Saturday, April 25, 2015

Egyptian Zodiac - and More

Looks like it has been a month since my last post. Time for an update!

First of all, stitching news... I have been working on the Gemini pattern by Julie Hasler, from her Fantasy Cross Stitch book. My daughter is a Gemini, and I want to finish it in time for her birthday.

This is the most recent progress pic..Since it was taken, I have already stitched more. Some day I will stitch all twelve Zodiac patterns from that book. They are the best ones I have ever seen.

In addition to that, I have several work-related projects going... These mostly are exercises in patience and self-development... the first one I am running extremely low on.

Now on to the "more" part of the post. Even as I was typing this, I had to pause - where to start? It's like a great big concrete wrecking ball that keeps hitting me and knocking me down, all the problems and feelings about the problems tangled and solidified together and turned on me.

The short story is - I am depressed. (In my head, a voice immediately pipes up, "Who isn't?") Nothing special, right? In our day and age, every other adult and - seems like - every third child - has that. I am just one of many.

Of course, telling myself this does not help dealing with it. Not having any friends does not help, either. I feel invisible. Nobody comes, nobody calls, nobody cares. ( A voice hackles: "You are not alone - you have "Nobody.")

I do have a social life. People talk to me online. Several online friends with the shared stitching passion ("addiction," the inner voice quickly adds) send online messages. A wonderful "pen pal" lady friend from Denmark writes regularly - and I respond, also regularly. Individuals from other states talk to me about stitching projects. I even have a magazine subscription.  All the connections, all the projects, all the messages and letters say - you are not alone, you do have friends - and a full life.

Then I look around me - and no one is there. It is as if all this busy life I live has been imagined. Except the letters - and the magazine subscription - I have no tangible proof of it. I have never met most people I converse with face to face, and the ones I have - not in the past 20 years. In the back of my skull, a thought is knocking, waiting to get out, "Is it real, or is it all in my head?"

The answer to this question has been given to Harry Potter by Dumbledore (or by J.K. Rowling): "Of course it's all in your head. But why should that mean it isn't real?"

I have noticed that for several years now, when my depression gets bad, I want to re-read ( or re-listen) Harry Potter books. For a while I thought it was because of the "magical world" and witches and wizards... But the last two books of the series seem to have less to do with magic - and more with loss, depression, death... The "comforts" of the magical world become more of an accessory to the real problem of the heroes - dealing with death, and the reality of dying.
I have suspected this for a while (except I always substituted "death" and "dying" with "reality of life"), and when I saw a long interview with J.K Rowling about creation of Harry Potter books, I confirmed my ... suspicions. Perhaps this is the reason I choose the series when I feel the worst - I can relate to the characters's fears, panic, numbness... Plus, there is no patronizing in the voice of the narrator - so often present in many other works - and other people.

Other people - the ones that know what I am dealing with - have been coming up with suggestions.
"Get out more."
"Meet new people."
"Do things."

From the end: I already do things. There are no new people here, and they have nothing I am interested in.  Why????

Indeed, there are no people - let alone groups of people - near me that share my interests. See - it's not a matter of being "unfriendly" or mean - it's just after the first ten minutes we would have nothing to say to each other. So - why waste my time (and theirs) - just to say hello?

I am making my life and my friends. Unfortunately, they just happen to be thousands of miles away. I feel like I live on a deserted island - and, for all purposes, I do. I am isolated from people that may be close to me in spirit - by distance, and from people that are near me - by the non-sharing of interests. Complete and total isolation.

If you have read this to the very end - thank you. Until next time, I will be on my island, stitching.

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