Forget About It

There isn’t anything special about today. It’s Sunday which is a nice rest day for many people, but since my unemployment kicked in, I have been struggling to remember what day it is. After all those years of Monday, waiting for Friday, I’m lost.

I am a control person, meaning of course, I like to have everything neatly piled on my desk and ready to go. I do not line up my pencils; I stick them in a cup, but even with my classes and the book I’m trying to write, no I should say writing because it passed through as a grad thesis from two professors who liked it. Prof Ulrich told me to “shape the dissonance into a dance,” and so I did, but it’s only 114 pages, and there is more.

Much more.

And I think the piece that has stymied my is writing about the effect of depression for the last few years. I feel empty and it’s a lot easier to stuff bad thoughts and bad things from the past deep deep down. In fact, I throw them down the well, the dark part of my mind.

I thought, after my suicide attempt I had sunk as far down as possible. But no, there is more, like a cave ledge. You throw a small stone over the side, and listen to it fall, water dripping all around you, and after a few moments, you realize the stone is still falling and you will, too, if you jump. I wonder what’s at the very bottom of an endless chasm. Is it only endless to us because we can’t hear the stone falling anymore? But imagine, it must stop somewhere! The only way to find out is to jump, and I’m not ready to do that. I’m not brave enough.

adult adventure blue jeans boots
Photo by Josh Willink on

Not Normal

I am not normal and never have I been.

I tried throughout high school and just managed to play on the cusp of the social “elites,” but I had better friends on my own. At least until 1971. I don’t know that these people will ever know what an impact they made on my life, but I name them with love: Joyce Myer, David Dietz, Jane Chandler, Brad Lauderman, Marie Mease, Deb Sonnen, Mike Kreider, and Donna Schmeck.

When my family transferred to Indiana just before my junior year, I was devastated and terribly homesick. You would think I would have had a time of adjustment, but I never adjusted. I came from a small high school class of under three hundred and became part of a class of 750. I did try so hard to make friends, but something else was working against me, a hidden darkness that I would battle for the rest of my life: depression. The serious kind.

I would not know the name of my mental enemy until 1990, when I was in my thirties and finally received treatment. I was lucky because my depression went into remission for about ten years. It came back ferociously, and I fight it every day.

I am so filled with sorrow to read about the rise in teen suicides, which in part, have been elevated by social media. People “say” things via text, email, Facebook. and all the other platforms that I believe THEY WOULD NEVER DARE SAY IN PERSON!

My heart goes out to all the young people who are being bullied and taken down by comments on social media. I, too, was bullied. I was in seventh grade, and a girl named Debbie pushed me into my locker and stalked me to and from school. A teacher watched me being thrown against a classroom door and said nothing. My mother told me to ignore Debbie, and she would go away. She didn’t, but she got tired of me and moved on to someone else. Even though I wasn’t hurt by social media (because it didn’t exist), I will always REMEMBER HOW IT FELT TO BE BULLIED.

I am now a grandmother, but if you need a place to vent or talk, please comment on my blog. I promise I check it daily, and I will help you. Please don’t kill yourself. Please don’t let anyone talk you into killing yourself. You have control of your life. You are the boss of you. Talk to me if you like. We will find help. Sending out a virtual hug to anyone who needs it,


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