I do not give it

Accept it as me

Tonight, I sit am sitting here writing and writing and tweeting and blogging and just writing. There is so much beauty in it. There is beauty in pain. The agony of the soul is a paintbrush.

There are times when I am happy and slightly lost. I don't quite know what to do with it.

Then there are moments when I reach for happiness and it's just out of reach. It eludes me and then I realise that I'm not really trying. Maybe there has to be a little hurt to make it worth trying. Maybe one day I will find another driver. Until then, I think I'll make the most of the pain and try to let it make the most of me.

Don't be sorry for me. Smile at that fact that I accepted the fragility of me. The beauty that is a broken Damana. A star that burns it's hottest, right before it implodes.

Accept it as me.

Oscar Says

You exist

Don't leave me here

If you find me one night lying still and breathing slowly, don't leave me there.
If my hand twitches and my fingers reach ever so slightly, don't leave me there.
If my eyes are only opened enough to show that I am still there, don't leave me there.
If you see me and you see me, don't leave me there.

Some days

Some days, so much of me hurts that I don't quite remember how it was to not feel the deep persistent ache.

People ask if it has a cause, a name, a reason. It does but it is not one that they will be happy with. It is not something or someone that they can fix or heal or tell me isn't worth it.

It is that darkness that looms always. The promise of a sinking lead that pulls you under and so far down that even if you free yourself there won't be enough time to get back up for air.

Part of dealing with depression is accepting that when you are well, you may still plummet into that abyss again. Rudely, it is often at short notice and with an assumed RSVP.

Little things can add up and to be honest, it is more likely a culmination of many tiny pushes than one big ka-thump.

Nah, let me explain that better.

An event can't knock me down on it's own. Triggers don't work that way now. People can't push me over the edge even if they explicitly... harshly... deliberately... knowingly try. I'm too strong for that now.

What can bring me to the point of pain is me not looking after myself.

If I get sick and it lingers. If I get tired and don't sleep. If I get mentally exhausted and don't rest. If I let myself go and not reel it in then I'm in danger.

Depression is what happens to you again when the balance is lost. When the pace is no longer sustainable. When you don't have the energy to hold it back.

It is not about weakness or loss of control or neglect but more about forgetting that it is waiting. Thinking that you're fine and always will be is an error on your part.

Once you've truly suffered from depression, you must always watch your back. Although that sounds awful, being aware that you must does empower you. After all, you know your enemy so well and have defeated it before. If you see it coming this time then it has zero chance of getting anywhere near you.

B@man

7 Stages of Grief

Goodnight

It's at night time when I miss him most. Somehow the cool of dark seems cooler without him. The shadows longer. The glow of lights, dim. Calm.

The days are magical. They are filled with people and distractions. Reasons to think of wonderful things. That hope that sunlight brings in its beams. Calm.

Time will pass, as it must. Daylight will stretch out during summer and steal some of the aloneness that dominates the older hours. I shall miss him less. That is the promise. That is the hope that brings the promise. That is the deceleration of the yearning beating heart. The destination that I crave. Calm.

LOL Science

While counting the stars

Beauty - You're doing it wrong

This is for women. You are the ones who need to hear it. I am sick of repeating this so the next time I have to convince a woman of how stunning she is, I shall just give her a link to this post.

Beauty is not only skin deep. It is emergent. What makes you magically beautiful comes from deep inside you.

It's not clothes or shoes or makeup. It's not what a man thinks of you. It isn't based in the opinions of a group of women. Magazines don't know how to really make it or if they did then they'd tell you rather than constantly change the recipe.

It's not less than 60kg. It's not skinny jeans versus maxi dresses. There is no way to find it in the shape of your calf or the line of your neck. There is not a way to dress it, cover it up, hide it, disguise it or have it surgically removed or enhanced.

Beauty is the light that shines from your soul. It is what keeps you smiling when someone stares disapprovingly. It is what keeps you loving even after he doesn't care anymore. It is the secret that only you know. The things you love about yourself when you don't look in a mirror.

If you don't quite know what I mean then look at the opposite... the contradiction. What is ugly? It's not a big nose or a badly cut pair of slacks. It's a person who is nasty and unattractive due to their personality or their actions... and if that is the case then why would you think you aren't beautiful?

Do not go in search of beauty. It is always there.

Back to Black

I hope there is no more pain now.

Bye bye, Ms Amy.

Sometimes

There comes a point when you realise that what you are doing is so wrong that the only way to stop is to completely break it. To take it to a point where everyone and everything is forced to cease and desist.

Of course, you look like a complete jerk and no one ever knows that you made yourself the bad guy so that you could do what was right for everyone.

I'm tired now. Tired and hurt. It was for the good of the many. I'm feeling a lot like Spock right now.

Food Statement

After looking through and reading this photo essay on the fridges of people from different professions in the US, I wondered what my fridge says about me when I'm not listening.

Here is my pantry and two fridges. This is a 3 adult household with a software engineer, a primary school teacher and a university student.


What does your fridge say about you?

Officially Old

As my 35th birthday approaches, I wonder what age is "officially old".

It keeps moving as I age but I wonder if I should be looking back and remembering when I was young. Instead, I feel at my peak each year. As if there is so much more ahead of me than behind me.

My mother just turned 63 years old. She is sharp, vibrant, beautiful and brilliant. Nothing is out of her reach. She is writing a book, teaches 5th and 6th grade, tweets and facebooks and wants to go to see Janet Jackson with me in November. She isn't old to me.

Maybe it's 80 or 90 years old but then there is my grandfather who was born in 1900. I met him when he was 96 years old. He died at just over 100. He had all his own teeth. He said it was because he always chewed sugarcane. It's fibrous and cleans even with it natural sweetness. He chewed beetle nut and walked over ten kilometers each day. He walked slow but he walked. He laughed at jokes and smiled at our youthful wit. He wasn't old to me.

Maybe it isn't about an actual age. Maybe it's about your attitude to life.

Recently I met an amazing man who inspired me to see life as wonderful. He taught me to not treat anything as a tragedy, no matter how Shakespearean it seemed. He was my muse, yet he condemned himself to the life he entered via an early contract promised to honour. It was sad to watch. He was my friend and taught me so much but partially through knowing that I never wanted to sacrifice my promise and happiness for an earlier agreement. I never want to be like him.

Life is following your passion. Finding it. Naming it. Living it. Holding it. Pushing it.

Promise me something. Promise me that YOU will be everything you can be. That you will follow the amazing that you are. Hold the hand that takes you home. Live your dream.

Putting Up Walls

Talents

The world has gone mad

Gosh, today was a day to not remember. I woke up barely able to breathe. It felt like someone was sticking pins in to my lungs. After seeing the doc, it appears that is all caused by badly inflamed lungs. I now get to use this cool thing called a spacer that delivers ventolin to my lungs to help ease the inflammation faster. The doctor reminded me of my friend Zaynab. She is a stunning and brilliant business analyst at Thoughtworks who is from Zimbabwe and of Indian descent. This doctor had a similar accent but he is a South African Indian. I miss Zaynab. She is far away in another land. Another nomad.

I'm watching friends in turmoil and feeling helpless. All I can do is love them. Be their scaffolding. That's what I always say friends are supposed to be. Friends are scaffolding. They hold you up until you can do it yourself. Will just keep doing that.

I'm listening to people who said they were friends but then show their true colours. In the past, that would shatter me and gain more than a passing paragraph in a post prefaced with a lolcat picture. Now, it just seems to be something I accept and put behind me. Those people don't much matter in the Damana Show.

I'm seeing a beautiful world around me. Being mindful of what is buzzing by. Absorbing the gorgeousness of existing. This and one other thing has made me want to show that more. I've decided to keep writing and describing my life and world. Even if no one reads it, I will again. Each day my view of the world will improve and I will look back and see how I saw it now... then... now.

Even on the days when it is hard to breathe and friends are in pain and people disappoint me, life doesn't seem too bad. There is beauty and kindness in my life. I am a lucky one.

What's for supper?

Me Me Me

"When it comes down to it, I let them think what they want. If they care enough to bother with what I do, then I'm already better than them" -- Marilyn Monroe