Spike and Ralph in black and white.
Since it was Spike’s birthday and I know he loves opossums, I called in all my favors at the zoo to arrange a visit from Ralph the Opossum. The zoo does not do this kind of thing for anyone and I am eternally grateful they made a one-time exception to make my friend smile. I hope you had a good one, Spike.
I often tell people that just being me is an overwhelming experience on the best of days. Most people have an idea of what I’m going through, but they never truly know.
I write the words I do here because I’m not ashamed of my diagnosis. I am one small cog in a giant wheel talking about mental illness to help remove the stigma associated with it. I am here for that one person who reads what I write and says, “yeah, me too. I get that.”
Last week, the email and subscribers plugin I use here received a major upgrade. The upgrade came with a complete UI redesign, which always sucks. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it. I figured I would have to get used to where everything got moved and the new look, but it was so much worse than that.
Geoffrey Evert at the Lake Minatare lighthouse.
I still miss the boy who became a man. His wide smile and thoughtful nature could always cheer up my day. I remember all the moments of all the days he was here. On March 17, 2018, the making of memories ceased.
I became a two-time member of a group I never wanted to join. I’m a four-time member now.
When the world comes crashing down, everyone hopes there will helping hands to share the load. The reality is, you’re always going to be fighting that battle alone.
The phone calls will be there. The offers of assistance will be presented, but the truth remains – no one can fathom the depths you have to climb to make it out alive.
They may try to carry you, to hold your hand, to help you on your way. In the end, however, it is always you who must carry the burden alone.
It was day nine or ten living on the basement couch. Hours had been spent staring at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. I knew every flaw in everything in the room. I saw the cracks in the ceiling. I saw the holes in the wall. I traced the outline of missing parts of floor tile with my eyes. I didn’t care about any of it at all.
Every six months or so, Paul and I sat down at my computer to pick a new set of music to play in my car. My 2000 Hyundai Accent had a tape player and I purchased an adapter so my CD player could be used. It was easier to burn a CD full of music than a cassette tape. On July 21, 2008, we only owned one car and Paul decided he wanted to pick the music.
“Meditations” by Marcus Aurelius shouldn’t exist, but I’m glad it does. It is a set of personal writings by the Roman emperor and provides a wealth of insight into the man who struggled with the same things we still struggle with today.
Meditations, or Τὰ εἰς ἑαυτόν, literally translates as “things to one’s self.” It is a collection of private notes Marcus wrote to himself.
In the twelve books of “Meditations,” you see his quest for guidance on doing the right thing and to continually improve himself. One of his more famous quotes, “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one,” is the logical conclusion anyone could come to after spending time seeking out how to be a good man. Marcus felt that instead of endlessly debating what a good man is or how to be one, just get out there and be one.
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén
