Glitter And Be Gay

We woke up to a downpour during the wee hours of Monday morning. I found it magnificent. San Geraldo found it foreboding.

Later Monday morning, the sky and sea displayed what I thought were brilliant and dramatic colour and contrast. San Geraldo thought it was “evil and threatening.”

And so the day went. We managed to get ourselves to the gym in the afternoon for an uplifting, pun intended, workout. (San Geraldo will probably ask, “What pun?”)

Tuesday was an uneventful day. My depression comes and goes. But it’s mild and manageable. Moments of miserable thoughts that soon pass. Much longer moments of gratitude for a good life and kind, empathetic people like San Geraldo and all of you.

I hope you don’t mind if in the coming days I share stories of my experience of clinical depression. Although I still obviously have challenges at times, treatment absolutely transformed my life. Maybe it can help you or someone you know either to understand it better or to get through it.

Meanwhile, here are some photos of the terrace view of Monday morning’s magnificent, brilliant, dramatic, foreboding, evil, and threatening Mediterranean Sea and sky.

(Click any image and decide which descriptors you would use.)

A FEW HOURS LATER AS WE HEADED OUT FOR COFFEE.
I SAID, “WOW!” SAN GERALD SAID, “DREARY.”

“Enough, enough of being basely tearful!
I’ll show my noble stuff by being gay and cheerful!”

There’s A Hole In The Sky

As most of you know, I live with clinical depression. I do what I can to keep the dark days — and nights — at bay. Medication helps, but needs to be adjusted over time. Without medication, I couldn’t survive. And sometimes I feel like I have to justify that to others.

“Oh, just change your attitude,” they’ll say.

“I just pull myself by my bootstraps and put a smile on my face,” some tell me.

“Just spend more time at the gym.”

Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. Attitude helps. A smile helps. Exercise helps. But they don’t cure clinical depression.

With the help of San Geraldo, I manage to keep the worst bouts from returning, simply by being aware and getting help when I/we see the patterns returning. What returns are the voices in my head. They tell me I’m not good enough (for what, I don’t know). I’m not handsome enough (for my life as a fashion model?), I’m not smart enough, kind enough, rich enough, confident enough, talented enough, humble enough.

On my good days, none of that even matters.

On my bad days, I’m simply not enough.

Lately, I’m not finding myself interesting enough, which explains my recent dearth of blog posts.

But, finally, rather than trying vainly to be enough for you (OK, for myself), I figured it was time to just tell you what’s been going on in my head.

The walks have helped. Usually about 11 km (8 miles) in 2-1/2 to 3 hours, with a day off between. Monday, it’s back to the gym. Really. No excuses.

This is what I saw on the walk home Friday…

And I wanna fly, too…