• on ‘the other’ in me •

Such an interesting article. I also live with depressive states, and almost word for word, can identify with the descriptions of how it feels. I still go through it, but once I discovered my ‘other’, and became a friend, an advocate, a soother-listener-protector to that child-like, super-sensitive, super-creative, intuitive (did I mention ‘child-like’, oh, yes I did…) ‘entity’, which resides, side-by-side, inside of me (but speaks only in dreams, and emotions, and whispers to me in musical phrasings, and compulsions, and desires, and cravings – basically, all of the so-called, ‘id’ stuff), and learned how to take the time to really ‘be’ with this ‘other’ and talk to him/her/it rationally, to commiserate, and to listen – really listen – and to make plans, and provisions, and promises – to make things better for he/she/it (and too, to really work to keep those promises, at least a little every day), then, slowly, but surely, I came not only to understand that these ‘waves’ of ‘depression’ are really the feelings of despair and hopelessness that any normal person would feel, if he/she/it had no ‘voice’, no power to affect change, no acknowledgement, and felt no appreciation (and little love), but that there is never any reason to feel ‘lonely’, because (if this is a real ‘state of being’ – and I am convinced that it is), one is never alone, and that the process of ‘loving’ really does, start with you/me, see? (Does this make sense/can you ‘relate’?) Hand to heart, this has been a true ‘revelation’, and a life-changing epiphany, for me. It has been about six years since I came to this awareness, and my progress has been substantial and continual, and empowering (happily).
This is the basis of my own particular ‘bi-cameral mind’ hypothesis. I really should write a book on the subject. What do you think, friends? Here is the article.
On depression: What you should know if you love someone with high-functioning depression:


• fish tale •

Dropped by the Credit Union to pick up some cash for the girl before the weekend, and Heather, the staff ‘Super’, in front of God, the entire staff, and everybody waiting in line, thanked me for the little fish poem I left for her, in an envelope, the last time I dropped by to make a deposit, and all the ‘girls’, oh, okay, women, well they ooooohed and agreed with Heather (their ‘Boss-lady), that it almost made ’em cry, and was sweet, and funny, and just the sweetest thing! Heather, et all., had had this goldfish, you see, in a bowl, there, on the counter, a gold one, for as long as I could remember: it turns out that goldfish had been with Heather, et al, ‘since the beginning’, or something, something like, well I can’t recall, exactly, but for years and years, and years: decades, maybe, which had died, and they had got a replacement fish, a black one, with buggy eyes, but it hadn’t lasted long, and when I asked about it, and the other one, all the ladies behind the counter had got real quiet-like, and Heather had told me the tale of her little fish, and how she had loved it so, and, yes, they had got a replacement fish, right away, from the gold one, which must have been, like a hundred-ten (in fish years), but that it had been “too soon,” and she was done with fish, for a while, she guessed, because it just hurt too much, to see that empty bowl, on the counter, like that (which she had subsequently removed).
And Heather, I surmise, had been really touched by my little fish poem, which I had left her, and it went very much something like this:
• can’t love a fish •

What’s ‘a matter, love,
Can’t love a fish?
That you can’t love a fish,
Is obvious.

I worry for my dear Silver Dollar,
Mister Silver Dollar, to you, Jim.
I worry, that if anything should,
‘Happen’, to me, (God forbid),
That it’d be,
‘The Big Flush’, for him.

Don’t you dare!
Anyway, I’m not worried:
You haven’t got the nerve,
To flush my Beta, too,
That’s Mister Beta Fish, Jim,
To you.

Anywhoo, that was my day, yesterday.
The power of words! I love ’em, and give more love, and get more love back from these, than from ‘most anything.
Carry on friends. Have a nice swim, on me.
~ Tim Burchfield