Everything is Hunky-Dory

When I was in my 20's, I struggled with depression.

I knew that I'd never have the balls to kill myself. My fear of hell and my conviction that I'd go straight there if I took my life probably saved me. I knew exactly how I'd do it, though.

Many nurses have a morbid habit of talking about what they see at work and how they'd do it differently. This extends to people who are hospitalized for trying to kill themselves and failing. I remember one guy bitching about a patient who overdosed on Tylenol and ended up just ruining his liver. He scoffed and said if he ever wanted to kill himself, he'd do a shotgun to his face. Not a rifle or a revolver--bullets can miss the life support systems in your brain, and then you'd just end up maimed.

That got me to thinking. I always knew I never wanted a gun. My dad wanted to get me one for my college graduation, but I knew I'd be more likely to shoot myself than anybody else. So I decided on insulin. 100 mg IV.  I have pretty good veins so I'd be able to pull it off on the first try.

Like I said, lucky I had an unhealthy fear of hell.

Of course, when I finally decided not to believe in hell, my reasons for being depressed soon dissipated as well. I was no longer trapped in an illogical religion with unrealistic expectations of what should make me happy and what shouldn't; all true fulfillment deferred until after death.

Throughout that time--the depressed time, I mean--I feared I didn't have emotions like other people. I dated a guy in college who wondered if I was ever excited about anything. Sure, I laughed, I cried, but overall my emotions felt very muted, as if I were a bystander watching myself react.

I remember the first few times I got dumped or refused (it was a pretty regular occurrence) after coming out as a lesbian. I was miserable, feeling piercing pain, and yet I was happy to feel that pain. It proved to me that I was alive--more alive than I'd been before then, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I think that's what Abraham means when they say they don't expect people to stop having negative feelings, but in the vortex you can still have a feeling of satisfaction or fulfillment. In that pain, I also felt hope. It was an indicator that my life was changing.

Of course, I didn't feel constant hope. I was pretty despondent at times, but I still felt alive.

I was thinking about all of this today, and about someone asking Abraham why it often seems the shit hits the fan after starting to practice their teachings. (I hate putting it that way--it makes it sound like a religion or something, but it's the best I could come up with at the moment.) Their answer is that once you have a stronger desire to be in a good place emotionally, the bad places feel that much more poignant.

So, yeah, a few pieces of shit have definitely hit the fan in the last few weeks. Watching my dog suffering after surgery; watching friends deal with their own uncertainty; trying to figure out what my role is, or should be, or could be in all of it--there's definitely stuff going on that's not fun. Thank the gods the dog is better.

I think my returned attention to this philosophy, though, is more than helping me cope. I know that I choose how I react to everything--not just in action, but in thought and feeling as well. I know that bringing my attention to the best possible outcome is much more helpful than dwelling on what could be, or could have been, or ought to be. If nothing else, it's allows for one less blaming voice in the universe, as easy as it would be to blame individuals or society for how things appear to be currently.

I can't blame my parents for bringing me up in a restrictive, confusing religion. I can't blame my dog for getting a tumor. I can't blame my friends for going through struggles. What's more liberating, though, is knowing that I can't blame myself for any of these things, either. Sure, you create your own reality. But it's not like you did it on purpose. I spent years blaming others and myself for my crummy feelings, and I can tell you--it only got me so far. It's a step up from despair, but only a step.

Hmm. I didn't start out meaning to talk about blame.

I started out to say that, even though I try to be positive about a lot of things on this blog, that's a conscious effort I'm making. I ain't no fucking saint, and my physical reality is nowhere near caught up to the ideal I've created for myself.

So I test every thought, every feeling, to see if it's a little better or a little worse than the one that came before it. Sometimes anger feels a little better; sometimes a little worse. Sometimes hope is easier to come by than other times, but I know it's always there waiting for me to catch up to it.

And those moments when I run into friends in the park or meet a neighbor's new puppy, I milk those good feelings for all they're worth. What will happen tomorrow will happen. No point in obsessing over it; might as well enjoy the puppy. And that feels really, really good.