depression

What the darkness is like

After an evening of dark thoughts and strong sobbing, some questions move through the front of my mind. I definitely have too many books. If I got rid of bunches of books, would I feel liberated in some way? Could it help me to then lose bunches of weight, maybe? — that sense of liberation,

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FreeVerse: A Box, A Life

This is from a post I originally published on my blog at MySpace. (I checked the other day, and apparently I haven’t logged into my MySpace account since October 2008. Jeff didn’t know how that could be right, but I know it’s been a LONG, LONG TIME, and I know how the months fly by

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A blah blah blog post

So I have a little bit of “home alone” time, and so many things that I could do, and a few that I probably should do, like walk on the treadmill (and that would also mean watching Lost from two nights ago, and it’s supposed to be an amazing episode, but yeah, I don’t think

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Of Paper, and Its Work

For weeks now, Jeff has had piles of paperwork and folders set aside in an area of our bedroom, waiting for me to sort through them and determine what can be recycled. This morning, after sleeping in, I woke to a few inches of snow, which immediately pushed away any ambition I might have had

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Feeling better, thanks to book bargains!

Today at work, I was feeling kind of blue. Parts of my day were somewhat productive, but I also had a difficult request, took quite a while to find a library that owned the right volume of the journal, one that also would hopefully not charge us an arm and leg for a 10- or

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Reading, writing, and breathing

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.—Henry David Thoreau (Walden, 1854) I am thinking this evening about quiet desperation. My feeling tonight is not quiet, but angry and restless and relentless desperation.—written by me, on Sept. 24, 2009 This past Thursday evening, I slid into a terrible dark mood. I wrote a blog,

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My mom receiving hospice care again

It has been far too long since I wrote an update on my mother’s health and condition. I’m afraid if I start, I’ll find details I need to include, and it could take me all day, and I never HAVE all day available, so I just didn’t say much of anything. My mom’s eating had

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It is getting late and this must be quick. I am trying to be better about what I eat and drink, to pause and ask myself, whenever I begin thinking of something to ingest, “Is that really what I want?” and if I find the answer is “No,” or even “I’m not sure,” then I

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Draft — fragment

I am the same as ever I have been.Lying hollow on my pillow, making listsof scars and sins. © All the parts of my life 2008-2015.

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Book 2 of my most influential five

When I was a teenager – often depressed, no self-esteem, thinking of death and hurting myself – I bought a used paperback anthology of poetry by women. I had heard of Sylvia Plath, and might already have read The Bell Jar, but hadn’t yet been exposed to her poetry. The book’s introduction quoted these lines

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