I once wrote an email something like this: “If I were a medievil landmass, writers would say that a great sadness lay across the land…”
It’s probably no surprise to you all that sometimes I get pretty darn miserable, you’ve all probably seen it, and you may well have been around at times when you believe it may have started. I sometimes think I know, and then I remember something from an earlier time, or some other counter-information. Sometimes I think I should talk to my parents, and ask “why did you do … back when …”, and sometimes I dont.
It doesn’t matter, really. The Whys Hows and Whens are in the past, and although I’m sure that some people would say that I need to find out where I’ve been to find out where I need to go, I’m not so sure. All I know is that I’d love to break the back of this habit – for now. Ask me again tomorrow, or next week, and I might be more accomodating of the warm reliability of low self-esteem, or whatever it is.
Anywho, I just came across this article in The Age, and was struck in particular by the following quote:
“There’s plenty of books out there on the subject, but this was the first one that actually said: ‘You know, you actually allow this to happen to you. Every time the black dog [depression, negative thoughts] comes into your head, you’ve let him in.'”
Yeah, it’s a bit of that whole “the lightbulb’s got to want to change” thing, isn’t it. But it does hold some merit. I am prone to wrapping myself up in that feeling, and being comfortable with it. It’s probably the one thing about me that most frustrates Mrs Gizo, and so it should be the highest priority thing to change.
And so, I try to change. Kick me, slap me, don’t placate me. I ask of you, keep me on the forward path. Eyes on the prize, and et-cetera.
Jeez, I should stop being so open, shouldn’t I? This will undoubtedly come and bite me on the bum later in life…