Crash – part 2

I think that the other part of why I’ve been hit so hard on this occasion by the Black Dog (Other than my occasional habit of carrying sausages in my pocket – must stop doing that) is the feeling from various sources of not even being noticed. In contrast to that, the responses from the first part of Crash have been hugely appreciated, and thanks to all who have written anything. Some of the kind words there have left me virtually speechless, and I can’t really express my thanks for them.

On the flip side of that, some of the people I’ve been closest to for years have been found to be deeply wanting this year. “Friends” who I speak to at least weekly, if not more often, and who simply haven’t noticed (or at least haven’t commented on) the descent. Some of those have crowed before that they can read me like a book, that they’re great with people and can get to the root of any problem. That their interest and study of psychology means that they’d never miss obvious signs; that they’re so “tuned in” to me (and others) that they’ll “simply know” if anything’s wrong. And while I admit I don’t normally wear my depression on the sleeve (it’s too heavy, and pulls the fabric horrendously) then equally I haven’t gone to any great efforts to conceal it. But it’s been missed all the same.

It’s something where I’m still not quite sure how to handle the situation. Perhaps the depression isn’t helping that decision either – in some ways it’s like a nagging demon on one shoulder saying “Well, they don’t really give a fuck about you, so why bother sticking around to get hurt again?” At the same time, it also says “Well, you know that people don’t really notice much outside their own spheres, so you should be more vocal when you need help” – another notch in the ego.

Admitting my truly black periods is something I’ve never been good at. Many many reasons for it, but when all’s said and done I’m either too independent, or too insecure to ask for help. I know that in the end I will deal with this period the same as I’ve dealt with all the others, without help, without exterior support – because it’s what I’m used to, I expect people to let me down, to not be there when they’ve said they will be. Part of the reason to not ask for help is because I don’t believe it will actually be there, and so asking for it is a self-negating proposition, and just leaves me feeling worse, and more let-down. Also, in my own strange brain, I don’t feel that help should be asked-for. It’s where I possibly expect too much from close friends, to hope that help would be freely-given, that it shouldn’t need to be requested. I hate asking for help, admitting that weakness that says “I can’t handle this at the moment”. With my own friends, I try to not put them in that position, I want to offer the help, relaxation, stress-relief etc., and not have to be asked to provide it. These situations are stressful enough, and people feel inadequate enough during depression and stress without having to come cap-in-hand to friends for some guidance in how to get through. Well, I know that’s how I feel, and I’d hate for those people I care about to feel in any way as low as I do when asking for assistance, for help, to admitting that I can’t fight on my own.

Yet at the end of the day, that’s what it always comes back to. Self-reliance. And each cycle of this, every time it happens, it leaves me more self-reliant. Each let-down, each sin of omission is another brick in the wall, another layer to the defences, another slice of “no-one was there for me, the only way to get through was to rely on myself”. It makes me more loath to ask for help next time, because each time I ask for it, and it’s not given, it’s just another scar to add to the collection. And frankly, I’ve got enough scars already.

Those scars, those healed-over (but not actually fixed) wounds, they’re all still there as reminders of what should have been, what could have been, but what ultimately wasn’t. (That’s lousy English/Grammar, but it conveys what I want). Luckily for the most part they’re scars on the psyche, not on the body – but there are enough that are physical, that I can see. Another form of self-harm, the compulsive picking at wounds in order to make sure they leave a permanent reminder. Each one is there for a reason, even if the original cause wasn’t particularly related.

The other really stupid thing is that in some ways this post is inherently pointless. The people I’m thinking off, for all their supposed interest in what I do and so on, don’t even read d4d™. They know of it, but (to my knowledge – I’m working on the theory that they’ve never commented about d4d™, either here, or as in “oh, I saw you say about that the other day” in conversation) don’t even bother to look at it. To some degree I find even that hurtful, that for all the lipservice paid, for all the “of course we’re friends, of course I’m interested” there’s not even the effort made to read, or bookmark.

So – do I feel bitter about that kind of behaviour? Sometimes, yes, I can’t deny it. Unfortunately that also makes me feel crap and selfish, of putting my own wants/desires in front of other peoples, but at some point logic kicks in and says “Yeah, but fuck that, you’re only human – we all want that to some degree or other“. Is it too much to ask for? To actually want (split infinitive and all) the actions to match the words? To want friends who do what they say they will? To be able to say “I’m not doing well, and don’t know if I can get through this period” without the accompanying fear/expectation of seeing those “friends” running for the horizon just as quick as they can? (Even during the writing of this, I’ve had a phone call with exactly that scenario:
“I’m doing this, I’m doing that, I’m doing the other, how’re you?“
“Not good, to be honest – hitting breaking point”
“Right, well, I’ve got to be off, people want to talk to me“)

Or is it just selfish,and I should be, if not content with my lot, then at least just more comfortable with being self-reliant, and just figuring that some of my “friend”s are just self-obsessed lying bastards?

Oh Arse

I knew there’d be something I’d forgotten when it came to swapping mobile numbers, and getting rid of the Three phone. What I’d failed to recall – and this really is a rather relevant point for it to have fallen off the back of my brain – is that all my business cards have a phone number on. Guess which one it is?

Oh absolute twadge.

BO

I’d just like to point out that today, by 9:30am, my boss stinks like a week-dead roadkill skunk.

While unpleasant (to understate the point by several orders of magnitude) I still find myself slightly in awe of someone who can smell that bad by first thing in the week. God help us all by Friday…

Sweary Supremacy

<worship>
The perfect set of swears – NOT safe for work.
</worship>

Twadge Mug

Finally, after one “lost in the post” farce, the first Twadge! mug has arrived. And reet chuffed with it I am, too.

It’s not perfect – the image for the next one will be much larger, as this one obviously had to be blown up to fit (pixellation on the diagonals of the 4 are the main giveaway) but that’s the perfectionist in me speaking. As with several of my own ideas and photos, it’s only when I point out the “defect” that anyone else really notices it.

Also, in a seperate branding-related incident, the Scary-Tshirt has arrived. Yay! So for the blogmeet in a couple of week’s time, I shall be wearing a white t-shirt with DCUK on the front. Should stand out…

Reel Big Fish / Goldfinger
Manchester Academy 1

And lo, it came to pass that it was time to attend my first gig of the year. From now, it’s utter gig madness for the next couple of months, putting the average back up to a rough parallel of last year’s gig listing. (18 or so)

Goldfinger were first up (there were two bands prior, but we didn’t get to see them, due to epic disorganisation – the same reason there’s no photos) and were pretty good, although very much a generic LA/California “punk” band. Quite fun, but nothing to write home about. As appears to be normally the case, their sound setup was OK, but not really all that great. They performed with loads of energy, (including getting the crowd to support the singer as he stepped out into the audience – brave move!) but for me ultimately this sound is becoming very formulaic again, and it’s hard to tell the difference on occasion between a variety of bands.

Reel Big Fish on the other hand are a ska/punk band, and much more fun. As soon as they hit the stage, the star quality shines through loud and clear. They played all the crowd’s favourites, and really were just bloody good. It’s hard to identify where they differ from other bands of the same ilk – I suppose the other band they resemble the most for me is Barenaked Ladies. Both seem to have a habit of dragging people up from the audience to be on stage (although this was nearly misguided when one of the brass section discovered that the girl he’d been drinking, smoking and dancing with while she danced in her overloaded bra was actually only 15), talking/chatting between band members (and to the audience) between songs (favourite line : “Look, piss off throwing bottles at me. Just because your girlfriend’s more interested in me than she is in you”) and generally carrying off the idea that they were there to have a good time, rather than just perform songs.

This appears to still be a very American/Canadian trait, most of the UK bands I’ve seen tend to be more music-oriented, and stay slightly removed from the audience. It’s just a difference in philosophies, but it makes things interesting.

Overall, a pretty good gig, and I have to say, it’s good to be back, and to come back to a decent one.

Next week : Zero 7 (caution : link only appears to work “properly” in IE)

Crash

I’ve a feeling this may be one post that doesn’t last long on the site. Then again, I may leave it here, just as a reminder. I don’t know yet. Those four words appear to be one of the tenets of the last few weeks.

There’s been a lot of stuff going on over the last few weeks. Months, in fact. Since last November/December time, there’s been a resurgence in my depression. My workload has exploded, which hasn’t helped matters – sometimes it feels like there’s no escape, that there hasn’t really been time off at all. Yes, I took time out in January – but all the same, the work was still there on the horizon, deadlines getting closer, and although I needed the space, it still wasn’t relaxing. All the same, it was needed.

But since then, it’s ramped up again. Workload is my version of self-harm, it’s the way I have of dealing with depression – or attempting to. Like self-harm, it’s a quick fix, a diversion activity. Long-term it’s ultimately unsuccessful, but still there’s the compulsion to do it.

The depression has built up further over the last fortnight or so – I don’t know why, no real clues or triggers have been present. It’s not seasonal, because the days are (at long last) getting longer again. Instead it’s just a feeling of being constantly in demand, feeling depleted because of that, and perhaps with little to no headspace. I’ve started doing something about it, removing some of the people from my Messenger friends list who have proved that any “friendship” has been one-sided. Maybe that’s nasty, to simply walk away from people, not even letting them know that I’m doing it, but there we go. Needs must when the Black Dog drives. (or rides – whichever. I can never remember that one properly)

Of course, it’s still there – it doesn’t disappear overnight, or with the application of one or two simple measures. My head is still in it’s ever-decreasing cycle, knowing that it’s depressed, yet unable to break out of the thought processes that are a facet of the depression. It’s a downward spiral – and experience has shown me many times that this spiral is one it’s better to ride than to fight. It does end, it does wear off, but if I try to derail it early, it just builds in the background, and eventually comes back far worse. It’s no fun – I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, or even on Blair – but even though at the moment I want to curl up and die (or alternatively simply destroy myself – but that’s not really an option, although it’s bloody tempting on occasion) I know that ultimately I will get through this, same as I have many times before.

And yet…

Ah yes – the flip side. I don’t like the depression – as I said, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But at the same time, it’s vicious, my words flow more when I’m depressed than they do in the normal flow of things. I can write more easily, the ideas spring out fully-fludged, and the creativity surges even while my will to live ebbs. I’m going to be using the time to work through some ideas while also still working on trying to find the balance between depression/creativity and sanity/normality. I don’t want to be like this all the time – I don’t know that I’d last a year.

I need the time out – come July, once the contract with the council is finished, I’m going to take a month out if at all possible, use it as recovery time. I want to write more, I want to see how that side of things develops. But more than anything else I just want the time out, the time to sort my head out again, to break away from this mental downward spiral. We’ll see how it goes.

I’m not going to hiate d4d™, mainly because it’s one of my connections to reality, and those are much needed right now. As for everything else, well, only time will tell.