Ok, so let me finally breach this painful and difficult subject. I don’t really know how to go about it but here we go…
I didn’t always know that it was there, I used to think that I was meant to feel the way I felt. That “this was life” take it or leave it. It didn’t matter that I saw other people of other dispositions or another outlook on life, I for some reason, couldn’t see that my way was probably not alright.
It didn’t either matter that many people around me tried to tell me that “No you are not supposed to be accompanied by this darkness, you are young, this is the best time of your life – you are supposed to be happy!”
I don’t know what I thought on the many occasions I was told this, I do remember thinking that most of these people were idiots and I never wanted to see them again.
One was a very sweet doctor I used to see once a year to get “the pill” who every time for six years patiently listened and then booked a time with someone to “talk to”. I never showed up to those meetings - once I did get as far as the waiting room but when they called my name I didn’t respond and soon afterwards I left.
Another was a teacher at university, who gave me a business card and said “I am worried about you, call this person, she is expecting your call” The card was for a psychiatrist. I threw it away and never went back to class.
It is strange, the people who told me “to talk to someone” were always people who were not close to me. With my family and friends I hid the darkness or disguised it, I think or rather I hope…
My mother, sweet but self centred as she is, even if she would have seen my need she would NEVER have advised me “to talk to someone”, the prospect of her child being “insane” would be too much. Although just talking to someone doesn’t mean one is ”insane”. But if I did “talk to someone” I would automatically be qualified “mentally instable” in the books and records of the state. Big brother sees us and it would always be on my shoulders, I would never get a job or a man and probably no one would ever love me, I would never be rich and consequently of course never be happy…
(that’s her view)
And still when I speak to most friends about my depression, they will laugh a little and hit me on the shoulder and say “Oh you are exaggerating, ok, you might have been down but you’ve never been really bad, like suicidal…”
Even if I say “Yes I was or have been or am” they will still laugh it away.
And I don’t blame them. I don’t like to talk about it, I hide it and I do joke about it – a lot. I mean would you take a person seriously if when you met them and asked how they were they would answer with a shrug and a laugh “Oh, today I am just a little under the weather but yesterday I was nearly under a train”?
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Prickly business
We have a restaurant in our office building, my company a service management company is in charge of this restaurant. We are also in charge of information regarding the building and events within the company. That is my job amongst other things. I manage a few television screens on which I put important or interesting pieces of information which will then go in a loop.
During the last couple of months the restaurant (a self serve place) have been getting a tray back into the “dish area” on which lies a needle from an insulin pen.
A needle that someone pricks themselves with at lunch time and then they leave it on the tray.
After a while the restaurant asked me if there was anything we could do information wise. First we put up notices in the restaurant in various place. Asking people not to leave sharp objects on the tray on which the restaurant staff could hurt themselves.
It has now been three months and the needle on the tray business has not stopped. Last week one of the staff actually pricked herself on the needle. I was asked if I could put some more information out onto the television screen.
So I wrote a short piece in and we put it on the screen today.
My boss was standing behind me whilst I was writing, he read it and didn’t say anything.
An hour after it goes up on the screen my boss comes in and says to me in front of everybody “I used my VETO and shut it down!”
“Shut what down?” I asked cause I hadn’t got the faintest idea of what he was talking about.
“The television screens with your message” he said “I don’t think it is appropriate with our role here, the screens are supposed to be used for information regarding the workplace!”
“Well first of all, the message does regard our workplace and also it wasn’t MY personal message, people have been hurt from a needle and no one knows what the needle contains, it is not safe” I replied. “And besides, you read the message before I put it on the screen so why didn’t you say anything then?”
“Erm I didn’t think of it then but anyway I think the message you wrote was bad, it had a testy/nasty tone” he then told me and marched off.
I was not a little hurt and embarrassed and angry, my work mates were also slightly embarrassed.
So tell me is this message so nasty or testy or inappropriate?
“During the last few months a needle, the tip of an insulin pen, has been left with the dishes on a tray. Although it may seem that the needle is protected there has been an incident were an employee of the restaurant was pricked by the needle.
During the last couple of months the restaurant (a self serve place) have been getting a tray back into the “dish area” on which lies a needle from an insulin pen.
A needle that someone pricks themselves with at lunch time and then they leave it on the tray.
After a while the restaurant asked me if there was anything we could do information wise. First we put up notices in the restaurant in various place. Asking people not to leave sharp objects on the tray on which the restaurant staff could hurt themselves.
It has now been three months and the needle on the tray business has not stopped. Last week one of the staff actually pricked herself on the needle. I was asked if I could put some more information out onto the television screen.
So I wrote a short piece in and we put it on the screen today.
My boss was standing behind me whilst I was writing, he read it and didn’t say anything.
An hour after it goes up on the screen my boss comes in and says to me in front of everybody “I used my VETO and shut it down!”
“Shut what down?” I asked cause I hadn’t got the faintest idea of what he was talking about.
“The television screens with your message” he said “I don’t think it is appropriate with our role here, the screens are supposed to be used for information regarding the workplace!”
“Well first of all, the message does regard our workplace and also it wasn’t MY personal message, people have been hurt from a needle and no one knows what the needle contains, it is not safe” I replied. “And besides, you read the message before I put it on the screen so why didn’t you say anything then?”
“Erm I didn’t think of it then but anyway I think the message you wrote was bad, it had a testy/nasty tone” he then told me and marched off.
I was not a little hurt and embarrassed and angry, my work mates were also slightly embarrassed.
So tell me is this message so nasty or testy or inappropriate?
“During the last few months a needle, the tip of an insulin pen, has been left with the dishes on a tray. Although it may seem that the needle is protected there has been an incident were an employee of the restaurant was pricked by the needle.
Please discard you insulin needle elsewhere.”
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Do You Really Want to Know How Insane I am?
Some days one wakes up feeling like shit or rather that the world is shit and since you are a part of it, you yourself is entirely made of shit too.
Today was one of those days.
I do not know if it had to do with falling asleep with a splitting head ache or if it had to do with the fact that the sun forgot to rise today.
But I woke up and the first thought in my head was “I am not good enough for him!”
Why this should be true I do not know. Since I am better looking than him, much smarter and overall nicer than the loved one. But even so, I woke up thinking “Nah, there must be someone better for him!”.
And from there on it starts, the stories I build up in my head.
I mean all of my free time and some of my un-free time goes to making stories or movies in my head. Many times I am actually "writing" in my head as the story progresses. I will go back and erase words or changes phrases. (Nuts!)
Every since I was a kid I would play the “worst case scenario” scenes over and over again like a mantra in my head. If we were in a car I would make movies about for instance the breaks failing on a downward hill and what would happen in the short span of time before impact into the deep ravine.
Every movie is different. Sometimes we would survive and other times we wouldn’t.
I would try to figure out in what way could we survive. Pulling the hand break? Swerving in a zig zag way till the car slowed down and came to a stop? What if there was a lot of meeting traffic? Maybe doing a sharp turn so that the car would point up wards or sideways over the road?
And then if this didn’t work, what happens after impact? Do I survive and nobody else? And in what way would I be hurt? What would the pain be like? When and how would I be rescued? How would it feel to lose the person sitting next to me?
But maybe I die and the others in the car would survive? Hmm? In this case I would probably find bliss in my heart, cause after death there is serenity. No more worries. Nothing to wonder or make movies about. If my movie ended with death for myself it would be good.
But the main movie of today was “He Met Someone Better!”. It was quite a good film.
First scene: How do I find out.
Do I catch them in the act? Maybe he tells me or maybe worse, a friend of his tells me?
And then what, what do I feel?
What is my first reaction, throw up? Getting that “ice cold pail of water falling on top of you”-feeling?
Second scene: What so I do next.
Do I coolly pack my stuff and leave?
Throw a tantrum and break a few glasses and plates over his head?
Third scene: Does he regret
Does he come begging for my return? And how do I react to that?
Usually I watch the movie over and over again, each time changing a setting or a phrase or an action and trying the different emotions out.
Its like testing to see how I feel about something that might happen but hasn’t yet. Like an emergency plan made up beforehand so that when the thing actually does happen I will know how to deal with it because I’ve done it or a version of it a hundred times before.
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about my love or any love for that matter. This is what I do with every single event in my life. If I am to have dinner with a friend, I will beforehand make a movie about how the dinner will be. Tasty, disgusting, friendly, argumentative…
Every day will have at least ten different movies in various genres, today was a day full of negative energies so it is not a good day to give as an example, but here is todays repetoire:
Matinees:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Overdose and Die”
“The Gas Station is Leaking and all the Neighbourhood will Explode”
“My Best Friend Committed Suicide Last Night”
“My Mum and Aunt were in a Car Crash”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
Evening shows:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Turn into Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde from all the Drugs”
“Telling the Boss’s Boss that the Boss is Shit”
“New Work Site up North”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
“Death in a Car Crash”
“Headaches from a Brain Tumour”
“Wisdom Tooth – Goodbye!”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
and the last movie of the night will be “Arrgh! I hate the Soppy Comments to this Post”.
Now off to bed with head still splitting.
Today was one of those days.
I do not know if it had to do with falling asleep with a splitting head ache or if it had to do with the fact that the sun forgot to rise today.
But I woke up and the first thought in my head was “I am not good enough for him!”
Why this should be true I do not know. Since I am better looking than him, much smarter and overall nicer than the loved one. But even so, I woke up thinking “Nah, there must be someone better for him!”.
And from there on it starts, the stories I build up in my head.
I mean all of my free time and some of my un-free time goes to making stories or movies in my head. Many times I am actually "writing" in my head as the story progresses. I will go back and erase words or changes phrases. (Nuts!)
Every since I was a kid I would play the “worst case scenario” scenes over and over again like a mantra in my head. If we were in a car I would make movies about for instance the breaks failing on a downward hill and what would happen in the short span of time before impact into the deep ravine.
Every movie is different. Sometimes we would survive and other times we wouldn’t.
I would try to figure out in what way could we survive. Pulling the hand break? Swerving in a zig zag way till the car slowed down and came to a stop? What if there was a lot of meeting traffic? Maybe doing a sharp turn so that the car would point up wards or sideways over the road?
And then if this didn’t work, what happens after impact? Do I survive and nobody else? And in what way would I be hurt? What would the pain be like? When and how would I be rescued? How would it feel to lose the person sitting next to me?
But maybe I die and the others in the car would survive? Hmm? In this case I would probably find bliss in my heart, cause after death there is serenity. No more worries. Nothing to wonder or make movies about. If my movie ended with death for myself it would be good.
But the main movie of today was “He Met Someone Better!”. It was quite a good film.
First scene: How do I find out.
Do I catch them in the act? Maybe he tells me or maybe worse, a friend of his tells me?
And then what, what do I feel?
What is my first reaction, throw up? Getting that “ice cold pail of water falling on top of you”-feeling?
Second scene: What so I do next.
Do I coolly pack my stuff and leave?
Throw a tantrum and break a few glasses and plates over his head?
Third scene: Does he regret
Does he come begging for my return? And how do I react to that?
Usually I watch the movie over and over again, each time changing a setting or a phrase or an action and trying the different emotions out.
Its like testing to see how I feel about something that might happen but hasn’t yet. Like an emergency plan made up beforehand so that when the thing actually does happen I will know how to deal with it because I’ve done it or a version of it a hundred times before.
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about my love or any love for that matter. This is what I do with every single event in my life. If I am to have dinner with a friend, I will beforehand make a movie about how the dinner will be. Tasty, disgusting, friendly, argumentative…
Every day will have at least ten different movies in various genres, today was a day full of negative energies so it is not a good day to give as an example, but here is todays repetoire:
Matinees:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Overdose and Die”
“The Gas Station is Leaking and all the Neighbourhood will Explode”
“My Best Friend Committed Suicide Last Night”
“My Mum and Aunt were in a Car Crash”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
Evening shows:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Turn into Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde from all the Drugs”
“Telling the Boss’s Boss that the Boss is Shit”
“New Work Site up North”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
“Death in a Car Crash”
“Headaches from a Brain Tumour”
“Wisdom Tooth – Goodbye!”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
and the last movie of the night will be “Arrgh! I hate the Soppy Comments to this Post”.
Now off to bed with head still splitting.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
The Rose
Instead of telling you all about what has happened in the last week like finding a new brave Japanese friend; crocheting twenty hats; watching a male friend pick up a gorgeous girl who in turn tried to pick up my sister; experiencing a smiling French boy called Surkin making a dance floor of people go wild; becoming mesmerized by the enthusiasm of the drummer in "The Midnight Juggernauts"; drinking way too much but ever so good Cooper’s Sparkling Ale; watching my sister trying to pick up a sexy bartender only to see him fall head over heals for her Aussie male friend; and finally even though I fell asleep on my desk yesterday at work from exhaustion, I went to the concert of "Arcade Fire" last night and came out more awake than ever before.
Well, instead of telling you all about these things I thought I would tell you about another of my favourite Unusuals.
I don’t have a name for him, this old man who lives on the same street as I do. He is probably around 65 years old, tall and very thin. His face is papery and lined, all the lines are vertical they start somewhere and all go straight down as if water has run down his face for a very long time leaving imprints. He has greyish eyes that are very alert and they look up from under very bushes white eyebrows, every hair in the eyebrows point downward as well so they form a little curtain from under which the eyes peep. To match his very white eyebrows he has a spectacularly bushy white moustache. The moustache is so big and since it also strays straight down it completely hides his mouth.
One morning as I went to work he stood in the tunnel that leads to the underground. This tunnel is one of the most uninspiring and windy places to stand in. It has a dirty yellow floor and even dirtier but glazed yellow tiled walls. The light is bright, hard and white. The length of the tunnel is about 30 metres and it leads into the ticket hall of the underground.
Well as I was saying, one morning at about 6:30 a.m. this man stood there, hands behind his back just staring straight ahead into the wall opposite him.
In the afternoon when I got back from work, he was not there anymore but the next morning - there he stood again, slightly rolling on his feet from heel to toe. He nodded to me and other neighbours whom he recognised.
This behaviour went on for about one week, every morning he stood in the windy tunnel, hands behind back and nodded to people passing by.
Then one morning he had a small keyboard standing next to him. He didn’t touch the keyboard, just stood silently by it.
For a few days he stood next to his keyboard not touching it until one morning as I was walking down the stairs to the tunnel I heard him tinkling on the keys, just one or a couple of tones at a time. Not a tune, just randomly plonking away. The man still nodded seriously to us neighbours as we passed by.
After another week he had increased not only his props with a small mat and a stool on which he sat, but by now he was playing melodies on the keyboard. Nothing too complicated, simple stuff like “When the saints came marching in” or “What a wonderful world”.
Also next to the old mans foot on the dirty floor lay a single red rose wrapped in plastic.
This old man stood in the tunnel every single day for about six months, playing the same tunes over and over again, seriously nodding to his passing neighbours and next to his foot lay the red rose wrapped in plastic.
Beautiful.
Well, instead of telling you all about these things I thought I would tell you about another of my favourite Unusuals.
I don’t have a name for him, this old man who lives on the same street as I do. He is probably around 65 years old, tall and very thin. His face is papery and lined, all the lines are vertical they start somewhere and all go straight down as if water has run down his face for a very long time leaving imprints. He has greyish eyes that are very alert and they look up from under very bushes white eyebrows, every hair in the eyebrows point downward as well so they form a little curtain from under which the eyes peep. To match his very white eyebrows he has a spectacularly bushy white moustache. The moustache is so big and since it also strays straight down it completely hides his mouth.
One morning as I went to work he stood in the tunnel that leads to the underground. This tunnel is one of the most uninspiring and windy places to stand in. It has a dirty yellow floor and even dirtier but glazed yellow tiled walls. The light is bright, hard and white. The length of the tunnel is about 30 metres and it leads into the ticket hall of the underground.
Well as I was saying, one morning at about 6:30 a.m. this man stood there, hands behind his back just staring straight ahead into the wall opposite him.
In the afternoon when I got back from work, he was not there anymore but the next morning - there he stood again, slightly rolling on his feet from heel to toe. He nodded to me and other neighbours whom he recognised.
This behaviour went on for about one week, every morning he stood in the windy tunnel, hands behind back and nodded to people passing by.
Then one morning he had a small keyboard standing next to him. He didn’t touch the keyboard, just stood silently by it.
For a few days he stood next to his keyboard not touching it until one morning as I was walking down the stairs to the tunnel I heard him tinkling on the keys, just one or a couple of tones at a time. Not a tune, just randomly plonking away. The man still nodded seriously to us neighbours as we passed by.
After another week he had increased not only his props with a small mat and a stool on which he sat, but by now he was playing melodies on the keyboard. Nothing too complicated, simple stuff like “When the saints came marching in” or “What a wonderful world”.
Also next to the old mans foot on the dirty floor lay a single red rose wrapped in plastic.
This old man stood in the tunnel every single day for about six months, playing the same tunes over and over again, seriously nodding to his passing neighbours and next to his foot lay the red rose wrapped in plastic.
Beautiful.
Friday, November 02, 2007
The Kid
I had held an hours meeting at work, at which one of the participants was a very unenthusiastic 7 year-old grandchild of one of my colleagues. After the meeting we stayed and chatted for a while. The girl who had been staring at me or rather at the hat I was wearing all through the meeting started to talk.
- Did you make that hat?
- Yes. I actually just finished knitting it just before this meeting.
- What?! Don’t you have a job to do?
- Hehe…yes…I suppose. (my colleagues laugh nastily)
- So how can you knit when you are supposed to work?
- Ehm…well I had ten minutes to spare just before this meeting so I thought I might as well finish. One could say I was having a break.
- Oh!
- Do you like it?
- Yes, very much!
- Thanks.She was silent for a little while before she popped THE question.
- Do you believe in God?Pause, to let my colleagues get a grip of them selves. Then I start to grill her, one can't let kids get the upper hand:
- Wow! That is sort of a difficult question to answer. I do believe in something...
- Why difficult?! Just answer the question “DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD?” Yes or No? (more laughter from colleagues)
- Ok, so what is God?
- It’s an old man who sits on a cloud.
- Ahhh… does he have a long beard?
- Yes a very long grey beard.
- Ok, so No, I do not believe in God.
- Oh you are so stupid…
- So how do you know that God is an old man, maybe it is an old woman?
- Oh now you are even more stupid! It is a man!
- But how do you know?
- Argh! Because I’ve seen him in the newspaper!!
- What, like a picture?
- No, it was an interview.
- Oh?! Ok. So answer this, if he sits on a cloud how come he doesn’t fall through the cloud?
- What do you mean?!
- Well, when you’re in a plane, the plane flies right through the clouds, right?
- Yes?
- Well, so if planes can fly right through clouds don’t you think that God would fall right through the cloud if he was sitting on one?
- You are really stupid aren’t you?
- Ehm…I don’t think so… (colleagues are by now falling off their chairs with
laughter)
- You must be a moron! Well God doesn’t fall through the cloud BECAUSE HE IS MADE OF THE SAME THING AS CLOUDS!!!
- Ohhh!I surrender...
- I think I must go and do some work. See you later!
- Knit or work?
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