The conjunction of a recent premium podcast and part 3 on a series on depression (1 2) got me thinking…

I had to take a walk, just to get out.

It was about an hour, and I gotta tell ya… now my computers sound really, REALLY loud.

Of course, there’s so little going on around here after midnight. I could hear birds–owls?–as well as men holding quiet conversations over 100ft away. If I had been interested in eavesdropping, I probably could have.

But no… I was feeling anxiety, and anger, and … well, at least that much. I was beginning to think of the call between G and N. I realized that nobody gives me much feedback. Not that I don’t ever receive any, but I rarely get feedback from others as a general rule.

So the question that comes to my mind is, what am I missing? What am I blind to? What am I avoiding, and what am I withholding?

The other thoughts and feelings that were provoked by the depression series–especially the last one–was this realization that I’ve been living so small… and what would I do to make it big? Well, part of me knows, or at least has an idea, I think.

I’m also feeling some anxiety and irritation in the wake of depression part 3… like I’m being told to do something, and I just rankle against being told to do anything.

I don’t know if that’s all of it, and of course, I’m sure I’m missing something… but what?

I avoid, I withdraw, I disappear… I stay small, I don’t grow, I remain in pain, I don’t take care… so… what is it that I am missing? What am I blind to?

[Edited to add] – I didn’t explicitly ask for feedback originally but I was wondering if anyone had any thoughts? If you do, let’s have a skype chat about it.

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19.1M 27:54

Dear Kalap,

It’s been almost twenty years since we last saw each other, I think.

I want to apologize for my actions on the playground that day. I also want to tell you a bit about what was going on for me.

It’s not to excuse what I did, but perhaps the perspective into my life will help you in some way.

On the surface, the same racist assholes who were teasing you were asking me, when you weren’t around, “Why are you friends with Kalap?”

The right answer–the assertive answer–would be, among others: “Because he doesn’t ask me why I’m friends with people that I like.”

However, as you well know, I did not give the right answer. I hunkered down, I tried to shrink into myself, hoping they would go away, but they never did.

As a test of friendship, I did fail you on that day; in my defense, however, I was equipped against a successful friendship.

My parents had recently divorced, and my father’s advice about bullies was something like, “Don’t let them get to you,” which is just about the same as saying to somebody standing in the rain, “Don’t get wet,” while refusing to let them stand under your umbrella.

I had no other friends to talk to about it… and I don’t think I talked to you, either. At the very least, I don’t remember talking to you about it at all.

So indeed, I did fail that test… but the test of integrity and loyalty was so incredibly difficult, it probably would have been some sort of small miracle if I had passed.

I hope that this brings you some clarity about what happened almost twenty years ago. I hope it brings a little peace, and perhaps some relief, if even but a small bit.

I cannot repair the damage, it is too long gone. I can only offer a salve to soften the scar.

All the best,

James Alexander Pyrich

Ever since I’ve moved into this apartment, I’ve had to cope with not having my furniture. It’ll be arriving roughly a week after my next paycheck (which was the earliest I could afford moving my belongings cross-country), and so I’m looking at about another two weeks of intimacy with the floor.

I think that if it had been even six months ago, I would have grumbled every time I sat down, groaned every time I got up, and complained about it quite a lot.

It certainly isn’t the most comfortable situation, but compared to all the places I could be right now if I hadn’t made the decisions I did…

It’s better than being homeless.
It’s better than working at my last job.
It’s better than living with my ex.
It’s better than living with my last roommate.
It’s better than living with my family.

Overall, the move to Denver was a HUGE win for me… I’m settling into the land, as it were. I’m feeling connected like I haven’t before. I’m not self-isolating nearly as much. I’m not self-attacking nearly as much. My friends help me immensely, and I help them.

I like my job! I’m in therapy! I’m starting to think–nay, feel–more and more what it is that I want.

I have Joy in my heart, for the first time in my life.

If I have to sit on the floor for a month to get what I want, that’s exactly what I will do.

I fell ill today in the late morning… I believe that it was either exhaustion or a bug that was triggered by exhaustion.

Not that I’m complaining too terribly much about the work, but it doesn’t look like my body can handle the sort of schedule I had yesterday–or, at the very least, I was not prepared for it.

Next time–if there is a next time–I’ll be sure to take a significant break so that I don’t experience this again, because this was thoroughly unenjoyable.

This is just a ping to let my friends know I’m OK; we had a very late code push at work and I wasn’t able to validate until half past midnight (which took me all of five minutes to complete).

I got a lot of work-work done in the meantime but I am really quite tired at the moment, so you’ll forgive me if this stays short.

In the How to Escape a “Controversial Online Community!” thread on FDR, I read the following post by “pigsarenice”:

I am so glad I read the article on Tom in the Guardian last Saturday. It is because of the article that I have discovered your website. I’m the mother of a child who has ‘de-fooed’. It has certainly helped me understand things from her perspective. well done on your response stephan.

Barbara has truly burnt her bridges now. how very sad. what a lesson to us mums too.

Pigsarenice

I just felt this upwelling of happiness in my heart to have read that. Certainly it is sad that this mother’s daughter deFOOed her, and it is a horrible thing for anybody to go through, both parents and children… but at least this particular woman has the ability to see things from her daughter’s perspective which just gives me so much fucking hope for the human race.

I feel so happy and so sad having read this, it’s like my heart is going to burst.

No, I didn’t talk to you, to any of you.

I didn’t approach you one last time to try to “work things out” or to give you
some kind of warning.

I didn’t give you a list of conditions for you to satisfy, a bar for you to
measure up to, nor some sort of standard of behavior.

I didn’t try to share my feelings in a phone call, or in a face-to-face meeting,
or even in an email.

But what I did do was crystal clear.

I didn’t talk to you because I was afraid of what would happen.

I was afraid that I would have my heart broken again.

I was afraid that you would tell me all the same things I’ve heard before, like
it wasn’t that bad, or I’m overstating the case, or I’m just too sensitive, or I
was/am a difficult person, or I’m lying, or I’m making stuff up, or I’m playing
the victim, or I’m unfairly blaming others for my shortcomings…

I was afraid I would hear those things instead of hearing the one thing, that
very one thing that would make all the difference in the world, that one flare
of curiosity that is precluded by all of the above:

“Tell me more.”

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