- Age / Gender:
- 35, Female
- Eugene, OR
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Eclectic, painfully passionate; desperately happy. On occasion, running through a maddening Hall of Myriad Mirrors looking for a sledge hammer to break free. My art in motion include piano playing, drawing, writing, & watching and listening to people.
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My thoughts and prayers to those involved...
I do not wish to go too deep into this topic for personal reasons, but it is important. And Markiplier's message triggered certain memories for me. Depression is a real battle within a person's mind, and, sadly, it is an elusive killer. Memories are like portals: anything can become a "trigger", thrusting the mind back to that moment, over and over and over. In lieu of trauma or repressed memories of trauma, the mind fragments and disassociates to protect itself, yet it is at this time the mind may become vulnerable to obsessive thinking that can lead to delusion. Depression is a wicked and silent killer because it attacks the heart at its core. It attacks the painfully passionate--it's elusive because the "painfully passionate" often give and love so much to fill the emptiness they may have inside them, though they may not realize this. Hence, their "happiness" is out of desperation, not only to fill the emptiness but to keep their friends and loved-ones from suspicion. Furthermore, the constant feeling of the sufferer being "painfully passionate" and "desperately happy" is exhausting to the point of utter "helplessness" and disillusionment. This all happens under the noses of their health-minded friends. That is why others are often shocked and confused when they find out the "happy", "loving" person was suffering from depression, and become confused as to why they could commit such a "selfish act." It is a sad irony, but the truth is to those whose mind is afflicted by depression, death becomes a sort of "revelation" in their delusion.
From this point on I shall stop writing this blog in the third person plural. The truth is I began writing this in that form and using quote marks to disassociate myself. I mean it when I say: "I was there." Though I will be vague about the details and "triggers", I shall say this: when I "was there", there were certain events throughout my twenties that challenged my ideals; one day all my ideals shattered; day by day my mind virtually tried to pick up the pieces on my own; in doing so, dangerous thinking began to enter when my mind could make no sense to the "madness", repeatedly saying: "This is a nightmare--a living nightmare"--then like a "revelation" a new thought entered: "If it's a living nightmare death is the answer to waking up." To my sick mind, that "revelation" made more sense than the "madness" my mind was confronting with at the time.
Here I must emphasize that my purpose for sharing this is not to be morose, but to show that you, dear sufferer, are not alone-- that there is always hope and a way out. Every ONE is different because every MIND is different, thus must be handled case-by-case. If you are a sufferer and are reading this, know that it takes a separate mind (a.k.a. other people willing to help) to work with you in recognizing your "triggers" and shoot them down. Though the healing process may cause those "triggers" to resurface, you have a professional by your side to guide your thoughts toward healthful thinking. Once you and your professional helper calls out the "trigger" for what it is, rather than hiding in the "shadows of the subconscious" tormenting your poor mind, it is under the "spotlight" and in your line-of-sight!
And, finally, to those who have not been afflicted with chronic depression, think twice before calling a suicide victim of depression "selfish", for more likely in the depression-afflicted mind their deed was "compassionate"--hence, the phrase "painfully passionate". It is an illness that needs to be approached with the discreet understanding of a clam, sound mind.
With that, I shall conclude with a couple poems I had written. The first was written in response to Robin William's passing, which at the time I was still suffering. The second is a poem I wrote about my childhood friend who passed away, Chrystal [MacCoone] Patton (1982-2003), which was the "first shattering" in my life.
Just another day
A Monday, a work day
Just another day
Another precious, passing day
A passing smile throughout the day
To keep the sadness well hid
To laugh is to cry
For a clown
Who makes the world laugh
With his laugh
His smile, charming,
The silent crying
Yes, it’s just another day…
A day in a world the laughter fell
THE CHRYSTAL ROSE
We played in the garden in summer one day,
With all the flowers in bloom,
I asked, “What flower you favor most?”
To which you answered, “The rose.”
How boring!—my young mind thought
For it seemed quite common a theme
For the Rose to reign supreme
But now I’m older, and with you gone
I see the wonder of it now
The velvet petal folds
Contrast the thorny stem to hold
As a reflection of you and me
And all its grotesque beauty
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Total Medals Earned: 4 (From 1 different game.)