Ooh how I cried at the Golden Wedding video. I got through most of it with only a slight biting of the lip until we reached the end and there was a tenor singing 'Time to Say Goodbye' over snapshots of my parents taken over the years, then I burst into painful tears. It hurts. Loss is unendurable, and yet endure is the only thing you can do with it.
I read Ruby Wax in a sort of half formed blog on Huffington about activity being her antidote, her escape almost from depression; her drive to do, do, do, to achieve. I sympathise and recognise that. Of course I don't have the big house in Notting Hill and the career in television to show for all that drive. Instead I have kitchen cupboards with empty jars covered with chalboard labels, and painted furniture, and christmas plates with initials painted on them. I'll wake up in the morning and think, 'yes, I must refinish the kitchen table' and get busy acquiring the kit (I do love kit) and start painting. Currently I'm driven by the urge to change the world by tidying the study and organising all the kit for the various craft projects I undertake, then make a button box as a present for my bf's mother, and make paper flowers out of music scores for the husband's gf (why?). But, unlike Ruby, I don't feel that this is necessarily a bad symptom of escaping from my problems and not facing up to my inner turmoil. In fact, it calms my inner turmoil. It's a natural tranquiliser for me, to do something with my hands and let my mind go into that 'flow' space, while at the same time creating something, albeit something frivolous, or even downright naff.
I've been manic with it too, so I do understand the Wax frenzy. I think I'm in a better place now and that my activity now tends to me more meditative, more nurturing, more therapeutic than juggling knives. It's all about balance. However, yes, it's still an escape. But escape isn't necessarily a bad thing is it? Hiding from danger is survival. It's knowing when to hide, how to heal, and when you have to come out fighting.
She's also right about how depression is being not able to do anything. To be frozen. And this, when your identity is wrapped up in the things you do, that make you you, is a loss of self. Who am I if I can't paint, or write, or clean a cupboard? Just a bag of anxiety, fear and grief? And if so, does that negate me further? Of course it doesn't because it's what we do with our lives that makes us who we are, that colours our personalities - not in terms of achievements and goals, just in what makes us tick. And what makes me tick is clearing out the craft cupboard, and making a box out of papier mache. It makes me happy.
I read Ruby Wax in a sort of half formed blog on Huffington about activity being her antidote, her escape almost from depression; her drive to do, do, do, to achieve. I sympathise and recognise that. Of course I don't have the big house in Notting Hill and the career in television to show for all that drive. Instead I have kitchen cupboards with empty jars covered with chalboard labels, and painted furniture, and christmas plates with initials painted on them. I'll wake up in the morning and think, 'yes, I must refinish the kitchen table' and get busy acquiring the kit (I do love kit) and start painting. Currently I'm driven by the urge to change the world by tidying the study and organising all the kit for the various craft projects I undertake, then make a button box as a present for my bf's mother, and make paper flowers out of music scores for the husband's gf (why?). But, unlike Ruby, I don't feel that this is necessarily a bad symptom of escaping from my problems and not facing up to my inner turmoil. In fact, it calms my inner turmoil. It's a natural tranquiliser for me, to do something with my hands and let my mind go into that 'flow' space, while at the same time creating something, albeit something frivolous, or even downright naff.
I've been manic with it too, so I do understand the Wax frenzy. I think I'm in a better place now and that my activity now tends to me more meditative, more nurturing, more therapeutic than juggling knives. It's all about balance. However, yes, it's still an escape. But escape isn't necessarily a bad thing is it? Hiding from danger is survival. It's knowing when to hide, how to heal, and when you have to come out fighting.
She's also right about how depression is being not able to do anything. To be frozen. And this, when your identity is wrapped up in the things you do, that make you you, is a loss of self. Who am I if I can't paint, or write, or clean a cupboard? Just a bag of anxiety, fear and grief? And if so, does that negate me further? Of course it doesn't because it's what we do with our lives that makes us who we are, that colours our personalities - not in terms of achievements and goals, just in what makes us tick. And what makes me tick is clearing out the craft cupboard, and making a box out of papier mache. It makes me happy.
