Purging

For the last couple of months I have been living back home with my parents in Babylon, NY. This week the roof was being entirely re-done, so last week we had to get the attic prepared for the 'demolition' (as the contractor and my mother were so very fond of saying). Most people accumulate a lot of objects that over time pile up in their attics. I often feel like we have a excessive amount of 'things'. I love her dearly and mean no harm when I say this, but my mother has trouble getting rid of objects with sentimental value and she could give a penny sentimental value. A good amount of the boxes were from my brother's and my childhood. I took the opportunity to go through all the keepsakes that have been collecting dust and purge a great majority of them.

It took some time getting through everything I had, because (and I hate to admit this) I too, have some trouble letting go of things. This is partly because I fascinate myself. I have written in journals for as long as I could put sentences together and hate to part with them. When I was packing for college, I brought with me journals from the last couple years. I say some pretty profound shit, if you hadn't realized that yet. I will often read old entries and can find humor in my omniscient attitude or downright absurd notions about life. Journal writing is such a constant, that I have at least one notebook and several pens on my person at all times. 

Saying that I am introspective is an understatement, obsessive is probably closer to the truth. I have been reflective my entire life, examining my feelings and trying to understand or 'figure out' those I'm surrounded by. This annoys most, especially if I hit the nail on the head. Over the weekend a close friend of mine, that is friends with not only myself but my brothers as well (and has been dating one of my very good friends for the last 8 or 9 years),  told me that I did this to him once. I (apparently) pointed out that he was depressed, or unsatisfied, with his current day to day. I don't recall this particular conversation, but it was significant enough to him that it's become a sort of emotional landmark. When recalling it, he explained that at the time it had seriously pissed him off. Who was I to make such a judgment? Now, he views it as the verbal wake up slap that was the beginning of a purposeful change. As you might imagine, I was ego-tripping on this piece of information for a solid 24 hrs. 

It is so easy to unconsciously slip into a routine that is seemingly not, but still unsatisfying. Even though depression is no longer the taboo that it once was, it's still not entirely acceptable or understood. Sometimes, you need to be told you are depressed before you consider it a possibility. Men in particular have trouble admitting or owning depression, as it's seen as being weak willed. Also, many people think being depressed means staying in bed all day, not spending time with friends, moping around twenty four seven and in general being a Debbie Downer. This is not always the case. My friend wasn't having this expected experience of depression. He was still spending time with friends, his girlfriend, doing the same old. Yet, he wasn't being challenged intellectually, and as an intelligent man, it was a necessary part of the equation. There was something missing and it kept him from feeling like his most complete self. His experience was not that everything seemed dull or that life wasn't worth living, but that there was a vacancy. This is often how I see or experience depression, which is probably why I recognized it in him.  

Case in point, the last year of my life. So much happened and changed in the course of one week last April, that the very overwhelming nature of it caused parts of myself to hibernate. My introspective self, the knowing voice that makes good decisions and is most authentic, was so deeply hurt that I simply ignored it. I went on auto-pilot, I wasn't sad, I didn't cry, I laughed with friends and went about my life. But I had nightmares, gained weight that I'd dutifully kept off for several years and developed pain in my body. It wasn't until I came home that there was no escaping the truth of how I was affected. At first, all that meant was stepping on the scale and looking in the mirror. The first step was seeing and then admitting it. I become so absorbed by the discomfort within my body, the pain was getting worse and I wasn't working out regularly. I had stomach pains for a month straight until I decided it was time to address these issues. It is only in the last two months that I've had the courage and strength to feel anything besides physical pain.

I started therapy again, started seeing a chiropractor with a holistic approach and getting acupuncture. Five weeks later and I am feeling so much lighter, seeing more clearly and crying like a baby regularly. 

But hey, how else am I supposed to purge? 

Back to the attic for a moment: While going through my boxes I found a notebook from 5th or 6th grade. As part of an exploration unit, we were asked to name people we thought would make good explorers and a reason why. Of course, I put myself on that list because, "No matter how far away from home, I will never be homesick". Oh Peace Corps, my love, my destiny! I await you eagerly!!