Picture yourself on a nice, sunny day, under a big, shady tree, digging a hole to plant some flowers. You take your little shovel and dig, and you soon find some roots in your way. Over-enthusiastic growth, yes; difficult to remove, yes. But removable with effort. You dig them out, you plant your flowers, and … Continue reading Some twisted roots unearthed among the leaves of an old diary.
Tag: self-criticism
Is it you, or is it me? Struggling with a fictional character.
My protagonist’s boyfriend has been secretly begging me to allow him to cheat on her. I didn't want things to be this way but unless she shapes up, there may not be a happy ending. I may have to do something we both might not like. What was meant to be a portrait of depression … Continue reading Is it you, or is it me? Struggling with a fictional character.
As P!nk aptly put it… Don’t let me get me
Guilt. Ineptitude. Stupidity. Immorality. Shame. Imposture. These aren’t really all that different when you think about it, right? Just the variety of tactics that the one and the same inner critic uses to help us destroy ourselves. Scratch that: “critic” is too nice of a word. “Monster” or “demon” is more like it. Who knows … Continue reading As P!nk aptly put it… Don’t let me get me
How to unwaste wasted time?
To the depressed out there, do you have a trigger flush that sends you swirling down the toilet along with all your shitty thoughts? And when you're swirling around, do you mistake the shit for yourself? I don't know about you, but I really don't want to do that anymore. And if you don't want … Continue reading How to unwaste wasted time?
Plowing through depression while planting gratitude.
T.S. Eliot wrote that “April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.” I would submit that spring is the cruelest season. But it doesn't need to be. Farmers plow their fields each spring, while we the depressed plow … Continue reading Plowing through depression while planting gratitude.
Who the Hell Knows? 
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