The previous post recently stirred something up inside of me. Well, perhaps that's not completely accurate. What it actually did was make me laugh in a "what the fuck" kind of way...but the good kind, where I find myself wondering "should I share this with people, because I really get it, and it may be crazy, which makes me crazy too, right?" So I shared it with my sister, Erin. She hasn't responded to the text wherein I sent her the link, so I'm guessing that as a litmus test of I might be crazy if I love that blog post, I have my answer. Then again, Erin is a weirdo, so if she's pretending like she didn't love that post, then she's really just being full of shit, and I'm going to go ahead and expose myself one level deeper here.
You see, I only recently went back to read another one of Allie Brosh's blog posts. Specifically, the one that came immediately before the one I posted...more specifically, the 2nd to last one she wrote. It's here in case you're interested, and to spoiler alert the whole thing for you, it's about depression. Specifically, 19 months of a state of depression that Allie presumably found herself in the midst of, and the eloquent, hilarious and intimately beautiful way in which she illustrated her way through the story for the rest of us. I am blown away. I literally just finished reading this post 15 minutes ago, then proceeded to stalk her about page, her twitter for a second, and even googled her name to discover that she is an absolutely beautiful young woman with an obviously deep well of talent and more important that even that...experience.
I'm inspired this morning to focus on the reality of it all, for I too have ...probably on and off for a couple of years now... been battling with my own version of the feelings. Or more properly, the lack thereof which, I'm beginning to understand, may go hand-in-hand with being depressed. If there's anyone left still reading this blog, then you may know that I could accurately refer to late 2013 to mid 2014 or so as the "whiny" months. Of the posts that I haven't already deleted, very few are worth a damn, and I admit that I have hated myself for my lack of readily available content or inspiration to say something worth while. Work is hard, blah blah...boring. I love my kids...duh. Sky is blue. F!
Well, I'm not sure why exactly I have been so kicked in the butt with admiration and awe by someone writing about how depressed they were. In reality I think that it's a choice I have made to pick this thing like finding her blog and being inspired and thrilled by it's humor and subtle beauty. I think that she too has discovered that we have no control over what things motivate us in those moments when we are thrust forward into the balance of our existence, but they are inside of us. Maybe they are in a shriveled up piece of corn, and we break out in hysterical laughter, or maybe they are in the blog post about the corn and the laughter, and the like. Maybe I'm not making sense anymore, and I am OK with that.
The point is that I realize, again, that the whole point is to keep it real. Not every story is going to be one I want to tell, but for me the catharsis and therapeutic value of writing doesn't happen if I hide from it, so be warned...I may just surprise myself and put something worthwhile out there again.
Or I may leave it to mediocre artists/brilliant writers/beautiful human beings like Allie. We'll see.