Clarification
Room for interpretation. There is always endless space for this. Between my expression, the words that rise from this expression, colorful flames from the ignition of kindling that is my life behind the curtain that separates me from the world.
I don't condone negative thinking.
I don't believe in being an enabler, even to my "self",
to my "depression".
There is a thin line between t
hrowing gasoline on fire
vs.
smelling smoke, hearing a fire alarm, and trying to look the other way.
There is a thin line between compassion for self and pity parties.
There is a thin line between seeing a glass half full and half empty.
Too much energy one way or another leads to illusion; a glass with water filled halfway can start to feel like a glass that seems almost empty, or almost overflowing, neither of which is an accurate depiction of how much water is in the glass.
Learning to put out our own fires, sometimes in the process we mistakenly pour gasoline in an attempt to control it, letting it burn out of control.
I do not choose to use "depression" as an excuse in reasons for not meeting certain responsibilities as an employee, friend, family member, etc. What goes on inside my head is separate from my roles in reality. Does one affect the other? Absolutely. It is a cause and effect relationship that leads to outcomes. I know I am not the only one. I read books on it, have conversations with people. Writing helps me clarify, at times I have written pages and pages that exacerbate my damaging internal fire like an angry x-girlfriend setting her x-mates car and belongings on fire, throwing gasoline with reckless abandon.
More importantly, writing, expressing has been the reason I was able to recognize I poured gasoline on my damaging internal fires. Learn from my mistakes. Now they are no longer mistakes, they are miracles. For underneath these fires of damaging thoughts I poured gasoline on, seeds were planted. Roots of my soul and being. The same fires that worked against my ability to produce, achieve, live, are now ashes that fertilize the soil/soul in which those seeds were buried. Eventually, the fruits of my labor will blossom. Enough sun and nourishment and there will be low hanging fruit aplenty. Enough to feed the needy(some of them, at least).
In a day and age where information and stories are at our fingertips, I feel the need to share. We have the god given ability to extract meaning from everything and each other.
Figuring out what is wrong, and trying to fix it. This may include some pity parties, self-absorbed, narcissistic parties. I am deeply indebted to all the people that validated me during these parties, at an age when tantrums are much less "cute".
To all my sponges, you know who you are, I am eternal grateful, and eternally indebted. You are the lights of my life. My light yours, and yours mine.
I don't condone negative thinking.
I don't believe in being an enabler, even to my "self",
to my "depression".
There is a thin line between t
hrowing gasoline on fire
vs.
smelling smoke, hearing a fire alarm, and trying to look the other way.
There is a thin line between compassion for self and pity parties.
There is a thin line between seeing a glass half full and half empty.
Too much energy one way or another leads to illusion; a glass with water filled halfway can start to feel like a glass that seems almost empty, or almost overflowing, neither of which is an accurate depiction of how much water is in the glass.
Learning to put out our own fires, sometimes in the process we mistakenly pour gasoline in an attempt to control it, letting it burn out of control.
I do not choose to use "depression" as an excuse in reasons for not meeting certain responsibilities as an employee, friend, family member, etc. What goes on inside my head is separate from my roles in reality. Does one affect the other? Absolutely. It is a cause and effect relationship that leads to outcomes. I know I am not the only one. I read books on it, have conversations with people. Writing helps me clarify, at times I have written pages and pages that exacerbate my damaging internal fire like an angry x-girlfriend setting her x-mates car and belongings on fire, throwing gasoline with reckless abandon.
More importantly, writing, expressing has been the reason I was able to recognize I poured gasoline on my damaging internal fires. Learn from my mistakes. Now they are no longer mistakes, they are miracles. For underneath these fires of damaging thoughts I poured gasoline on, seeds were planted. Roots of my soul and being. The same fires that worked against my ability to produce, achieve, live, are now ashes that fertilize the soil/soul in which those seeds were buried. Eventually, the fruits of my labor will blossom. Enough sun and nourishment and there will be low hanging fruit aplenty. Enough to feed the needy(some of them, at least).
In a day and age where information and stories are at our fingertips, I feel the need to share. We have the god given ability to extract meaning from everything and each other.
Figuring out what is wrong, and trying to fix it. This may include some pity parties, self-absorbed, narcissistic parties. I am deeply indebted to all the people that validated me during these parties, at an age when tantrums are much less "cute".
To all my sponges, you know who you are, I am eternal grateful, and eternally indebted. You are the lights of my life. My light yours, and yours mine.
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