I was going to remove the previous post because it was basically the “illustrated version” of a 27-paragraph Facebook timeline post, printing out to 13 pages (1 1/2 spaced) on a Word doc, and I didn’t expect anyone to bother to read a post that lengthy on either site. The only reason I wrote it in the first place is because I was feeling depressed, and I was giving myself an online pep talk at the time.
However, four people read it on Facebook, and it looks as though three people read it here on WordPress, although I’m pretty sure at least one of them was a “likes collector” and did not actually read the post.
It is both interesting and depressing that, of the four people who read it on Facebook, the two who decided to comment did exactly what I was hoping no one would do. I even think that I pretty clearly suggested in the topic paragraph of the post that this was not what I wanted anyone to do. I had said that my posts were in general “social statements” and not “requests for advice or assistance.” So, when two people proceeded to give me advice in their comments, it made me think one and only one thing:
Can my writing possibly be that bad?
However, of the other two people who read it on Facebook, one of them gave it a “love” and the other one private-messaged me with the word “wow.” (I wish she had put the “wow” on the post itself, but I suppose I can’t have everything.) So I have to remember that it’s not always all about me. People’s inability to understand the gist of my posts is not always related to my inability to write clearly. Sometimes, for whatever reason, they just don’t understand.
In any case, depression has been striking me much more frequently and much more easily ever since March 4th, which as you may recall is the day I finished the script to my musical Eden in Babylon.
Talk about your crash and burn. It seemed as though I had reached a peak, after which I could only descend, when my desire had been to ascend further upward. My doctor and my therapist both want me to try this new medication, and I’ve been feeling like telling them both to take all their damned psychiatric drugs and cram them up their you-know-whats. The last one gave me acid reflux, for which they responded by wanting me to take yet another med, one to wipe out the awareness of the acid reflux. Of course, I stopped taking the psychiatric med instead, and the acid reflux went away.
The psychiatric med had little or no effect on my mental health while adversely affecting my otherwise excellent physical health. I just do not understand why a person would ever want to take a psychiatric drug unless they absolutely needed to. Psychiatric drugs lost me a $50,000 annual income, a car, and a house in the year 2004, only because I still believed anyone who wore a badge.
As far as my piano-vocal score, I made it about halfway through the Opening Number during the first week of my plan to work twenty hours a week on it and get it all done before October 1st. Though the task was not as tedious as I’d expected, nor did it feel as much like drudgery as I’d anticipated, I still felt like I couldn’t rise to the occasion. I was on my way down. There was no stopping it. I was living in a beautiful, idyllic city of my dreams between July 27 and March 4th. Since that date, practically everything I have touched has turned to dirt, and the city of my dreams has become a ghost town.
This is neither a social statement, by the way, nor a request for advice or assistance. I’ll be back with a social statement very shortly.