Sadness VS. Laughter

I read about mental illness and depression often.  I have imagined I have every aspect of depression out there at one time or another.  In truth I just have a simple case of major depression.

So when I read about sadness, I think, wow --if only.

To paraphrase someone who actually went to school to become a psychologist:

SADNESS isn't just spending the weekend in you pajamas, watching old movies or eating a ton of junk food to cope after a break up, that is the type of sadness called the BLUES.
Also, there is a time frame for all of this sadness.  There is a
window of two weeks, (assumingly to get over it) and if the
sadness goes on past that, then it is called clinical. (Dr. Serani)

I live my life in RELENTLESS depression.  If I charted it.  I would never be a -0- more like a   2-10 range, it is cyclical, and I hate the days where I am past a 5!!

So imagine my surprise, when I was invited to dinner yesterday with old friends and there was laughter. I am happy to report that much of the laughter came from weird and funny thoughts coming from me.  More than one person at the table thought I should do stand-up comedy; and this was without alcohol in my system.

LAUGHTER FEELS SO GOOD.

L. B .S

When I was in high school, my two best friends were Sara, a nice Jewish girl, and Nancy a bi-racial, bi-cultural girl who had been adopted by the Wonder Bread family. Her mom's biological children disliked her immensely and gave her a hard time. Nancy was  good student, a great volunteer, charming and had issues with men who couldn't define her heritage  so mostly treated her like crap.
She was a bit heavy, so always worried about packing on the  LBS as she called it.

Sara had it all, with hard working professional parents, but she was experimenting with drugs, bad boys, and learning how to steal even though she didn't need to do it.  She was wanting me to get into her fun loving, dope smoking ways so she encouraged me to get in stuff with her.

I was a firm 260lbs in high school and Nancy and I went out to the disco several nights per week.  I went on a diet and lost 80 lbs and Nancy's family were shocked. I looked good for the first time and was starting to get asked out on dates.

Sara, invited meto go with her to visit th Upper Penisula of MI to visit her sister on summer.  Her sister was living off the land and getting high a lot.  The had a sauna and an out house because they didn't have any indoor plumbing.  One night in the sauna, Sara saw me naked, freaked, and called me out on what a pig I was.  It made the entre trip take a reality turn.

Nancy and I probably still struggle with our weight, even though I haven't seen her in years.  It is our make up.

My L B S are shamefully high. 

Reality

Why can't I shake this depression?



I believe in Annie. (My Guardian Angel.)


Me:
Never compliment yourself.
Never think you are allowed something nice.
And above all- never hint - about the fairy tale ending you wanted to hear, because it is not going to happen.

I am going for the big reveal.  I BELIEVE IN ANNIE!

Annie:
Annie tells me things like, be happy, negotiate, re-locate, get a new car, get a few other little satisfying toys, and celebrate the big six-0 in a big way. Figure out how to make money. Ignore the crazy stuff in the world.

My friends list has diminished.  Yet I am not really sad about that.

FRIENDS don't last forever.  People who you use to share you deepest feelings with, have a knife handy just to stab you with.  Everyone else is too busy, too sick, to mentally ill, too
isolated to make a friendship worth while.

You can only give them your new phone number so often until you might as well take the hint. Peeps don't give a damn. That goes for the ones you treated like the family you never had and the ones who can not keep their mouth shut... either.
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Even I can Become Speechless

I picture myself as an advocate for "People Like Me" who suffer with depression and I can't believe

the number of encounters I have had recently with so-called  SMART people

who are truly ignorant of depression.

When I get bumped and bruised enough I just shut down.  My artist soul leaves me and my artist voice is silenced. It is a very sad place to be.  I dread telling others about this place I am in because it isn't pretty.

My one sweet friend asked if there was anything she could do.  I told her no.

Let's be honest here.  Depression is for people in pain and ALONE.

There are programs for those with alcohol and drug addictions, and lots of support. The mentally ill at some level have the support of counselors, groups, group homes, and day programs.

There is VERY little for us who have functioned behind a smiling (or not so smiling face) all these years.  We seek the comfort of an intelligent conversation starting with these words--
"Why ME?...."  I have been labeled high functioning.

 I have revealed a little about myself, and to some I have deep regrets.

 I was bullied.

 I have learned to ask why and more importantly, to ask why are people judging me?

ART is my voice.  When it is silent, it tells me times are truly hard. 

FINALLY Some Art Work

I've been playing around with quilted circles and flower themes.  -Works in Progress-   A mix of hand-dyed, or commercial fabric, hand painted, layered, couched threads, other applications.
Artist  Cathy Jeffers  Art Quilts and MixeD MediA  2016

  

Cathy at work on her sewing machine. Pfaff Rules!

 

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#rewards of creating   #artist   #quilting in the round