Category: Introspection Page 13 of 22

Personal posts

My Rusty Tool Shed

On October 5, 2014

Writing is a rusty tool shed. I go inside and it all looks so familiar. I remember when I wrote that piece. I fondly thumb through decades old notebooks. I remember where I was and where I was when I first cracked the spine on the unwritten tome.

Look at my tools and my failures as one. I look for my successes. But they’re grown up and moved out of the house long ago. They left me and we talk. Sure, we talk every few months.

They call at Christmas and on my birthday. They’re dutiful children. But they’re gone now. Living their own lives with their own problems.

The failures still live with me. Malformed and demented they lounge around. They’ve not inspiration to better themselves. They feel their time has passed. They and I lock eyes, only for a moment. We don’t speak. There’s nothing left to say.

This familiar ritual taxes us. The missed opportunities are remembered along with piles of what ifs and we almosts.

As I stand to leave, there’s a shudder as the shed settles. The words rearranged slightly. The tools cleaned and put back in their places. All neat and tidy. A hand-crafted monument to disappointment.

Rarely, I will remove a tool from the shed. I will clean it off and prepare it for use. I use that tool or I lend it out. If I can’t use it, someone else might. If my rusty old tools can get new life in another shed, then it was worth it. It’s worth keeping all these old tools around.

It’s worth the ritual. The cleaning and organizing let me see them in a new light and reminds me of when they were new. It reminds me of when I first got them, so full of expectation and excitement. I was ready to use them. I was prepared to make great things with them. But now they sit, rusting away in my shed. Hoping for new life.

Their day may come. But they see the new tools join the shed. Even if only briefly before they’re used or shared. The new tools are always the exciting ones. The old tools are just that. They’ve lost their shine and purpose.

Feature photo from Gratisography

On Depression

By Carl

On August 12, 2014

In Introspection

On Depression

If you are thinking about suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Line.
Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Chat with them.
More comfortable in person? Find a local center.
How you get help isn’t important. What’s important is keeping you alive and with us.

I don’t know if I have depression. I don’t know if I ever have. I’ve never gotten help for it. I have been OK and I continue to be OK.

I have never thought about killing myself but I do struggle with sadness. Before I was married, I lived alone for much of that time. While I often enjoyed the quiet and solitude it gave me. There were some times when I needed to be near another human being.

I used to go see movies just to get out of my apartment and be near people. I would smile and chat with the cashiers and laugh and cry at the movie in the theater. I needed to feel something. I needed to share that feeling with other people.

Now that I’m married, I always have someone nearby. And that’s a comfort. Sharing a life with a warm, loving woman has been the height of my life. Knowing she’s near and she loves me helps to keep the ugly feelings at bay.

But there is still sadness. I struggle with it when I’m alone and I’m up late. It comes in the night to take away my joy.

My goal is to fall asleep before the sadness comes. Before it can talk to me and remind me of all the things I’ve done wrong or could do wrong.

Volunteer Counselor

I’ve never had suicidal thoughts. I’ve talked with people who have. I used to volunteer at a teen chat site my freshman year of college. It helped to keep me sane as much as it did those I talked to.

I would often hang out in the chat room at TeenAdviceOnline (TAO for short) at all hours of the night. I didn’t sleep much, I never have. So I would sit at my desk and chat with other people who needed a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen.

I will never forget the night I helped someone from my school.

While we were all anonymous through the chat, the IP addresses were logged and visible to those of us who volunteered. It helped when we needed to try to get help to people offline.

I was chatting with a woman one night. It was late, as it always was, and I noticed her IP address was very similar to mine. It was on the same network. She was at VCU just as I was.

In the course of talking, I learned she was a freshman too and having a really hard time of things. I could relate to her on so many levels. We were both struggling in our own way. But she had some other stuff going on. I don’t remember the specifics, as it’s been over a decade since this happened.

But after hours, I learned she was in a dorm across a small park from me. It was only a block or two from where I was living. I tried to get her to meet me in person to talk.

Midnight Meeting?

She agreed and I logged off and walked across the park to the other dorm. I didn’t know who she was, what she looked like or even what room she was in. But I had described myself and what I was wearing.

I sat and waited in the lobby. I perked up every time a woman came downstairs. But none of them were her, at least none of them admitted as much.

They ventured out with friends, or to meet people and invite them up. They collected mail or food. I waited for her. I waited for an hour. Then, realizing she was not going to come and it would be morning before too long, I told the guard at the front desk why I was there and what little I knew.

I wasn’t able to give much detail and I don’t know if it mattered at all. But I did what little I could.

When I got back to my room, I logged back on to see if she had returned. She had not. I asked the other volunteers if they had seen her or anyone from a similar IP address as me. No one had.

She told me she was leaving school and would be better at home. I hope she did. I hope she got help and her life got better. I will never know what happened to her.

I don’t often think about her, but I do sometimes. And wonder whatever became of her.

I hope she’s still alive. I hope she’s happy. Or at least content in her life.

Why am I telling you this?

I write this not to extol my value or that I deserve praise. I write this to share how we can all make a difference. I write this to share that we all need somebody. We all have our own darkness. Our own pain. We all have days we feel will never end.

We all need help. We all need someone to listen to us. To help us through the darkness. To help let the light shine back into our lives. Some people are down and need time. But other people need help. They’re not going to simply snap out of it. They’re not having a bad day.

I try to be as open as I can to people in my life that I am here if they ever need to talk. I extend that invitation to anyone within sight of these words. If you need to talk, talk to me.

I want to help

Write me an email: peroty@gmail.com
Leave me a comment.
I’m on Facebook, Twitter, and App.net.
Message me. Talk to me. Let me be your shoulder to cry on or ear to listen.

I want to help. If not me, find someone you know, online or off and talk to them.
If not them, call the National Suicide Prevention Line.
Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Chat with them.

Even if you do not call, look through the ideas and resources on the site.
Even though it may not feel like it, I can guarantee you someone in your life cares very deeply about you. They may be too afraid or shy to act on it. But they care for you. They want you to be OK. They want you to be alive. They love you.

I know these words seem hollow and when the clouds roll in, it’s hard to see the light.
But the light is there. It’s not hopeless.
I love you.
I want to help.

Get Help

Call the National Suicide Prevention Line.
Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Chat with them.
More comfortable in person? Find a local center.
How you get help isn’t important. What’s important is keeping you alive and with us.

Do Two Things

By Carl

On August 11, 2014

In Introspection

In the wake of suicide there is always pain and confusion. Regret and grief and guilt rule the day. The question ways comes up, What can I do? or What could I have done?

The truth is probably nothing. Depression is a big black hole of pain. It appears endless and hopeless. That’s why it hurts so much and leads to death. The pain and despair end.

Tonight, after posting your favorite picture or quote. After remembering how great the person was in your own way. Do me two small favors.

Write a thank you letter.

Pick a person who helped you. Pick someone who picked you up when you were down. Find that person who was your ear and your shoulder. Find your crutch or you confidante and tell him or her thank you.

Tell them what they mean to you. Make sure they know how they touched your life.

Be that person to someone else.

Reach out and lift someone else up. Send an email. Pick up the phone. Ask them to a coffee or a meal. Tell that person you love them. Tell that person you are there for them.

If you have someone in your life who is having a tough time, reach out to them. If you can’t think of anyone, choose someone you think would appreciate it anyway.

Give them a reason to feel good about them self. Talk to them. Laugh. Cry. Hug. Smile.

There is not anything you can do for those who are already gone. But there are plenty of people left who could use a kind word.

We all matter very deeply to someone. Unfortunately, we often never find out who how much until it is too late.

Adulting

By Carl

On July 14, 2014

In Introspection

When I was a teenager, being an adult frightened me. I had no idea how to be an adult. All of the things I would have to manage as an adult seemed overwhelming. There was just so much and it would never stop. It would never get easier.

Now that I’m in my 30s and can look back on my teenage years and with my 20s fading into my past. I am less afraid. But I still have no idea what I am doing. But that’s the thing. No one has any idea what they’re doing. We are all doing our best. We are all figuring out this thing called life one day at a time.

We are all faking it as adults. We all struggle.

No one has everything together and I want to say that out loud because it helps to hear it.

Recently, I read a post called Supposed to be where the author talks about his struggles with depression and weight.

So the first time I took a walk in the summer heat aimed at ‘starting a program’ I actually hoped I might die. I’ve written this before elsewhere and told people, but I’m convinced their reaction is to think I’m being dramatic. I’m not. I shuffled along those pretty wooded trails in that hilly park by our home in Georgia and by the time I reached a ridge where there was a slight breeze and the peaceful rush of the Big Creek below, I thought, very clearly, hopefully I’ll die here. A man the size I was at the time, with my uncontrolled hypertension, well, I was supposed to die in that situation.

He struggles and he succeeds. It’s not easy. But he finding success with hard work and determination. He is doing his best. We are all doing our best. This is something worth repeating.

We all struggle. We all do the best with the life we have. It’s hard for everyone. No one has a perfect life where they face no adversity. We are all trying our best. In the age of social media where everyone posts their highlight reel for their friends and family to see, we don’t post about the rest of our days.

Recently, I saw a video that puts this into perspective. It asks a simple question:

Facebook can be depressing because everyone else’s lives are better than yours… But are they really?
httpv://youtu.be/QxVZYiJKl1Y

We don’t post about our sadness.
We don’t post about our failures.
We don’t post about the days we’re too sick to get out of bed.
We post the best parts of us.

But it’s not the whole picture.
We all fail.
We all struggle.
We all have bad days.

But we don’t share those. We fear if we do, people will stop following us. We’ll lose friends online. We will be facing a truth no one wants to publicly admit.

Life is hard.
We’re all in this together.
Let’s try to help each other.

Hero Worship

By Carl

On March 3, 2014

In Introspection

I don’t understand the draw of celebrity. I have never wanted to meet someone famous because they’re famous. They’re just people like me who happen to have public jobs.

If only Bradley's arm was longer. Best photo ever. #oscars pic.twitter.com/C9U5NOtGap— Ellen DeGeneres (@TheEllenShow) March 3, 2014

The closest thing I would have to a celebrity hero is Trent Reznor. His music has been the soundtrack to my life for two decades. I have seen Nine Inch Nails play live six times and How to Destroy Angela once.

But if I were to meet Trent in a cafe what would I say to him? Would I even interrupt his day? I may go up to him very briefly and say thank you. Perhaps as he was leaving.

But he doesn’t need me to bother him. He’s a guy who makes music. He writes songs. He plays concerts. He writes soundtracks. He’s a guy who writes music a lot of people listen to and enjoy.

What right does that give me to interrupt his life? I don’t care about him as a person. I don’t need to talk to him. I don’t have a connection with him. We are not friends.

He’s a guy. Doing a job. That a lot of people get to watch him do.

This extends to professional athletes, actors, authors and musicians. They do great work. But I don’t need to meet them or be in their life at all.