My hardest fight every day is fighting the deep-seated, innate bias I seem to have on a variety of issues, like people, things, events, etc. I have to fight to keep them in their box and not externalized toward other people. It's sometime the hardest thing I do.
It's called being human. We all have these deep-seated biases against people, things or events, and the hardest thing we do is to remember there are others who have those same thoughts about and even against us.
The trick is knowing them and not letting them do anything, especially something you will regret. Keep them just what they are deep-seated, far away from any conscious thought. They'll never go away throughout your life, so it will be your eternal fight with and within yourself.
The trick is not letting them out and not letting them control you. That too is being human.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Just Harder
At 63, it's harder to get fit, harder to exercise. It's harder to mentally think and prepare. It's harder to start. It takes more energy to exercise. It's harder to recover when I do exercise. And yet I know it's harder if I don't.
At 63, there isn't any choices anymore that aren't hard, except of course to do nothing. It doesn't really matter, it's both physically and mentally harder not to do nothing. To do anything is harder. But it's all I have, harder or not.
At 63, it's all or nothing, being harder is part of the deal.
At 63, there isn't any choices anymore that aren't hard, except of course to do nothing. It doesn't really matter, it's both physically and mentally harder not to do nothing. To do anything is harder. But it's all I have, harder or not.
At 63, it's all or nothing, being harder is part of the deal.
What Do You Say
What do you say to a person experiencing depression? Nothing. You listen. You hear what they say. You be there when they want, and sometimes even when they don't want.
You just be their friend. They'll speak when they want. And then you can answer if they ask you a question, but only answer to say you're still there.
That's because someone in the midst of depression doesn't want to listen to anyone or anything. They don't want to talk until they know you won't judge them, you won't try to solve their problem, you won't try to give them advice.
You'll just be their friend.
That's not hard, but it takes patience. Lots of patience and silence. Lots of being there and being friend. Nothing else. They'll thank you later, so don't expect it until they say it.
You just be their friend. They'll speak when they want. And then you can answer if they ask you a question, but only answer to say you're still there.
That's because someone in the midst of depression doesn't want to listen to anyone or anything. They don't want to talk until they know you won't judge them, you won't try to solve their problem, you won't try to give them advice.
You'll just be their friend.
That's not hard, but it takes patience. Lots of patience and silence. Lots of being there and being friend. Nothing else. They'll thank you later, so don't expect it until they say it.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Not Sure
I'm not sure what is worse than living in a body you hate, not just for the genes you have with which you have to live, but the physical being, the body itself, where there is little you like about it from the time you were a child and other kids frequently teased you or your parents constantly criticized you.
And you hate having Dysthymia, that the rewards center in your brain barely works if it works at all, because most of the time it doesn't. You just don't get excited, you rarely feel even the slightest sense of happiness and then for just a few moments and it's gone.
And you hate not being born, not someone else but something else, always looking at other people and wondering why you aren't better, like them, why you aren't what they are, and most of all why you hate yourself when there's nothing much you can do than you've tried or know what little change you can achieve.
And you hate just being yourself. I'm not sure what's worse.
And you hate having Dysthymia, that the rewards center in your brain barely works if it works at all, because most of the time it doesn't. You just don't get excited, you rarely feel even the slightest sense of happiness and then for just a few moments and it's gone.
And you hate not being born, not someone else but something else, always looking at other people and wondering why you aren't better, like them, why you aren't what they are, and most of all why you hate yourself when there's nothing much you can do than you've tried or know what little change you can achieve.
And you hate just being yourself. I'm not sure what's worse.
Monday, October 1, 2012
It Is Simple
It's really very simple these days. On days when I walk my 4-6 miles I feel better physically and mentally, I keep my Dysthymia in check and I am ok with my life. On days when I don't walk, I don't feel good, I don't keep my Dysthymia in check, and I'm not ok with my life.
With all the physical ailments of these last few years and since this summer, I have this choice every day. There's no gray area, no partial answer or decision. It is one or the other. It really is that simple, get better or get worse. Every morning there is that question and those choices.
With all the physical ailments of these last few years and since this summer, I have this choice every day. There's no gray area, no partial answer or decision. It is one or the other. It really is that simple, get better or get worse. Every morning there is that question and those choices.
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