Falling into life. Death. Love. Hate.
Sometimes you can see the chasm. Often you don’t. It’s just there, across your path. Nothing for it, you have to fall. It can have a good outcome. That’s always in the cards. It can also have disastrous results.
Like following the chasm to the detriment of your financial security. Falling in love with the wrong man. That inevitably turns into hate. And you fall into the vicious circle of self doubt. And that’s the bottom line of falling. A good fall brings only good things. A bad fall screws up everything. It poisons your life well and continues to do so until you find the antidote. Which is another fall. Conundrum. Having had a bad fall before, falling again is scary. It’s daunting. Even if you can see that it will be a good fall. Because the others also looked like good falls.
The story of life I suppose. A series of falls. Some with good results, some with bad. All forming the never ending stream of our psyche, forming our character, making us who we are for better or worse.
All this brought on mainly because of a song. Cute song, I’ll include it in this post. But also Mr P. He of the depressed mien. The thing I don’t quite understand is what, to me, seems an indulgence in the depression. I myself get depressed. What can I do about it but cry on my blog? Certainly, the humans around me, and my bank account does not tolerate such indulgence. So you gird your loins, you put on your big girl panties and you do what needs to be done to make the situation bearable. And, once home, in the dead of night, then you cry about things you can’t control or change. About how useless and stupid and superfluous you feel.
Not that I’m an expert of the subject of depression. To me, personally, it has always seem like a very big self indulgence. Quite like blaming ADHD for not having a job, or for that matter, indecisiveness on your starsign. I’m very likely wrong. Then again. Even if you do suffer from depression, do you really have a choice other than to work and earn a living? If you’re the only one doing the earning, how on earth can you sink into depression and let everything go to hell? Sink into the depression if that’s what you feel like doing. But do it at night, after you’ve earned your daily bread.
If you don’t want to see people because you prefer hiding in your cave, you tell them that you would prefer not to be bothered. That you would rather hide and lick your wounds. Understandable. You can not, however, be ambivalent about it. You have to be clear and open and to the point.
You do not pick a fight, wanting the other person to do what you would rather not do. See, Mr P, I know what’s going on. You either want me to force the issue and insist on you visiting me and me visiting you, or you want me to tell you to go to hell because you would rather not be the person that does it. So you have these little snipey comments, and I can’t say anything to you in fear of making your depression worse. And really. I’m 45 years old. Not quite in the mood for fighting anymore. If it can’t be calm and comfortable and nice, but only bumpy and prickly and frothy, I can do without.
You can stew in your misery. I could have tried to help you get out of the morass, had you wanted to let me. Alas. It would seem that you like indulging your moods. You like wallowing in the quagmire. And that’s entirely your prerogative. I can certainly not stop you from doing that, and I’m not knowledgeable enough to even try. And frankly, I’m tired of walking on eggshells.
I am a person, with a person’s feelings. A person’s sensibilities. As I’m trying to get you to see that everything’s not bad, I would very much like you to do the same for me. Because sometimes you need another person’s view of the world to make you realise that yours is not all that bad.
Then again, I’m quite able to pep talk myself. And usually it just takes an interesting book or a good tune, or a well made cup of coffee to cheer me up.
Not so Mr P. Nothing I am able to to seems to make him smile. Life is just one long lament. Seems like he does not even try and get out of it.
And, much as I still like him for reasons other than the constant lament, and much as I’ve always looked forward to seeing him, I really don’t know how much longer I will have strength enough to keep both of us standing.
Not that I can’t. But there must be a reciprocal decision. Not one sucking and the other letting themselves be sucked dry. Both must be able to walk away from each encounter refreshed and invigorating, not sapped and listless.
So, where I was quite exited last night with the prospective visit today, discussions have led me to believe that I’m tolerated rather than liked, treated politely rather than honestly, handled rather than actively being sought out. And I’ve been the one pushing this right from the start. Always thinking that maybe, just maybe, something will happen. I’m realistic enough to know when to call it quits. And if I don’t stop all communication directly, I’m thinking I’m experienced enough not to invest too many emotions in this. And that’s also wrong. And very sad.
Because I think I would quite like to jump headfirst into a love affair. I think I’m ready to fly off into the clouds borne only on the wings of love. The light of a possible future luring me. And that may be the reason I stuck this out as long as I have. The lure of the possible. Hope.
Hope you enjoy the songs I chose for you today. Well, not really chose, I just happened across them on my, as already ascertained, surprisingly varied playlist 😉