I never thought that I would find myself writing a blog. I suppose that I never really thought that I should write about myself on the internet. I mean, what would I get out of it anyway?
Writing a diary only helped me for so long, it doesn't really give me the sense of getting my thoughts out, instead it's like i'm squandering them away to fester. At least thats what part of my brain thinks. Another part of my brain kind of berates me for something that deep down I view as attention whoring. At least when it's in regards to me and not other people. Others who live their lives creating wonderful things or reaching out with the experiences of difficulties they have to deal with on a day to day basis are allowed to share their thoughts and garner support. Not me. Because that would be seeking attention for something that I don't believe I should moan about. My depression.
Wow angsty much!
I know depression is not something a person can control, it's not something that you can just "get over" and when you have it, it's not something that is your fault. But try telling that to my Brain. I like to devide my brain into two sections, the scientific and logical part that views mental illness as just that, an illness with causes and treatments etc. etc. and then there is the other part. Thats the part I like to refer to as the self-depricating bitch. That part of my brain berates me for something I think I shouldn't have, after all I have had a wonderful childhood, parents who love me, I did not want for much nor was I spoilt. But I still have depression. Is there something wrong with me? Am I broken in some way that I can feel so empty and unhappy even with all that I have? The logical part of my brain that sounds so much like my mother sometimes (she is a psychiatric nurse after all) tells me that i'm not thinking properly and that you wouldn't blame someone who had the flu for being sick. But that bitchy part keeps muttering in the back of my head.
My mother once asked me if I felt all people who had a mental illness shouldn't have it, should just buck up and get over it. My answer was a very emphatic NO! To which she replied "then why do you think that you should?" To be honest, I didn't know and I still don't know. It's something that I try to work on every day, but some days it is harder than others.
Throughout writing this I am going to try get out my thoughts. Not just on my depression, but on that myriad of things that I do, play or create (or at least attempt to).
Just some thoughts on the eclectic life of me.
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