012: BRIEF MORNING UPDATE
The Integrity in Depression
I wake up this morning not knowing what—not knowing anything. Maybe that’s a Zen Buddhist way to be—just that I am.
I had said before that I do what I do without worrying about my popularity, and not worrying about hit counts, and shares. It was and still is a large part of my own mental mission statement for all that I do these days—from my blogging, to podcasting to music, film, art, art, art…
I never look back at my still-open door to take over a very large financial firm whenever I might decide, and I have made my decision long ago. It won’t change. I do have a rare talent for making good financial decisions; I still own a million shares of the Google IPO, for example—it’s worth, well, a lot. It’s out of my control—the money—and that’s all I’ll say about that—money—but only to segue into the ‘out of my control’ part and combine it with ‘I am’—perhaps.
I could probably just come up with some well-thought out quote about love or purity and say that Gandhi or the Buddha said it—it would likely get shared and liked across he web much more than if it came from me, which is to say that this is a credibility issue [perhaps my own issue] or a matter of trusting sources. Integrity.
I do know that I both have a lot of talents and that my conditions with schizoaffective disorder, personality disorder [NOS] and PTSD hinder many of my talents from shining as much as I’d like them to—I’d really like them to.
I seem to never be satisfied. 27 million hits on Porcelain Utopia “should be” 127 million. If there were 10 it should be 1,000. Yet I stick to my mission, and do what I do—just to acknowledge that it was so much more thrilling when Porcelain Utopia was receiving 500,000 hits per day sometimes, and now just a couple thousand, if that much.
Depression sinks in. And there have been many times when the thought comes in that ‘I’m not suicidal, but I wish that I was.’ Does that make sense? It’s true. Not a death wish, but rather the continuously resurfacing feeling that I just want all the turmoil that my plethora of illnesses bring to stop. Not my life—not at all.
I’ve spent the majority of the weekend in a state of almost complete lethargy and apathy. I could barely talk, barely speak and barely get up.
Paranoia was there, yes, but other than that, if anything, the best way to describe my symptoms were, and actually still are quite a bit, that I was deeply disturbed and troubled. Not even confused, but sort of. I knew my surroundings. I knew what things were and where they were. I knew I had to take my medicine, eat, shower, and tend to my kittens. Yet, inside, as there were no voices, no hallucinations, nothing like that—a deep sense of feeling lost was ever-present and is just beginning to wane—yet hardly so. Not to depress you, or bring you down to where misery loves miserable company… No, I’m just blogging, just writing out my thoughts, trying to make sense of things, no rush, no rules, just writing. Nothing I need to worry about. Again, I’m self-helping. I’m choosing and deciding. I’m wanting, yearning and losing.
Losing, I’m thinking more in the New Age way, that perhaps—and perhaps this is just another whimsical thought—but that my ego might be surrendering. God, would I love to lose that damn ego. The ego in the sense that no past, no future—just thoughts—unwanted thoughts—all gone—the ones that are basically nonsense and not needed.
I just have to keep on going, and as I preach, to see it all as an adventure.
This depression, the fear, the deeply-rooted ‘I don’t understand…’ anything—I have my self, and for now, I might be depressed, but at least…
I am Jonathan.
May we all remain as centered as possible.