Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Bad news delivered deftly by a sweet D—

D— called to give me some bad news. He wanted me to hear it from a kind voice. I took it on the chin, my British stoicism kicking in (1), and then we talked about how we were both travelling. 

I am utterly blessed to have encountered people like D—. We found each other, both wounded, and he helped me recover. And multiple times since my return he stepped up to look after me, to get me through moments of dark agony and howling grief. Then, seeing a hurt I might encounter, he went out of his way to let me know.

When times go dark, or the bad thoughts come, my job is to recognise and re-orient, to think of positive things to do—and to think of all the people who helped me and lifted me back up. 

People like D—.

I wish I could clone him and replicate him across the land, to send a caring D— into the dark places where a D— is deeply needed. 


UPDATE: I've had multiple space outs to the point where I had to purge it. But thanks to CBT I can recognise when a space out happens, ask myself when I realise I've spaced out "is this useful?" and with the presumed "no"  then to move on to fresh business. Yes, the freshest of business!

So yet more WFTW. 

(1) I come from a long line of capable, durable yet depressed British men. Most of us make it and our depression enhances our lives and the lives of those around us, even as we battle the inner dark.

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