, it hadn’t.

I’d experienced the cold. Had things happen in my life that I didn’t or couldn’t do anything about, but I’ve also done things where I didn’t accept responsibility for my actions.

There are many reasons for this, the biggest being I wasn’t mature enough to understand my life was in my hands and I should stop making excuses for what I’m doing and stop blaming others for my screw ups.

Well, the cold came, it came in a torrent one year ago. I felt it run down my spine, into my soul and wrap every molecule with its frosty embrace. The truth a year ago was I was afraid to be who I wanted, I knew that who I was wasn’t what everyone wanted.

I wanted to be this free spirit. I wanted to care about the people around me who cared about me and to hell with the rest.

In the last year I’ve been down the drain of depression, felt the exhilaration as I reached the top of the cliff and stared at the little ants, and they had no idea I was standing on the cliff. They didn’t understand the cliff was closer than they thought, and possibly myself as well.

When I was able to step away from the edge, find myself and let everyone know what I’d been through, I felt ashamed that I’d stood on the cliff. I didn’t want anyone to know how close I came, hell most people believed I was the sanest person they knew.

The cliff is still out there, waiting for its chance to surprise me. Indeed it surprises me that I’ve even told my story of depression and coming out of it.

I’ve wanted to be this other person for so long, the one I am now, that trying to be the person I want is harder than I thought it would be.

I want to write as much as possible, but I’m like a dog in forest filled with squirrels.

When I tell myself, “You have to write” something happens, whether it’s a distraction or something else. I find that my time away from the keyboard is one that I don’t often like, but I do it, for the weirdest of reasons. I’m afraid to show some of what I write for fear that it would either make people afraid, or my wife would have me committed.

I see that I’m becoming who I want to be, without the distraction of caring what people think about me or my writing, and I’m finding that living in my world is getting better as long as I don’t climb the mountain and get near the cliff again.

How TM Made Me Care Again.

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Night Shot of the Lego Tumbler lit from underneath.

Night Shot of the Lego Tumbler lit from underneath.

Our strength is determined by how we deal with our lives. How we handle adversity and how we talk to others when we’ve screwed up.

After I started TM (Transcendental Meditation) I sat down with my wife and told her all the times i thought I’d screwed up in our relationship and with our kids.

It was the first time I felt like I’d accepted responsibility for something bad that I’d done.

My wife forgave me for the things which had happened and we’ve been doing better since, but I’ve been wanting to have a family project, something all of us could do together.

Family game night failed and I found my opportunity in July, when Lego decided to make a larger scale Lego Batman Tumbler.

It was something I knew my son would love, he’s always loved Bats and he’s a Lego fiend.

We started last week with 12 bags of Legos and we finished it on Monday, my son putting the final pieces together.

My wife and spent a few nights putting together the Tumbler and my son and I spent time doing the same.

It was the first time my wife and I had done a project together since we put our son’s bed together, he’s 10.

Building it was frustrating, irritating and fun all at the same time.

I learned my son is an amazing Lego builder and my wife gets more frustrated than I remember.

All of us had fun building it, our four-year old was too small, but she loved to watch it come together.

TM brought out the best in who I’ve been, it scuttled the rest and I’m discovering my life, kids and how much I truly love my wife all over again.

I know that life hasn’t always been good, and there will be rough patches, but when things get bad I now have something that can help me get through those rough patches better.

My wife and kids are important to me, possibly more than they know, and I’m learning to accept that I wasn’t always a great dad or husband before TM.

I know I’ve found something that has altered my perception of who I am and it’s been an amazing ride and it’s something I will do for the rest of my life.

I will work to get others to do it, not just because I’ve seen the benefits in myself, but I know the benefits can change who you are, and I’m really liking who I am right now and it’s been a very long time since I was able to say that.

 

 

How Transcendental Meditation Changed Why I Write.

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Last year I started this blog, my third, I wanted to write things that I cared about. The blogs which came before this felt more like they were catering to people or like I wanted to be noticed.

Delusions of Ink seemed like a perfect title since I was under the delusion the ink I put on the page would be seen by people.

At first I thought it may be like the others, boring, forced and uneventful.

This changed around the time my grandfather died last year. I began to write things which were risky. Things which I wanted to write for the sake of getting my mind clear, but still keeping to a formula that the blog should be about writing.

I kept to that formula until April of this year when my life changed and I found the voice and the will to write what I needed to put on the page.

I knew after I sat for my first transcendental meditation session I wouldn’t be the same. But I honestly didn’t think anything would happen, how could it, it’s simply sitting and thinking of a word or producing a sound a word makes.

After my session I felt alive in a way I’d never felt before, I also felt more confidence than I’d felt since I was a little boy.

A week after I’d written my first transcendental meditation themed post, TM.org asked if they could post it on their page, happily and honored, I said yes.

I’ve been told that articles have done well on their page and that a lot of people who have read my articles have asked for more information about TM, which makes writing them worth it. If my articles can help anyone who is where I once was, then I’m ecstatic.

My confidence in my writing has grown with each week since starting TM and my offline writing has improved in ways I never thought possible.

I see the story better, the characters have better voices and I feel a better grasp of the craft.

There are many days, I wake up, stare in the mirror and think, where did this person come from? Where has he been hiding?

Then I realize, I was always here I just needed to open my eyes, clear my soul and find myself.

I’ve never felt better about where my writing is headed, where the blog is headed and most importantly, I understand why my writing was horrible.

I wasn’t truly here to write. I was trying to perform for people. I was out to prove certain people wrong about who I was and why I wrote, and that’s not the true way to write.

The only true way I’ve seen to write, is to let your voice, that one deep inside of you that you’re afraid to let out, let it free. It will create for you a life which is more meaningful and will create a place in your soul where your heart is full.

I’m no longer under the delusion that Delusions of Ink is for people. It’s for me.

 

When you Find the Strength to Continue…

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Strength, physical or mental has always been something I’ve dealt with.

When I was in ninth grade I weighed 75 lbs, and worried every day about being bullied. There were days I’d want to give up, and though most don’t know it I use to scratch myself, it’s called cutting now, but I never did it very deep, it was always a way for me to control something.

I couldn’t gain weight, much to me dad’s dismay. I didn’t do well in school and there were many times I’d wish the world would go away. Most of those times I’d sit in my room with a small knife and rub it against my arm, sometimes I’d bleed, others not, but it’s been a long time since I last cut, and I’m finally happy with where my life is.

We reach the darkest places in our lives when we no one is listening, watching or otherwise paying attention.

No one knew I cut, I’m sure my parents had no idea, probably still don’t.

I got through the hardest parts of my childhood by keeping things inside. I’d never tell anyone what was really wrong. I feared they’d throw me in the white padded room wearing a hug-me jacket.

The things I kept inside were the hate I had for myself and the guilt I felt for things in my life. I knew I wasn’t a great person at the time, I knew that cutting was wrong, but I didn’t care, it gave me comfort when I felt there was none.

The truth was, I felt that if my parents had stayed married, I would have been a different person.

When they divorced I was outgoing and liked who I was, I was eight, but still. I knew these things then.

Afterwards, not so much. I hated my life and wished I was anything but who I was. That went on for a long time, longer than I thought, especially as I’ve been rather reflective of my teenage years lately I’ve found that life isn’t fair, for anyone.

We live, die and move on, but in the middle of it all we have to find time to live, truly live. If we don’t live the life we want, why are we trying so hard to live?

Each year since my parents divorced I hated the start of the school year, except when I became a dad. I’ve learned when the kids go back to school it’s not about me, it’s about them, and they’ll always matter more than I do.

As my kids have grown I’ve discovered my parents did right by me for getting divorced. I know it was the only option they had at the moment and now that I’ve been married nearly 15 years, I know how hard it is to keep things going, and they’d just had enough.

I don’t blame them, fault them or have any bad feelings about coming from divorced parents. I’m proud they discovered they weren’t compatible anymore and decided it was for the best they not live in the same house.

Now I’m five months into TM and I can reflect on who I was for most of my life, I’m not happy with how I treated others, but most of all I’m not happy with how I treated myself. I’ve learned my life is under my control and any mistakes are my own and it’s time to own up for things I’ve done.

To all those I’ve wronged in one way or another, I’m sorry.

To be in control of oneself is a different feeling, and it’s something I plan to keep doing. Transcendental Meditation has been the greatest blessing I’ve ever been given and will continue for the rest of my life, I just want others to discover it and finally be comfortable with themselves.

Bri

How Living in Wyoming Made Me a Better Writer

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The year I graduated from high school, we lived in a small trailer on the plains of Wyoming.

It was beautiful to me.

Snow drifts grew to be as large as a truck. The days blended together as the grey, overcast clouds blocked out the sun. We hid in our rooms, or the living room, a dull orange light from the lamp or the white glow of the television casting its glow upon our faces.

It was these nights, with my sister, mom and dad huddled on a couch or under a blanket, which reminded me life wasn’t as bad as my teenage mind thought it was.

Each day, my sister and I would wake from our sleep, hurry to the bathroom, for if we didn’t there would be no hot water, or worse yet, not water at all.

We’d dress in adjacent rooms, only a panel separating our rooms.

It was there on those mornings, when we stood for the bus in 20 below weather I thought not of living somewhere warm, but thought of how beautiful the snow looked, the shape of the ice on the road as it jutted from the black top.

You see, in Wyoming, when there is slush in the road, it freezes like the world turned upside down. There were mornings when I was worried we’d hit one of these icicles and the bus would stop on the freeway leading to the nearest town where we attended school.

Life was easy on that plane in Wyoming. I had school, different girlfriends, and I’d stay up late writing.

Those were the days of teenage angst ridden poems about love, pain and the things which I’ve now outgrown, but the things I wrote were the beginnings of who I’d become years later, 20 years later.

Now that I’ve been away from snow drifts, the world turned upside down and the long bus rides, I think about why I wrote, not what I wrote. I remember thinking, no one will ever see this.

I loved that I could write something I thought was beautiful, and not care if the world saw it or not.

I liked the feeling of writing that way, it’s something I’ve tried to do again, but my mind fails me at those moments.

I think snow drifts and a trip down the rabbit hole will help, but I’ve been in the darkest places, and prefer the light, it keeps the dark away.

I saw life through my 18-year-old eyes a few days ago as I sifted through journals of poems and stories.

I liked what I read, the carelessness of the writing, the sense that the writer knew no one would see it, least of all himself in 20 years.

I’m going to return to writing without caring, because I was happiest when I stood in 20 below weather, my life in front of me and the discovery of what comes next.