A New Year. It struck me. Every day is a new years eve. Every tomorrow is the beginning of a year. Why do we only celebrate a new start once a year? I've lost count of how many new starts I've had in the last 12 months. Maybe I need to concentrate on the last one I made.
I'm back to work after the holidays, and it's been heartening to see how many people are glad to see me back (I'm on a temporary contract that was renewed during the break). I know their faces, and most of their names now. It almost feels comfortable.
The Depression still throws it's weight around though, and I am thankful that my family are amazing. They see me safely through the bad days, and help me regain lost ground faster. I don't think I will ever be able to explain to them how much it helps to have somewhere I can hide from the world, or freely socialize, without judgement for either choice.
Which loops me around to my point this week. Gratitude. I am thankful. I have a long way to go before I reach any kind of enlightenment; but I'm learning a easier way to process life.
I am thankful for my family. Thanks to them, I am learning to accept affection. They are teaching me how to accept that love has no cost, I don't owe them anything, I don't have to meet an imaginary standard, or behave a particular way. They love me; for me.
I am thankful for my friends. Thanks to them, I am learning I am worthy. My friends are showing me boundless support, with no expectation of repayment. I've always been proud to call them my friends, and I'm finally realizing that they feel the same about me. They like me; for me.
Somehow I have to take the leap to believe it, and feel it for myself. Depression has spent a long time strengthening the knowledge (instilled by a less than ideal childhood), that I'm a hindrance; an aggravation, an unwanted waste of space; somebody no-one has time for. It's proving really hard to fix that mindset - while I have a voice on the inside re-tying the knots I'm finally untangling.
The mental knots I am managing to untie, are releasing loose threads of memory. Living with family means I can talk about, and re-assess through another's viewpoint, the moments that form my view of myself. It's warped. I've touched on fun-house mirrors before, and it's a metaphor that's holding true. I can only see the warped version, but people around me see the right one. I'm the only one that can see this version of reality.
My friends and family do their best to help me see what they see, and mostly? It's their efforts I believe more than their words. Words are air, and lies are easy. You can't fake effort though. I FEEL how genuine the efforts are to keep me away from the edge, to help me find ways to 'deal'. I am grateful that so many make the time to check in on me, and let me know they care.
I feel loved.
Derri.
I'm back to work after the holidays, and it's been heartening to see how many people are glad to see me back (I'm on a temporary contract that was renewed during the break). I know their faces, and most of their names now. It almost feels comfortable.
The Depression still throws it's weight around though, and I am thankful that my family are amazing. They see me safely through the bad days, and help me regain lost ground faster. I don't think I will ever be able to explain to them how much it helps to have somewhere I can hide from the world, or freely socialize, without judgement for either choice.
Which loops me around to my point this week. Gratitude. I am thankful. I have a long way to go before I reach any kind of enlightenment; but I'm learning a easier way to process life.
I am thankful for my family. Thanks to them, I am learning to accept affection. They are teaching me how to accept that love has no cost, I don't owe them anything, I don't have to meet an imaginary standard, or behave a particular way. They love me; for me.
I am thankful for my friends. Thanks to them, I am learning I am worthy. My friends are showing me boundless support, with no expectation of repayment. I've always been proud to call them my friends, and I'm finally realizing that they feel the same about me. They like me; for me.
Somehow I have to take the leap to believe it, and feel it for myself. Depression has spent a long time strengthening the knowledge (instilled by a less than ideal childhood), that I'm a hindrance; an aggravation, an unwanted waste of space; somebody no-one has time for. It's proving really hard to fix that mindset - while I have a voice on the inside re-tying the knots I'm finally untangling.
The mental knots I am managing to untie, are releasing loose threads of memory. Living with family means I can talk about, and re-assess through another's viewpoint, the moments that form my view of myself. It's warped. I've touched on fun-house mirrors before, and it's a metaphor that's holding true. I can only see the warped version, but people around me see the right one. I'm the only one that can see this version of reality.
My friends and family do their best to help me see what they see, and mostly? It's their efforts I believe more than their words. Words are air, and lies are easy. You can't fake effort though. I FEEL how genuine the efforts are to keep me away from the edge, to help me find ways to 'deal'. I am grateful that so many make the time to check in on me, and let me know they care.
I feel loved.
Derri.
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