(no subject)
Friday, October 3rd, 2003 11:43 amYou ever get the feeling that the more you try to clarify something, the more you confuse the issue? I never get that feeling. Nope, never, and especially not this morning.
Friday, October 3rd, 2003
Communication.
Friday, October 3rd, 2003 10:19 pmI really wish I were better at it.
Today I finally made a phone call I should have made a week ago. Tonight, since I'd had to leave a message on an answering machine, the call was returned. (No, this is not what the earlier post was about.) So one of my brothers and I had a conversation which should have been about some important things--and it was, sort of. But he clearly has no idea what to make of the problems I've been having this year. He gave good advice (for a change, heh), all of it advice I would love to be able to take because it's all advice I'd been giving myself anyway, and I couldn't explain to him why some things got to the state they're in.
The problem is that we don't have the language for depression in our family. We have ways of expressing anger, frustration, pain, happiness, silliness, the active feelings in general. But we don't have words for depression. We can theorize about it for a while, but expressing something which leads to nothing is next to impossible. If there's no activity, there's nothing to talk about. Depression isn't active. Come to think of it, we also have no way to speak about contentment.
As I took a break from typing to do other things, the same brother called again and left a message on my machine. After our earlier discussion about X (X here stands for something impossible to do until the work week), he leaves a message on the machine stating that I'll have to do Y this weekend--Y being something which can't be done without X. Not going into details here, but anyone who believes that someone with an IQ score in the Mensa zone always acts intelligently really should study my family where we (myself included) regularly prove otherwise.
It's taking forever to type this post. Words go careening from one part of my brain to the other, and I never know which ones will come out while the ones I want go skittering away to hide in a corner until they're not needed anymore.
People who asked for fractals will get 'em this weekend, I hope. Would have played with a few today, but things got more hectic than I'd expected. And now sleep beckons with a come-hither look, but sleep's a terrible flirt who never delivers on his promises. I think I should wait a few more hours before letting him seduce me. Besides, tonight I have a headache.
Today I finally made a phone call I should have made a week ago. Tonight, since I'd had to leave a message on an answering machine, the call was returned. (No, this is not what the earlier post was about.) So one of my brothers and I had a conversation which should have been about some important things--and it was, sort of. But he clearly has no idea what to make of the problems I've been having this year. He gave good advice (for a change, heh), all of it advice I would love to be able to take because it's all advice I'd been giving myself anyway, and I couldn't explain to him why some things got to the state they're in.
The problem is that we don't have the language for depression in our family. We have ways of expressing anger, frustration, pain, happiness, silliness, the active feelings in general. But we don't have words for depression. We can theorize about it for a while, but expressing something which leads to nothing is next to impossible. If there's no activity, there's nothing to talk about. Depression isn't active. Come to think of it, we also have no way to speak about contentment.
As I took a break from typing to do other things, the same brother called again and left a message on my machine. After our earlier discussion about X (X here stands for something impossible to do until the work week), he leaves a message on the machine stating that I'll have to do Y this weekend--Y being something which can't be done without X. Not going into details here, but anyone who believes that someone with an IQ score in the Mensa zone always acts intelligently really should study my family where we (myself included) regularly prove otherwise.
It's taking forever to type this post. Words go careening from one part of my brain to the other, and I never know which ones will come out while the ones I want go skittering away to hide in a corner until they're not needed anymore.
People who asked for fractals will get 'em this weekend, I hope. Would have played with a few today, but things got more hectic than I'd expected. And now sleep beckons with a come-hither look, but sleep's a terrible flirt who never delivers on his promises. I think I should wait a few more hours before letting him seduce me. Besides, tonight I have a headache.
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