Tuesday, October 28, 2003


I've got this vague desire to pick a fight. Well, no, not that exactly. I want to pick a fight and WIN. I want to viciously rip and tear at someone else's ineptitude, to leave their feeble rationale in ribbons.

Maybe I just want to alliterate some.

I don't know. I've been rather at loose ends all morning due to something I posted on Hidden City.. The remarks themselves were intended to be tongue in cheek, but got a reaction from someone else that set me off.

You see, I do believe in playing with one's own mind, especially in the pursuit of feeling better when one is feeling deeply and puzzlingly depressed. There's some evidence to indicate that I'm right, too. It's like this -- when a person is situationally or temporarily depressed, they tend to slow down, stop moving, wallow in their misery, and are often mystified as to what happened. Sometimes, the best way to combat that slow spiral into the pit is to pretend to be happy. I mean, to do things you'd do when you feel good, to get moving, to practice believing until you believe. Sometimes, just doing things that we normally enjoy when we are feeling at odds with the world can act like a tonic. We forget why we were unhappy and find our happiness again. It won't happen just sitting in the dark analyzing the unhappiness and the darkness. Some sunlight is required. If you wish you were feeling like putting up the Christmas decorations but find yourself without enthusiasm for it, sometimes if you just haul them out and start doing it rather than dwelling on all the reasons you don't want to do it, you get passed the whole down feeling. You're doing something that means happiness to you. It can help you find your way back.

No, it's not the cure all -- I know that quite well. I also know that you can get so far down in the depth of the well that it's you and a knife. But if you don't think you are there yet -- if you can still take steps on your own to do something -- then this is a good first step. Pretend for a while, like when you were a child and pretended you could fly until you COULD feel yourself flying. It's like reading a book so good that you forget where you are and stop seeing words because you are seeing the places and the characters in the book and feeling what they feel, think what they think. It's the same thing, only turned to serve yourself and your own desires.

Feh. I'm arguing with someone who's never going to hear me or agree, which is a good reason to keep that out of it. But it needed mentioning for me. My damn weblog and all that. I'm so used to the paralyzing effects of depression, so used to those tight dark painted walls squeezing out every possibility that I'm very keen to pull any art to my aid. Even the art of self deception can be quite useful, when done properly.

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