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Re: Are we being too romantic?

Posted by shar on October 23, 2000, at 13:08:18

In reply to Re: Are we being too romantic?, posted by coral on October 23, 2000, at 9:39:09

Well said, Coral. Very well said. I am so sorry that the beast grabbed you and shook you in that way.

Re: Romanticizing

My depression hit full force in my teens. I don't feel at all one-up on people who are not brought to their knees by the condition. I am probably more cynical than most adult "normals" but have learned to just keep it real (just the facts), unless they are so Sunshine Pollyanna I have to leave (as they baby talk in their little teeny voices). I find the baby talk most annoying.

And, I have had a LOT of disruptive life experiences from a young age. That may account for my view of "Life as I Find It" as much as anything else.

I've never gotten much mileage from the "tragic figure" perspective. Most people wouldn't even know that while they are shopping for the best bananas, I'm looking at the apples wishing I was dead. And, in Texas, we nod and smile and greet, and I do too.

My face to the world is serene, I have been told, I am a rock, I have been told because while suicidal I handle whatever comes up (I get compliments on handling stuff, it's only me that knows the suicidal part). Maybe I can do this partly because handling work/home/family stuff sort of pales in comparison to suicide. I must be a good multi-tasker......

Shar


> Romantic? It never occurred to me to romanticize this rotten, evil, ugly devil who takes such damned delight in ruining my life, even if temporarily. To me, there's nothing romantic about being so terrorized that curling up on the couch, UNDER a warm blanket, is the only place I feel safe. To me, there's nothing romantic about a panic attack that'll assault me when I'm just innocently reading a book. There's nothing romantic about being awakened (from bad dreams, no less) with such acute anxiety that I want to claw the very real imaginary hand at my throat. Maybe it's because my first depression hit at 40 and a more youthful attitude of romanticism was long gone. There's nothing romantic about the scars on my wrists or the clear memory of the razor in my hand as it slashed through my flesh.


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