Despair and how I numb myself.

I always wonder if any of us lives with despair without some sort of numbing. The brain does all things crazy to keep us alive, and grief takes us under in seconds. Processing pain seems impossible to me. So I close it in a deep far corner of my soul, letting out only droplets at a time, dealing with shadows, reflections, suggestions.
I am not capable of feeling the emotions that drag me down, the wave seems to me a tsunami, destroying any joy, hope and faith I have.
So I float on the surface, enjoying my coffee, good food, pets, beer and music, vain and shallow existence, only to find myself from time to time longing for that thing that I cannot name and fearing things I don't know of.
Beautiful sounds of grunge music remind me of times and spaces I used to know and used to love. But - where are they? What are they? I better not ask.

Minimalism or intentionality.

Minimalism is the buzz word right now. Decluttering is the mantra of the first world. Clear, airy spaces, monochrome design, simplicity and downsizing are the answers to overconsumption that crushes us under huge piles of garbage.
I just cannot be a minimalist. I like cosy, a bit cluttered, warm interior of my home. All the things I own are of value and meaning to me. Nevertheless I do go through our aparment once in a while and find stuff to give to others or dispose of,  hopefully in the least wasteful manner possible.
What I do commit to is intentional living and intentional consumption. From food, through books, music, appointments, sporting activities to clothes shoes and handbags - I try and appreciate what I have. I am mindful of what and how much I am able to use up or take advantage of. And I attempt to use my time and money wisely.
These are of course premises that I set for myself. Overconsumption always wears me out. Some mental hygene hopefully helps in releaving any anxiety and depression that every so often comes my way. We all need to carry ourselves sensibly in this ridicolous age of advertising and propaganda.
Take care and be intentional!

Pretty things.

I've got  a thing for cute things. Original, well... nope 🤣 But seriously, since I'd been little my late parents showed me their love through gifts. Everytime my mom had gone shopping, she would have always brought a little something for me. Talking conditioning... I was a spoilt, overfed, over consuming little brat. And a part of me is still that little always devouring small girl.
We know shopping can be as addicting as alcohol and food, and cigarettes. Anything that gives you pleasure, that exciting rush of dopamine, can be addicting. Yes, cleaning up and binge watching YouTube too (guilty 😛).
I am an adult now, but still little pretty, nice, cute things bring me joy. And I like showing my love for people through gifts. What I wish for the future is for me to be able to create and put some soul into what's around me. And more heart and value into what I offer people.
I feel I was sort of bribed as a child with all this stuff into giving my family love. I don't want this in my relations with people. I don't want any guilt tripping - neither others, nor me.And that calls for sound boundaries. This is something I try and work on, though it is real tough at times. Adulting...

I'm getting off my butt... like every time!

Feeling depressed? Anxious? Hopeless? In despair? Hurt? These kinds of feelings may bring down the most optimistic person if felt constantly over long period of time. What can I do not to give in to the temptation of just laying down and surrendering to the grief? Usually I just make myself do activities I must, should, want to be doing. However this constant battle between the rational me that wants to survive and the sad me that just does not feel up to any activity stresses me to the point of exhaustion.
What I found latetly for coping with my depression is to be gentle on myself, very delicate and thoughtful with my mind and body and I started giving myself loads of grace. These may sound like obvious measures, but to my overambitious, masochistic, self-loathing part they were, and to some extent still are, unacceptable symptoms of weakness.
Being good to myself will be a journey where I get to know me better, where I learn to respect and appreciate my strengths and embrace my imperfections. It is truely a beginning of a beautiful friendship. A friendship for lifetime.

I want to be an artisan.

Making beautiful things is so much more fulfilling than purchasing them. Fulfilling, satisfactory, joy bringing, expressive. The things I want to make are not meant to be artworks. They are meant to be pretty and mine. They are meant to heal my pain through dedication and time I put in them. They are meant to make me- and hopefully others -  happy. They are meant to help me deal with tough emotions. I don't want to educate, inspire, convey any significant message. I want to work with my hands, with my eyes, with my brain in the comfort and peace of my home in order to sort of "meditate" and find joy in a moment. Am I an artist? Hell, no! Am I an artisan? Hope to. One day for sure.