Just listen to me.

Reading about a blogger's angst and blues used to fascinate me. What lies beneath the keen observations, witty remarks, and those beautiful words that exude so much soul? (And conversely, what more of the same, behind mundane observations and monotonous words?) Are there unfulfilled dreams and fears? Vulnerability? A human face behind the reflective screen?

These people who also found some amount of catharsis in writing gave me something to identify with; made me feel less freaky; not so alone after all.

Then, along the way, I lost / forgot / resolved (delete where applicable) much of my angst and anger among my own words. And it started to get painful reading about other bloggers' blues. Particularly so, when day after day, the long-drawn struggle with depression continues, nowhere near resolution. Sometimes, I just "switch off" - a mixture of disinterest and impatience.

I can only liken it to the wastelands of Mordor, the seemingly never-ending final moments when Frodo and Sam struggle up the Mountains of Doom. (I remember trying to ignore the spasms of my marathon-unworthy bladder, and furtive glances behind showed a restless toilet queue that showed no signs of abating. Wriggling my vulnerable bladder past another six people down the row didn't sound like a good idea either.)


I don't want to go back again

They say you will always have your family and friends. People who will help you find your way.

But, during those anxiety attacks, when your breath quickens, and your heart starts to beat faster, and you become aware of the CHANGE, and you suddenly forget how to breathe, you are always the first to know. And you are the only one who can ride it out, white-knuckled, screaming on the roller-coaster of your emotions. At night, when your family and friends are snuggled up in their cozy beds, you will slip into your restless dreams, where the hungry fingers of your patient fears will reach for you the moment you descend into the darkness. Just you.

It is painful to re-live the difficulty of dealing with depression. You don't want to remember the hopelessness. Manoeuvring those all too familiar dark passages. Alone. Crawling along the dankness of your frustration. Crying to no one. Telling yourself, just that little more strength to hold yourself together, because "there" is always just around the corner. Only your voice. And yet, never knowing when, or if ever, you'll see the light. Your way out.

Most of all, you don't want to remember your unbridled envy and resentment of those kindly faces and comforting arms, their undisturbed sleep, and their sanity. You know your family and friends cannot be there for you all the time. They have their own lives to get on with, and sometimes, drained of their own emotional strength, they can grow tired of you, and long to retreat to their own uncomplicated lives, which leaves you alone, again. Still, you know, deep inside, that nobody can ever truly be "there" with you - inside your head.

But, sometimes, I wonder if having dragged myself over the edge of the pits, that I've become less patient with people who haven't gotten there yet.

You see, at the end of the day, you, and only you, can make the choice. And you make it, every day, every hour, every minute. Until, you find your light.


You don't have to say anything

Still, people will always need a listening ear. And on the internet, the world are your ears (and eyes). Even if they are just silent lurkers.


Voices in my head

It's always interesting to listen to our recorded voices. We never do sound like what we THINK we do, do we? (Or maybe I need to get my ears checked. Heh.)

In the past few months, I've tried to be less of the Bastard Admin Lady (who is very intimidating, trust me), and have taken to less monosyllabic Yes-No responses and those icy silences - easily achieved by answering the telephone with a poker face - and just be NICE (read: more friendly, accommodating and sympathetic).

Still, I was totally taken aback when I heard a few of my taped telephone conversations, whilst testing the sensitivity of a dictaphone on Saturday morning. The chirpy schoolgirl is back. Gaaarrrhhh!!! (This explains one too many prolonged teleconversations with strangers, and partly, the baby-talk from someone.)

Mind, I don't think I actually sound like that in person. Erm, do I?