I want to kick it off by apologizing to my favorite bloggers. I ghosted for like a month. I was inconsistent, which makes me anxious (so naturally, I assume it makes everyone uneasy.) I’m sorry I did that, and I’m working on not doing it again in the future. Starting today. (Also, I missed you. 🤫)
Next up, podcasters. I made the laziest list of podcasts immediately after telling everyone how much I love you. My bad. I’m working on creating a separate page to reflect my gratitude better. It will include studios, siblings, and a chart to indicate how I discovered you. (Thanks, Fran.) I’ll also design a system to show how friendly they are for neurodivergent people, and why. For example, The Friend Zone is the highest possible score for neurodivergent-friendly podcasting. It’s also an excellent starting podcast. The conversation is entirely spontaneous, yet they give precise instructions on how to do surprisingly useful things (mental wellness skills.)
You can see why elaborating on why I recommend them is helpful. (/over-explanation) I’m also sorry for the probability my writing about depression might invisibility-pinch people with severe depression. My depression is presently manageable (without non-medicinal intervention.) I already had therapy, and this is significant (because I probably whined about it without elaborating); even the *wrong therapist can be helpful.
Focus on the skills they teach and try not to let your ego ruin everything, like raisins. Quit them when you have enough skills to work on things at home. Repeat (with someone else) if/when necessary. (It’s one of the lessons to which I’m referring.) When I’m in crisis, such as during the nightmare preceding my ex-husbands’ (virtually) permanent incarceration, my depression dips low enough to include psychotic episodes.
It makes me seem intellectually challenged based on the feedback I’ve observed. I don’t smear feces on walls, as media portrays. I check out and run on autopilot scripted by dreams, TV shows I watched recently, conversations I overheard, and such with rules loosely similar to Dominoes. It’s like I’m locked in random access memory, and very little of it records onto my hard drive. So it’s possible I smeared feces and don’t remember it, but I have no evidence. Besides, media lies sometimes.
It sucked so much, but I can barely remember it from a non-robotic perspective. When I’m not in crisis, my depression is moderate, with challenging winters. Exercise is my best tool. I do know from experience how low depression can get: where you can’t muster the energy or skills necessary to off yourself, but can’t think of anything else, very slowly, between barely audible, involuntary moans. It’s where I got the saying, stapled to the floor. It’s a tribute to the people enduring severe depression so heroically, they somehow still managed to read my freakin’ blog. I see you. (I was there for a minute, and I’ll never forget.)
I’m sorry I tried to glom on to your privilege earned from getting paid to be funny. You are the comedian; I’m part of the audience. I can’t joke about things I know may hurt others because nobody is paying me to be funny. There is no meet-you-halfway bracing in anticipation of my dancing near or crossing the line with wild, professional abandon going on here. I didn’t think it through. I’m in awe of your abilities and much appreciate your healing talent. I’m sorry I overstepped the boundary.
(you know) 🥰
Shame is banned. (Possibly canceled, but I’m not sure I understand the culture.) It’s a con against the human condition. I’m not privy to a single example where it was effective in any positive change. All it ever did was hurt people. What a piece of shit, right? Lay by your bowl forever, Shame. If that’s even your real name, (she added, further proving she’s not a comedian by chasing it with a self-inflicted snort.)
Jesus wept is my favorite line in the Holy Bible. It’s my mantra as I exorcise all traces of hypermasculinity out of me. (I hope it’s not cultural appropriation. I’m still playing catch-up.) In some ways, I copy all the teachers who attract my attention. Jesus didn’t let anyone talk him out of being human to feed imaginary pride. Those two words say it so succinctly. 💜✌🏽
*-Wrong such as; the therapist is going through a crisis without heal-thyself abilities, you brought in oversized luggage, inexperience, personality barriers, are ist/ōbic, suck at it, or stuff I haven’t imagined yet.