Writings

Tag: mental health Page 1 of 8

Caught between two worlds

Londo patiently waits for kitty treats.

Sometimes, I wonder if what I write here is worthwhile and if anyone cares. Other times, I think, “this is my blog. I’ll write whatever I want,” but there is always a nagging thought at the back of my head wondering if what I do matters.

On a recent day out exploring northwest Nebraska, my friend and I were chatting and he told me he was thankful for the writing I do here. He does not have PTSD or experience depression. He said he was once the type of person who would wonder why people who are depressed don’t just snap out of it and get on with things, but through my writings, he has come to learn it isn’t so easy.

On September 28, 2021, I had a flashback. I wrote about it the next morning, but didn’t really know what to do with it until last night.

It’s complicated

Although I have two things written, I am choosing not to post either this week. I may not ever post them as they are far too angry for the world to see in their current form.

Kindness always matters

Nikita Mazepin is a Formula One driver in his rookie year for the Uralkali Haas F1 Team. The team is considered the worst team this year, as evidenced by their accumulation of zero points and finishing last in nearly every race this season.

Altschmerz

Ninety-nine would have been a good year

Gram at Uncle Dave’s fishing competition July, 15, 2007.

Today would have been my grandmother’s 99th birthday. She passed away in 2011, but I still struggle with the idea that she is no longer alive and I will never see her again. As an atheist, I do not have the luxury of the idea of being with her again once I die. There is no heaven. There is no hell. Who we are – our mind, consciousness, personality, and character – is a unique combination of chemicals and neurons, which disperse once we have died.

Scrolling is dopamine

For the past few years, I have been attempting to eliminate toxic elements in my life. One of my biggest detractors was Facebook.

Monkeying around

Eighteen months ago, I was placed on a shelf and watched as humans picked up those around me to take home to their loved ones. I didn’t think anyone was ever going to pick me. Three months later, Irene came along and took me home.

Double life

This might be painful, but I need to do it

Sometimes, leaving and finding your own place is the best decision, even if it hurts a little bit.

I’m not crying, it’s just raining on my face

On any given day, I carry one of several backpacks with me. Inside is a copy of a letter a friend sent to me last year. It’s a list of reasons why she looks up to me and, on many days, it is a foundation which helps me keep moving forward.

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