*Draft*
Sometimes it's the simple things in life that us ordinary city folk seem to struggle with.
Like what to do with your umbrella when walking the crowded city streets. Just how hard can it be, I hear you ask? Hmm. Too hard for some. Thankfully, I've managed to distill an otherwise complex issue down to two easy rules:
Rule Number 1. How to carry a folded, or unopened umbrella. If your name is James Bond you may tuck your umbrella under your arm so that the point is aimed, chest high, at the person walking behind you. You can then vary the speed of your progress in order to stab these unfortunates through the heart.
If, however, your name is not James Bond then carry the damn thing with the point facing the ground.
Rule Number 2. How to carry an unfolded, or opened umbrella. In the normal course of events this will indicate that rain is falling. Which will, for some reason, inflict most people with a maniacal desire to rush around, cross against the lights, and bustle their way to the front of traffic light queues whilst simultaneously playing with their phone and generally just not paying the world attention. When people do all of this with an umbrella in one hand they unwittingly place themselves in the great city umbrella derby. These derbies are characterised by sudden (and often violent) clashes of umbrellas in the crowded congregation points of the city. And the increased risk of someone being poked in the eye..
In the face of this potential carnage, you can really only do one thing to avoid maiming a stranger. Raise your arm and thrust your brolly high. Come on people, it's not that difficult..
Monday, April 29, 2013
Black Dog
*Draft*
I've spent my fair share of time with the emotional dejection we usually describe as depression. Oh yes, I had a real good go at it and for far too long.
The first thing requiring understanding is that being depressed is extremely hard work. It's a full-time occupation. Slackers need not apply, this is no nine to five position. It requires your unwavering attention, from eyes-open in the morning to eyes-shut late at night. I suspect a master's thesis requires less commitment.
Everything that you read and hear about it is true. The imagery of the black dog, the dark clouds; the feeling of helplessness; an inability to see a way forward. Worse, though, is the experience of feeling nothing at all. A standard day to day social interaction becomes a chore. The chance conversation with a stranger. The ordering of a coffee. The purchase of a good or service. All are a minefield to the emotionally dejected. Being weighed down by negativity does not assist with the niceties of greeting and small talk. It becomes a case of getting in and getting out while hoping for the least amount of conversation. It got to the point where I would dread being asked how I was, as I couldn't of course tell the truth - that's not part of the socially accepted contract. We always say we are 'well' or 'fine'. It is bad manners to reveal otherwise.
It's easier to hide it from friends and family. You become a master of emotional disguise. Or you simply lie. Living alone helps. When you withdraw from the social scene you can plead tiredness or play at being a homebody. In fact this tactical withdrawal is one of the simpler exercises you will face. Once you master that and establish your solitude you are free to play with the dejection and surrender to the voices in your head. Except that you don't. You do nothing. You are essentially paralysed, rooted to the chair or the couch or the bed. Whether you're being entertained by TV, music or a book, nothing really penetrates. The horrible status quo never changes. The misery is endless.
What they don't tell you is what you must face at the final hurdle. When the door to your soul re-opens and the sunlight finally returns. When the frost begins to melt. When the birds fly back and break again into song. Relapse.
It's not over 'til it's over..
I've spent my fair share of time with the emotional dejection we usually describe as depression. Oh yes, I had a real good go at it and for far too long.
The first thing requiring understanding is that being depressed is extremely hard work. It's a full-time occupation. Slackers need not apply, this is no nine to five position. It requires your unwavering attention, from eyes-open in the morning to eyes-shut late at night. I suspect a master's thesis requires less commitment.
Everything that you read and hear about it is true. The imagery of the black dog, the dark clouds; the feeling of helplessness; an inability to see a way forward. Worse, though, is the experience of feeling nothing at all. A standard day to day social interaction becomes a chore. The chance conversation with a stranger. The ordering of a coffee. The purchase of a good or service. All are a minefield to the emotionally dejected. Being weighed down by negativity does not assist with the niceties of greeting and small talk. It becomes a case of getting in and getting out while hoping for the least amount of conversation. It got to the point where I would dread being asked how I was, as I couldn't of course tell the truth - that's not part of the socially accepted contract. We always say we are 'well' or 'fine'. It is bad manners to reveal otherwise.
It's easier to hide it from friends and family. You become a master of emotional disguise. Or you simply lie. Living alone helps. When you withdraw from the social scene you can plead tiredness or play at being a homebody. In fact this tactical withdrawal is one of the simpler exercises you will face. Once you master that and establish your solitude you are free to play with the dejection and surrender to the voices in your head. Except that you don't. You do nothing. You are essentially paralysed, rooted to the chair or the couch or the bed. Whether you're being entertained by TV, music or a book, nothing really penetrates. The horrible status quo never changes. The misery is endless.
What they don't tell you is what you must face at the final hurdle. When the door to your soul re-opens and the sunlight finally returns. When the frost begins to melt. When the birds fly back and break again into song. Relapse.
It's not over 'til it's over..
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