The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the category “depression”

Not Right in the Head

First published Oct 22, 2016 mentalillness-450x300

Vil

There was a label affixed to me all my life: crazy.  I behaved in ways that were considered abnormal. I burst into tears in the midst of laughter, and laughed at inappropriate moments. I became angry at things that were imperceptible to others. I would sometimes overreact dramatically to  insignificant experiences.

I was difficult to live with. When I was around, there was no calm. I tried the patience of everyone, and except for my family who did their best to tolerate me, I had few relationships and no real friends.

Perhaps in a more tolerant place, in a more tolerant culture, I would have been accepted enough to have some kind of life, but I lived in lonely despair, on the outside of society.

My emotions were unrelated to reality. Those familiar with my strangeness kept their distance; they never knew what might spring the hair-trigger trap.   A glance that lingered too long might set me off screaming, hurling epithets, maybe even lashing out violently.  A word that seemed innocent to others might cause me to break down in tears or curl up into a fetal knot, rocking myself to whatever small measure of comfort I could manage.

I could feel the emotion building inside me — big, powerful, explosive emotion — and I had no control over it.

I was not stupid, but it was hard to focus on learning when every moment was a struggle to maintain equilibrium. If I relaxed my vigilance for even a second, I could easily fall apart. It was exhausting.

I did not work but I received money from my family and a small stipend from the state, and was able to live in a tiny room by myself. It was better for everyone that I lived alone.

Many odd little rituals helped keep my mood level — not all the time of course, but at least for hours, sometimes even weeks on end. I woke up at the same time every day, ate the exact same thing for breakfast, wore the same clothes the same on the same day of the week.

I did my best to steer clear of strangers and they instinctively steered clear of me, but sometimes interactions were unavoidable.  Maybe somebody pushed past me on the street or cut in front of me at the market.  In these situations, I’d try to leave as quickly as possible before the emotions erupted. But if it was a bad day, if I was stressed by other things, I might not make it.  I might react in ways that were inappropriate.  I once screamed and ranted at a small child because he rode too close to me on his bicycle, frightening him and causing him to cry.  In moments like these, I hated myself.

In those moments when I could not calm myself, I had no restraint, even knowing I’d pay for my actions — cursing at the grocer,  shoving a neighbor, throwing and breaking my own possessions.

To the surprise of my family,  I lived to be quite old,  with the responsibility for my care passing from my parents to my siblings to their children.

None of them mourned too much when I finally passed over, but they were finally able to find some compassion.

 

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Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne
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Show Me the Place

 

leonard

first published Sept 25, 2015

A post from me:

Today is  Yom Kippur. Although it’s been many decades since I observed the Day of Atonement in any traditional sense,  this year I spent all day listening  Leonard Cohen, who is, after all, a great rabbi.  Actually,  I listened to one song in particular  again…and again…and again, each time hearing it anew. The song, “Show Me The Place” is from the Old Ideas album.   I found myself moved more deeply than  any synagogue service or rabbi ever could.

LISTEN

The song addresses the struggle shared by so many of us; of trying to remain “in the light” while dealing with the necessary mundanities of real life – earning a living, having to interact with those who test our ability to forgive, to curb our anger at life’s indignities and injustices.

Most of Leonard Cohen’s work deals with his own quest for peace through love and spirituality; his struggle to overcome the depression, self-loathing, fear, cowardice, shame and sense of unworthiness which have plagued his entire life. His songs have always been filled with imagery of submission and slavery and supplication.

“Oh, take this longing from my tongue; whatever useless things these hands have done.”

        –Take This Longing  

I asked my father I said, ‘Father change my name’. The one I’m using now it’s covered up with fear and filth and cowardice and shame.”

     Lover, Lover, Lover.

In the 90s, he spent five years in a Buddhist monastery, where he eventually became an ordained monk. He credits this time of study and the Buddhist philosophy as having helped him greatly to understand his own pain and to ameliorate some of his emotional suffering.

By the late 90s, he was in a good place.  Then in his 60s, he had ample income from his music, and was able to devote his time to writing and recording, living a peaceful life of meditation and introspection  writing about the things that moved him without financial worry, insulated from many real world distractions.

In 2004, he discovered that his long-time manager, a trusted family friend, had embezzled millions of dollars, draining even his retirement account. There were lawsuits and counter-suits aplenty. One  can imagine his state of mind at this time. Ripped from a life of relative peace,   and thrust into nasty legal battles and heavy financial obligations to others. He had to go back on tour; back to working for others, relinquishing his well-deserved freedom.  (“There were chains, so I hastened to behave.”)   It’s easy to imagine him overcome with very un-Buddhist-like feelings of anger, betrayal, frustration, even hatred which must have been difficult to assuage. He may well have lost the ability to keep his depression at bay.

All those years of living in the light, of letting go of ego,  and suddenly, all the lessons feel lost to him. He tries to hold on as best he can, but can only salvage a shred of light – “a particle, a wave.”

In this song of supplication, he is entreating God to tell him where to stand so he can regain the old perspective, so he may once again live in a state of grace.

It is a song of supreme sadness and pain. It put me in a tender, weepy state. Nevertheless, I’ve been listening to it on repeat for two days straight.

For me (and I know many of you readers), it’s a constant struggle to forgive those who need forgiveness most; to open my heart to those who hate or who have hurt me. I work every day to separate the needs of my ego from the path of my higher self.   Although I would be most content spending my days in spiritual contemplation, I must work to make a living, often forced to deal with people who fill me with some very UN-spiritual thoughts.

This song is a hymn to that struggle in all of us – to hold on to the Light in the face of darkness;  to truly live in the light and not just pay it lip service. I don’t always win that battle, and the losses are always filled with pain.

Show me the place, where you want your slave to go
Show me the place, I’ve forgotten I don’t know
Show me the place where my head is bending low
Show me the place, where you want your slave to go

Show me the place, help me roll away the stone
Show me the place, I can’t move this thing alone
Show me the place where the word became a man
Show me the place where the suffering began

The troubles came I saved what I could save
A shred of light, a particle a wave
But there were chains so I hastened to behave
There were chains so I loved you like a slave

Show me the place, where you want your slave to go
Show me the place, I’ve forgotten I don’t know
Show me the place, where my head is bending low
Show me the place, where you want your slave to go

The troubles came I saved what I could save
A shred of light, a particle a wave
But there were chains so I hastened to behave
There were chains so I loved you like a slave

Show me the place
Show me the place
Show me the place

Show me the place, help me roll away the stone
Show me the place, I can’t move this thing alone
Show me the place where the word became a man
Show me the place where the suffering began

 

yom-kippur-prayer


FYI,  Leonard has a new album out next week.  Click to order.

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—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

NEW!

Nali

In the final years of my life, I and most everyone I knew were burdened by the heavy yoke of existential dread, knowing the Angel of Death might have been around any corner. He could have appeared anywhere, in any number of forms — so many different ways to die which, during better times, never even occurred to us.

In those days, even the very old didn’t die of old age. One might be killed by the enemy or die of rampant disease or debilitating starvation. It might happen quickly or one might wait for the end, tormented by pain.

And yet, we fought on.  There was no other choice but suicide. Some did choose that option. It was hard to blame them.  The toxic stress flowed through our veins, carried by our blood, infecting every cell in the body with its black poison.  It was more than many could bear — knowing that death would likely come soon, but not knowing how or when, not knowing how much suffering we might have to endure before the very end.

There was never complete joy.  Even the few moments we managed of it, here and there – an embrace between old friends, a stolen kiss, some food in the belly, a familiar song or smell or taste that reminded us of better times —  were always eclipsed by the shadow of the Angel’s ominous, black wings. The taint of blood, ever in the water.

The dread gnawed at me, ground me down. Like an automaton, I kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other, but it didn’t matter to me where I ended up.  It was pointless to make a plan, to have a goal or destination.  I had no control over my life and eventually gave up trying to exert any.

One day, I was caught by soldiers. I didn’t care enough to resist. One of them pulled his pistol out and took aim at my head. In that brief moment between knowing I was about to die and actually dying, I had but one emotion:  relief.  At last, the waiting and anticipation were over.  No more waiting tensely for tragedy. The ending of my story was finally known.  The tightly wound coil inside me sprang open and all the stress left my body, empty of it before the bullet hit my flesh.

Though I was gone, others managed to survive until it was all over. They lived, eventually, in peace and plenty, had children and grandchildren. But even in their many joys, they never forgot the shadow.

 

 

 

 

Anhedonia

Originally published Feb 26, 2015

depressed-summer-day

He

I played the game the way it was taught to me. I had a family. I had a good job which I enjoyed. I was happy to be able to care for my family. We were happy. We laughed together. I enjoyed my life.  Things were getting better all the time.

Then I got sick. It was nothing terminal, unless you consider the cascade which it set in motion. It was just serious and long enough for me to lose my job. And when I was once again ready to work, there was no work to be had. It was an employers’ market. Nobody needed to take a risk on someone like me, who might become sick again. There were younger, stronger men ready to work.

And so, it came to be that I was no longer able to take care of my family. My wife worked hard, but we were always wanting. We had to move to a much smaller place, far from our friends. Our marriage was strained to breaking. I think the only reason she didn’t throw me out was because she took pity on me.

I was depressed. I worried constantly. Nothing interested me. Nothing gave me pleasure or joy. I tried to do my best for my children. I held myself together when I was around them, until I couldn’t anymore. The stress ate away at whatever remaining health I had.   I lasted for another ten years or so like that. I died young, leaving my family alone.

Looking back, I examine my life, to see what, if anything, I could have done to make things turn out differently, either before or after the trouble started. But I was limited by the resources given to me. It is pointless to say I should have felt differently. If I could have, I would have.

 

——–
Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  Think of others who might enjoy it too,  and help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey! 
-Adrienne

Living in Limbo

First published March 2, 2015


swings-111925_640

Wir

The turning point of my life came when I was thirty one. Until then,  most of my moderate expectations had been met.  I fell in love, got married,  gave birth to a beautiful, clever little girl we both adored.   We were financially comfortable and happy together. My mind was uncluttered by much introspective thought or intense emotion.

When my daughter was 7, she disappeared. She’d been playing in the park with friends, and then, they called for her and she wasn’t there. Nobody had noticed anyone or anything. She’d simply vanished.

The police looked for her. My husband and I, our friends and family, we all looked for her. But we didn’t find her. Not alive. Not dead.

And so I lived the rest of my days in a limbo.   I was filled with the kind of intense emotions I’d never felt before, and did not know how to process. I cycled through grief, despair, guilt, anger, sorrow and the occasional scintilla of hope, which was always quickly extinguished and replaced by fresh grief.

Sometimes I heard stories of children returning to their parents after many years.   Somehow, they’d remembered and found their way back.  Naturally,  I hoped for such an outcome,  but after a time, I would have been relieved to know for certain that she was dead. If I could have given her a proper funeral, I might have been able to move on.  If I knew what had happened to her, I might have been able to forgive.   As it was, however, I never could settle on a single emotion, and so this was the cycle which spun the wheel which turned my life.

My husband and I stayed together, but it was never the same. We both felt a similar range of emotions, but our moods were infrequently aligned. We rarely connected, except on her birthday when we both seemed to feel the same.  For many years, we’d get a small cake with a single candle. We’d bring out the old photo albums. But then it became too awful. It made us feel helpless and hopeless.   We each tried to make our way through our pain in our own way, but neither of us had much success. Compounding our pain was that we were of no comfort to each other.  Even after many years, we both suffered alone.

Her being ripped from our lives so cruelly was for a reason; for the lessons on tragedy and mourning. At the time, however, it didn’t feel like any useful lesson. If anyone had suggested to me that it was part of a greater plan, I would have lost all control and attacked them ferociously. The pain was wrapped around me too tightly to loose its bonds. What mother can ever make sense of such a thing? To come to terms with it would have be tantamount to abandoning her; to losing her again.  She remained alive in my sorrow.

Now, however, I am afforded greater perspective. The unrelenting pain of that life is finally healed. She and I are together again, awaiting a next time.

 

——————

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  Think of others who might enjoy it too,  and help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey! 
-Adrienne

 

The Cure for Unhappiness

First published February 8 2016

zen bound

Ipo  (yes, him again!)

Wherever you find unhappiness in your life, seek the place where the spirit is shackled to the ego, then sunder the bond.

The spirit’s sole purpose is to ascend. The ego is ballast holding it earthbound. Loose the ties. The perspective broadens as you rise. What confounds and hurts when standing in the midst makes beautiful sense from a distance.

Humans pursue happiness in various ways but there can be no true peace until these knots are severed.

First, however, the knots must be acknowledged.

The ego manifests in our desires, our expectations, in our sense of entitlement from the rest of the world.   It manifests in our need to be loved and acknowledged. It manifests in the way the world is reflected back at us through the eyes of others.

But you are not these things. You are not your possessions or your job, not your social status or physical entity.

When you feel the pain of the ego, ask yourself “What does this represent?” “Why do I want this so much that not to have it will cause me pain?” And, most importantly, “Who am I without it?”

 ______
 
 me: This came to me the night before we hosted a big holiday party. I’d been cooking, baking, cleaning, setting up for days. I’d been on my feet for ten hours. My back was screaming. Finally, at 2am, thoroughly exhausted, I collapsed into bed, so happy to finally be able to rest. And then, IPO! (he’s so insistent!) Wouldn’t let me sleep until I wrote it down!
But as soon as it came into my head, I realized this was something important.
I’m generally happy and positive with very few things that nag at me, so this is not the kind of subject that normally occupies my mind. It literally popped into my head apropos of nothing. And not only that, but when I was so exhausted, I could barely formulate my own thoughts.
Since then, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about this.   When I consider the things which have made (or make) me unhappy in life – incidents or phases or interactions with others which made feel hurt, frustrated, angry, depressed — in every case, this unhappiness was/is indeed a result of my ego. Of course, even knowing this, it’s not so easy to let go but at least it puts me on the right path to solving the problem, and puts the responsibility firmly in my own court.
I know this for sure: the more in touch we are with our spiritual essence,  the less we need to possess or achieve in order to feel whole.

______

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey! 
-Adrienne

 

I Love The Smell of Free Will in the Morning

first published March 3, 2016dark_alley_b_w_by_godkill-d8w13xp

Co

I was a coward but, in my defense, most humans are in one way or another. It is in our nature to be afraid – of the unknown and of being known, equally of failing and winning, of loving and of not being loved, of change and of not being able to change.

Perhaps it is an unconscious itch at the back of the skull that leads us, in ways unrecognized, to a lifetime of habits. Or they may be burdensome fears, compelling and crippling, which weigh heavily upon us, miring us and slowing our progress. Or perhaps they are blinding and oppressive,  which drive us into dark corners and onto malevolent detours, hijacking our lives.

To be conscious of the fear and the ways in which it shapes us is to finally enter into the terrain where dominion is ceded to no one and nothing; where the blossoms of free will perfume the air.

 

image: Simon Valcourt  https://www.facebook.com/simonvalcourtartiste

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

Another Vivid Dream, This Time, Mine

NEW

 

The other night at four a.m.,  I awakened from a dream so vivid,  that even after I’d gotten up and gone to the bathroom, and crawled back into bed, I felt myself still in that dream reality. Even now, I can close my eyes and be there again.  Normally, for me,  dreams evaporate quickly upon awakening unless I write them down or tell them to my husband. But not this one.  It’s as if it actually happened.  And dreams usually have that fuzzy quality to them.  Not this one.

The entire thing unfolded from my perspective, viewed through my eyes, with me  feeling the feelings, but it wasn’t actually me.

I am in my apartment in dreamland (which is nothing like my actual apartment.)   In the dream, it was also about four a.m.  I am sleeping I think on a pull-out sofa because I’m close to the door. I hear something outside in the hallway. I look through the keyhole.  My neighbor, a  young man —  younger than me by at least a decade or two —  is sitting with his back against the wall,  caddy-corner to my entrance.  His knees are drawn up to his chest, his arms are wrapped around his legs, his face is resting between his knees. He is absolutely still.

He often goes out in the evenings and comes home late, having partied himself into oblivion.  Tonight, he’s either drunk or high.  I can’t quite tell.  I’m getting no emotional reading from him. He seems completely inert.

He is a veteran and he suffers from PTSD.  In the time that we’ve been neighbors,   I have been kind to him. Occasionally we have had some serious conversations about a variety of things,  but I would not say we are friends. We hardly have anything in common.

He says nothing.  Doesn’t move.  But I know he wants  me to open my door so he can cry on my shoulder, otherwise why would he be sitting there?   But it’s the middle of the night.  I am not his therapist.  His problems are way above my pay grade.  I don’t know how to help him or that I even could. I feel compassion for him but he’s my neighbor,  a virtual stranger.  I am not willing let him become accustomed to leaning on me emotionally.  He’s not my patient, not my child, not my family member.  He needs professional help which I cannot provide.

Through the door, I speak to him sternly but kindly.  “Go home.  It’s late.”

Eventually I hear him shuffling off to his apartment, which is diagonally across from mine.  There are  just two apartments on the landing with a staircase up the middle.

I go back to bed, waiting for the click of his door but I don’t hear it.  I return to the key hole and look again. It’s hard to see his door from mine as the staircase is in the way, but I can see him leaning, with his head against his own door,  standing only from inertia,  not moving. I really do not want to get involved with him now but I cannot let him stand there all night.  I just want him to go into his own apartment and sleep it off.

I open my door and go over to him. He is almost in a fugue state. Barely there.  “Give me your key” I say, and he does.  I open the door for him and push him inside towards his couch.  “Sleep.  You will feel better in the morning.”    I’m doing the bare minimum to keep him safe, without getting sucked into one of his crying jags.   It’s the middle of the night!  I’m not on call! This is not my job.

I close the door after him and go back to  my apartment,  any vague sense of responsibility  assuaged.  I’m just dozing off when I hear his door open again.  I look out through the peep hole and I see him leaving. He is wearing rubber gloves and carrying what appears to be cleaning supplies.  This makes no sense to me.

I am afraid he’s going to get into trouble out there in his condition.  Even for him,  his behavior this evening has been bizarre.

I call the police. Tell them what’s happened.  I ask them to go find him before he hurts himself or someone else. They ask me for the make of his car.  I tell him I have no idea.  I’ve seen him in it a few times; it’s a nondescript midsize vehicle.  I can’t give them any more than that.  They seem to be blowing me off.  I get angry and ask them if they can’t look up the vehicle based on his name and address.  I am seriously concerned that he’s going to do something bad.  While I do not feel  personally responsible for him,  I cannot ignore this.  If he caused an accident or got himself into serious trouble,  I would feel guilty.

The dream ended there, with me trying to get the police to go after him.  But because it was so vivid,  it was  easy to put myself back into the reality of it.  I reran the whole thing in my head a couple of times, trying to determine if there was any meaning to this.   Later,  somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I understand what had actually happened:  He had already killed somebody earlier in the evening and he was going back out to attempt to cover his tracks and/or hide the evidence.   This explained his strange impenetrable mood, his total lack of affect.   That night, he had finally hit bottom, and there would be no climbing back out of it.

 

______

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

Via Dolorosa

NEW!

Faj

I was grateful for every moment,  every hour, without pain.  An accident in my 20’s left me in near constant agony.  My damage was not obvious to the outside world,  so people often thought me weak,  a malingerer,  unmotivated.  None of them could understand how such a condition rules and ruins a life.

I was only able to sleep a few hours at a time, before the throbbing and aching and burning awakened me.  I tried to calm myself as best I could, so I might sleep again.  Sometimes, I was too exhausted even to eat.  I could not work and was forced to depend on others to survive.  Although I did not particularly enjoy alcohol,  I often drank,  simply to calm my jagged nerve endings.  All of this wore on the health of my body and my mind.

My tolerance for physical suffering increased over the years, but the pain always managed to outpace it. Such torment was my constant companion.  I could see no permanent escape from this except death.

Those who lived in physical comfort and ease could not understand.

An old woman lived nearby.  She had suffered with a painful affliction for many years, and then, miraculously,  her pain ceased.  She understood. Often, she would feed me,  care for me out of compassion.  We prayed together that I would someday experience the same kind of miracle.  It never came.

Pain feels different to everyone, but for each, it is real. Pain is there to make us grateful for ease, over an hour or over many lifetimes.

 

______

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

Losing Feathers

First published on October 25, 2015

aeg sky feathers

Ror

I could not point to any reason for my unhappiness. It was rather that because I was, by nature, unhappy, I found reason for unhappiness in everything.   It became worse as I got older. Perhaps it was hormonal or maybe it was simply that I was now on the downhill side of my life with narrowing opportunities or reasons for hope.

Gradually, I lost the taste for that which I once enjoyed. I ceased to care about the problems of others, both large and small. I stayed more to myself and found less tolerance for the petty interests of the general public.

I went through the motions of life without extracting any joy, making my last years sad and full of regret.


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