The Dark Corner

It isn’t that there were no thoughts to ponder and write about via my blog these past several weeks; on the contrary, there has been a river of them flowing eloquently through my mind, but I have not been able to hold onto one long enough to examine it, outside of efforts put forth for the course work just completed and the demands of the work week.

It was a very interesting class, this Philosophy of Death and Dying, but I found having to focus on loss, grieving, and the need for re-identification all too familiar and quite draining, nay, downright tiring.

On the other hand, an academic observation of what took place during the eight and a half years I invested actually doing that soul work, so I could untangle the profusion of knots which was what I at one time called “my life”, seemed far easier than it was when I was living it, pulling out the tangled threads one at a time with a fine hook and weaving it into a fabric strong enough to hold together under stress.  Maybe the best thing to do is to write it out, and come to think of it, as I write, it occurs to me that every time our life shifts, no matter the change, we have to re-identify who we are.  A sort of Cybernetics.

So here I am again, in my dark corner.

I don’t remember choosing to return to this place, but loneliness throws itself over me like a heavy wet military blanket, and I now have to fight my way out. Why I cannot live my life without having to visit this shadowy locale is a question I always ask upon arrival, but the thought of taking a dose of something just to avoid it scares me more than being here.

And at least this corner is familiar, and there are no cobwebs, because I busy myself while I am visiting, doing whatever housekeeping seems required; a clean-up operation if you will.  And the time spent here is shorter and shorter, less and less dark.  I try to think of it as a valuable exercise, a sort of cleansing of spirit, or maybe a repentance from having pushed too far from my comfort zone, which I am grateful to report grows larger and larger all the time.

Perhaps this is simply my resting place, and that’s OK.  We all need to rest in a quiet dark corner once in a while, and I know my antidote; go be with friends, make invitations, accept them as well, and be kind in all interactions, because a simple chat or a kind word might be just what the other person needs in order to peek out of their own solitude and see that life is waiting for them to join in as well.

Time for a walk in the sunshine.  Chances are I’ll bump into a neighbor or two and we’ll have a chat.

Advertisements

5 Comments

  1. Descartes said,

    May 17, 2010 at 8:27 pm

    Back in the good old days, before being crazy had so many way cool titles like Bi-polar and Asperger’s and dissociative, I was a bit sad a good deal of the time. I found myself in the dark place, which is often called an abyss by those of us familiar to the darkness, and suffered from depression and the occasional suicidal thought. There is something very appealing about these dark corners, something that makes us think someone will come along and comfort us and tell us everything will be alright.

    Everything will be alright.

    I never went to doctors, being a man, doctors are only for injuries that would kill us without treatment. So I was never officially diagnosed with Depression, but I was definitely depressed.

    There is also that other feeling, that we don’t want anyone to find us. That we deserve to suffer. That this pain is the price we are meant to pay-only I have never quit figured out what exactly the payment is for.

    Somewhere along the line, my own darkness receded, like an old injury that no longer pains you, so you forget that it ever did. Time seems to have been the key issue for me, though it is clearly not the cure for everyone.

    I watched one of the TV News Magazine where John Stossel talked about how bummed out he was all the time, even though he was rich, had a loving family, and was well respected for his work. Some people are just grumpier than others. Oscar the Grouch is another prime example of this.

    • June 2, 2010 at 7:39 am

      Thanks for sharing your perspective. Since posting this blog entry it occurred to me that if I want to write, then I have to accept a certain amount of solitude, which is difficult for me, an extrovert, to do. I think it will be easier if I can remember to accept the solitude as a gift rather than a banishment and to also remind myself that often the solitude I might resent is often self-imposed. When the light bulb turned on with this “aha!” I answered it with a quiet “duh, of course”.

  2. May 21, 2010 at 7:46 am

    Just want to say what a great blog you got here!
    I’ve been around for quite a lot of time, but finally decided to show my appreciation of your work!

    Thumbs up, and keep it going!

    Cheers
    Christian, iwspo.net

  3. September 16, 2010 at 3:55 pm

    Hey Andrea,

    Yeah. I actually sneaked a peek at your blog earlier this week. I remember you mentioning it back in June, and so while I was setting mine up, I looked up your address on Facebook 🙂 Technology is truly a fascinating creature, no?

    Anyway, I was particularly struck by this entry and its common themes with the first section in Eat, Pray, Love. And perhaps elements of my own recent past. It’s funny though your comments in the comment section about extravertedness… Me, I’m introverted at my core, and I like solitude–in fact, I need it. But that’s different to me than loneliness. Loneliness is a different animal and not always friendly. Thanks for writing about all of this so publically. It’s validating in a way. Thank you.

    Kim

    p.s. I just posted a section of stories about my dad (from conversation with his childhood buddy Alex). There will be a few more from my conversation with his brother Jack, but let me know if you have any particularly memoriable Scott stories to share. I find myself wanting to have them recorded somewhere…so that I have them to tell and retell.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: