"I think you are blessed beyond all reason. Snap out of it! You have the love and care of your man and children, extended family and legions of friends. There's a world of folk truly living on the edge in desperate isolation."
Well. Except for the part about extended family, that's pretty much true. And I don't have what I would call a "legion" of friends but the friends I have are solid, true, and precious. And I think that although I myself recognize and write about my blessings fairly continuously and probably to the point of nausea, the fact is, guilt is my default emotion and so that comment really shoved it to me. What right do I have with my man and my life and my kids to ever complain, to ever admit to waking up and having a bad day, to ever bitch or moan? There IS a world of folk truly living on the edge of desperate isolation.
So what right do I have to ever feel bitchy or whiny?
Fuck if I know. But I do. Some days I wake up in complete despair and all of my blessings and all of the goodness of my life, the ease of it, the beauty of it, the choices I have within it- all of those things simply add up to make me feel guiltier for feeling such despair. What right do I have when others are truly suffering? Which is one of the reasons I sit here and write about my blessings. The trees in my back yard, the blooming camellias, the chickens I love, my good husband, my kids and how loving a family we truly are, my grandsons, the very fact of my existence on a planet where such goodness and beauty can be found.
I write about the small things and the large which add up to such goodness. I write these things over and over and over again until my despair seeps away, I can manage to get up and get out, to do the things I need to do for myself, my family, to try and honor all of that profound goodness.
But yes, I also write about those feelings of despair because they are mine and they are real. For whatever reason I do sometimes feel depressed. I do sometimes suffer from great anxiety. I do have thoughts which may not be appropriate to my situation, which may not be logical in any sense but that's what mental illness is. And god dammit, I am not Pollyanna. I wish I were! I wish I could simply snap out of it. My GOD how I wish I could just snap out of it sometimes. With all my heart and soul.
And let me add that I do not write about everything in my life. There are dark places I don't explore here. There are fears, there are problems, serious true ones that are indeed worrisome, that frighten the living fuck out of me. Just as there are for all of us.
Every one of us.
And I am not angry with Anonymous. Whoever he or she is has a point and one which I myself make to myself every day of my life.
But. I would ask Anonymous to try to be a little more compassionate, not specifically in his or her thoughts about me but towards others, as well. Because none of us knows what goes on in the mind or heart of any other. None of us knows the true depths of darkness which most human beings suffer at some point, no matter the external circumstances and appearances of a life.
And it is Monday morning and the sky is clearing and smell of dead rodent is fading somewhat and I am going to go take a walk because yes, today I have those feelings of despair and the resulting guilt therein as well as some anxiety, and exercise helps to dispel those feelings.
I was not born a naturally joyful person and if I was, the events of my childhood probably changed that. I don't know. But I tell you what- because I DO suffer from what can only be described as a mental illness, I am more empathetic, more sympathetic, more compassionate towards others. And I try to remember that- to cherish the good which comes from the deeply uncomfortable, the sometimes hardly bearable.
And when my soul feels light, when the darkness is at bay, I am incredibly aware of that and give great thanks and know truly that a gift of joy has been laid upon me.
Here's another gift of joy.
Happy Monday, y'all.