Look before I start let me make it clear. Everyone loves a tragedy. Shakespeare made a career spanning half a millennia out of writing some of the most heart-wrenching tragedies ever put to paper. Humans, as a species, seem compelled to get the popcorn and take a comfortable seat when someone else’s life is imploding. Perhaps it’s the distance from our own lives, or the Tall Poppy Syndrome the media love to talk about while tearing people apart. Whatever the reason tragedy sells papers and magazines, and ensures television ratings.
In a post the other day I mentioned how for some people taking a shower can be a major achievement. Add shaving their face and it becomes a cause for celebration. When you’re caught in loops inside your own brain, actually moving is a cause for a full on parade. It can be difficult to untangle yourself from your own thoughts.
I can’t remember a Christmas over the past decade or so that hasn’t ended in tears. The overwhelming sense of life passing me by, people who once were so important gone forever, family members who were the life of the party silenced.
Depression isn’t a new topic to this blog. Actually I’ve probably written it to death if I’m 100% honest. But it is a part of who I am and the struggle to sometimes be more than a diagnosis is hard to achieve.
The other day I made the comment in my blog – and during a telephone conversation – that it’s next to impossible to drown your inner demons when the bastards have learnt how to swim. It got me thinking on ways to deal with your inner problems in healthier and – in the long term – sustainable way than reaching for a shelf of wine every time the shit hits the fan.