. . . I miss you so much.
There is a key element of Clinical Depression that those who have never truly experienced it, will never be able to understand.
* * * * * * We don’t care anymore * * * * * *
We have lost all ability to be tied to this ‘life; with all it’s injustices, beauty, struggles, awe, pain, wonder & heartbreak. We eventually get to a point where we come to truly ‘see’ the world for what it is. We see how intricate and yet insignificant human life is compared to the whole cosmos. We see how incredibly beautiful Mother Nature is and yet how finite her existence really is.
Those of use with long-term Clinical Depression struggle for years and then decades with the knowledge that we have obtained; having survived existential crises & eventual understanding of the issue of Globalisation and those who really hold the power in this world & enduring day-to-day despite the saturating pessimism from mainstream media.
We come to a point where Death is not only no longer feared but is also anticipated with some favour. Because we see it as a sweet release from all that we now understand and feel. Life is not seen as a gift or precious – it is seen in it’s unembellished true self . . . .
Life does not have meaning.
We are not here for a purpose.
None of us is more or less important than any person currently alive, dead or yet to be born.
There is no evidence that any of us will have a lasting impression on the Universe.
And when you survive Clinical Depression – as I have for twenty nine years – you understand that life is meant to be lived. That is our only purpose!
And if we cannot live – with it’s inherent gifts of joy, love, hope and happiness – then we should stop living.
It is no more convoluted or simple than that.
I understand why someone, known most passionately for making people laugh his whole life, would want to be dead. For him you see, life had already ended.
I did something last night, that I have never done in my whole life.
I’ve never even contemplated it.
After a MASSIVE day running my Busselton Creative Co-Op, I was left physically and mentally spent. I could barely lift my feet into the car to drive away.
And when I turned to to pull my seat belt on, I just couldn’t do it.
I was exhausted.
And so I drove five streets home, without my seatbelt on.
I felt totally exposed the whole way home.
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Yesterday morning at 8:30am, the husband of a friend of mine lost his life.
He was surfing at a famous beach.
My town has an unfortunate history of deaths in water. Most of them via shark attacks. All of them were either surfing or diving. I’ve personally known three of them.
I have no idea, yet, how my friend’s husband died yesterday, he may simply have had a bad fall onto the reef.
It will create a massive chasm in my friend’s life. And her two young sons no longer have their Daddy.
I feel sick.
. . . and it felt good.
Then I posted two letters – yep letters AND one of them was HAND WRITTEN. I also took 61 photos for a post on my creative Blog, that will take me two days to compose. I also made a Malaysian curry and bought a new bottle of gas for my BBQ (so I could make the curry!). And I’ve had the fire going since 4pm, because it’s only 8*C outside.
At one point I actually felt happy. No depression. No sadness. There was even a feeling of hope.
Then tonight, I received a message on FB from someone in my town, who wanted to know how I was travelling. And I answered her honestly, as I broke down in deep, deep sobs.
Because I miss Jack so much and I know I will never cuddle him again and he was the only creature on this Earth to love me wholly and never ask ANYTHING in return.
I miss him so much.
Now I’m crying again and I need to go to bed.
Just 25 days ago, I buried Horatio.
today I buried Jack.
To anyone else, they were just dogs.
Sweet little dogs with their own indiosincracies, but dogs nonetheless.
they were the world.
They helped me survive decades of life-crushing Clinical Depression.
They convinced me on three separate occasions that suicide was not a solution.
One night, fourteen years ago, when Jack was not even one, I was full of despair.
Utterly bereft of hope.
I was sitting on my couch, drinking red wine and crying.
Really, really sobbing.
Jack was sitting by my feet, and as I sobbed – he howled.
He howled like a wolf at the moon. He sat at my feet, and he sang a deep forgotten song from his ancestors. In unison with my own pain.
He had never done it before and has not done it since.
And from that day, he and I have had a bond. A tether bound by sadness and primal sounds.
He became my soulmate.
And I have loved him so deeply.
With every fibre and every breath.
He was such a beautiful dog.
He was more than a dog.
He really was.
This is the last image I have have of him with breath in his body.
So today I dug a hole, and I kissed his cold head and stroked his beautiful soft fur and I said a goodbye. A goodbye that resonates so fiercely that I sob as I type.
My beloved, beautiful Jack.
My life will never be the same.
I will love you forever and ever and ever.
God I miss you so much already.
I wrote the below post a fortnight ago.
I couldn’t publish it,
as the REAL words would not come out.
They were/are stuck.
I am rudderless at the moment.
Adrift on an ocean,
that has nothing but more sea on the horizon.
There are no clouds in the sky and the brightness is headache-inducing.
I am in a sea vessel that has no sails,
nor a rudder.
I am floating and I have no idea where I am going.
Psychiatrist, “Writing a blog about everything that happens to you,
will honestly help you”
John Watson, “Nothing happens to me”
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Do you know who you love without question?
Is there a person or persons in your life, who you love so much that you can’t actually express it?
When I had to euthenase Horatio last Friday,
I wasn’t prepared for what was to come.
I didn’t realise that I had never truly grieved for the death of someone before now.
And I’ve been to plenty of funerals,
and lost a number of ‘loved ones’.
My brother committed suicide when I was 28 (he was 26).
All of my grandparents are dead,
and I was even a pallbearer at my Oupa’s (G.Father) funeral.
My best friend’s grandmother who I knew well.
A child who I had baby sat for years who died of leukaemia.
The adult son of my closest friend here in Busselton.
And I realised this past weekend that I didn’t grieve for any of them.
I didn’t feel any pain at their passing,
or at the thought of never seeing them again.
Their deaths – didn’t touch me.
But Horatio’s did.
On Tuesday I had the opportunity to attend a free seminar in Perth,
about building a strong and powerful business in today’s Social Media Age.
I drove up the night before
– it’s 250 kms from my town –
and stayed at my Mum’s unit in South Perth.
(Which is a drama all in itself!)
The next morning I rose at 6:30,
got ready and then walked 3 or so kilometres
to the ferry jetty.
When I came over one of the hills in my walk to the jetty
the above sight greeted me.
It was so calm and peaceful,
and it instantly made me wonder
just how many beautiful elements in our days
All the amazing and lovely images that our eyes scan
but discard as unimportant
simply because we see them each day.
And it made me think of Horatio.
I named Horatio when I met him the first day at just 9 days old.
He was the runt of the litter,
yet he was the first to open his eyes, move away from the mother and explore his surroundings.
He just did his own thing.
I know it’s a dodgy photo,
but too bad!