A lot of people have a lot of stuff going on in their heads right now, so I thought we need a place where we can have open, supportive discussions about our issues. I would very much appreciate it if we could keep this a safe place free of judgment and bickering, but at the same time, I know most of us tend to see problems as puzzles that need solving and are likely to try to present solutions to the people talking about their problems here. That's fine; all I ask is that no one be a dick about it.
I'll get the ball rolling.
My depression history is well-documented on the old forums and in the White Wolf archive. I don't want to go into it again because I'm sure we're all bored with it by now. I will mention a more recent occurrence probably caused by it being winter and my depression is therefore being stronger than usual, to the point where I think no part of my life is safe from it, nothing too good to be corrupted.
For instance, back in 2012 I met Loxofish for the first time. They invited me up to his place, I accepted, I went. I wrote a big story about it. When I got to their place, Devilfish was waiting for me out on the porch,* and the first thing she did--well, actually, the first thing she did was ask, "Jim?" because I guess the next thing she did would have been embarrassing to do if it had turned out I wasn't Jim but was a Jehovah's Witness or something who showed up with comical timing. The second thing she did was hug me hard. I don't handle being treated with things like love or kindness well at all, but a friend who trusted me and whom I trusted in return had called me and asked me to spend time with her and was hugging me like there was nothing weird or repulsive about it, and it was one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
One detail I left out of that big ol' story I referenced earlier is that when I hugged Devilfish, I marveled at how small she was. I chose to exclude that detail from the story because it seemed a little creepy and was too open to too many bad interpretations, but I was just amazed at how far around her my arms went when I got to hug her. It's something that's stuck with me this last year and a half, every time I think about how once a brave friend hugged me and made me think maybe things were going to be okay.
A few days ago, when I was thinking about that moment and how surprised I was at how small she seemed, the voice of depression spoke up in the back of my head and said, You marvel at it because you have been alone for so long you don't know how another human being feels in your arms. Your astonishment is because you have no frame of reference for being embraced.
So there's the best moment of my life, tied seemingly inextricably to a reminder of how alone I feel most of the time, which opens the door wide open for analysis of why I'm alone; the usual self-pitying bullshit about how I am too low and despicable to have friends. I'm not letting that one get to me--it doesn't get to win, it doesn't get to get to me, fuck that--but I'm hurt to discover how easily I can pervert the things I rely on for a defense against this stuff.
*For some reason, I think Loxosceles was inside the house at the time. I don't trust that memory--it doesn't seem like that's how he would have chosen to let our first meeting go down--but according to my insistent memory, he was upstairs in the living room, standing next to the couch furthest from the stairs, where I met him and his dog.
I'll get the ball rolling.
My depression history is well-documented on the old forums and in the White Wolf archive. I don't want to go into it again because I'm sure we're all bored with it by now. I will mention a more recent occurrence probably caused by it being winter and my depression is therefore being stronger than usual, to the point where I think no part of my life is safe from it, nothing too good to be corrupted.
For instance, back in 2012 I met Loxofish for the first time. They invited me up to his place, I accepted, I went. I wrote a big story about it. When I got to their place, Devilfish was waiting for me out on the porch,* and the first thing she did--well, actually, the first thing she did was ask, "Jim?" because I guess the next thing she did would have been embarrassing to do if it had turned out I wasn't Jim but was a Jehovah's Witness or something who showed up with comical timing. The second thing she did was hug me hard. I don't handle being treated with things like love or kindness well at all, but a friend who trusted me and whom I trusted in return had called me and asked me to spend time with her and was hugging me like there was nothing weird or repulsive about it, and it was one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
One detail I left out of that big ol' story I referenced earlier is that when I hugged Devilfish, I marveled at how small she was. I chose to exclude that detail from the story because it seemed a little creepy and was too open to too many bad interpretations, but I was just amazed at how far around her my arms went when I got to hug her. It's something that's stuck with me this last year and a half, every time I think about how once a brave friend hugged me and made me think maybe things were going to be okay.
A few days ago, when I was thinking about that moment and how surprised I was at how small she seemed, the voice of depression spoke up in the back of my head and said, You marvel at it because you have been alone for so long you don't know how another human being feels in your arms. Your astonishment is because you have no frame of reference for being embraced.
So there's the best moment of my life, tied seemingly inextricably to a reminder of how alone I feel most of the time, which opens the door wide open for analysis of why I'm alone; the usual self-pitying bullshit about how I am too low and despicable to have friends. I'm not letting that one get to me--it doesn't get to win, it doesn't get to get to me, fuck that--but I'm hurt to discover how easily I can pervert the things I rely on for a defense against this stuff.
*For some reason, I think Loxosceles was inside the house at the time. I don't trust that memory--it doesn't seem like that's how he would have chosen to let our first meeting go down--but according to my insistent memory, he was upstairs in the living room, standing next to the couch furthest from the stairs, where I met him and his dog.
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