It's a bumpy road back to "normal."
Ever seen a cat panic when they're about to fall from a high place?
My dad's mom had this... ummm, well, it's supposedly translated as "sink" or a water basin, but it doesn't do this structure justice. This "sink" is common in the ranch we're from, because it's where women would do their laundry. It's a cement pool... a "baby pool" in the shape of a cube, built above ground, no taller than a woman's hip (I mean, they have to bend over it in the first place, in order to scrub the clothes). Two thirds of the cube is the actual pool that was always at least half-filled. The other third was where the women would scrub the clothes on the ridges built into the cement (they'd have a cup on the side that they would dip into the pool in order to grab water to rinse the soapy clothes. Am I doing a decent job describing this shit for people who live in this day and age where all we have to do is shove our clothes into a machine and press a couple of buttons in order to get shit washed?).
Anyway, I loved playing by this "pool," mainly because the cement was so worn, it would be irresistibly smooth, and water would evaporate in the strangest way. When the cement would be wet, it was the slickest, most entertaining shit to mess with (I'd try to write my name as fast as possible... I'd try to beat the evaporation process. That's the kind of shit that entertains me. I'm simple).
Well, I remember numerous times when my grandmother's cat (of the moment. They went through cats like I go through socks. Rough times in the rancho) would be curious enough to climb to the edge of this pool. As it circled the top of the baby pool, that slick cement would almost never fail to trip up the cat and BAM! cat in the pool-- or floor, when lucky. I remember catching glimpses of the cats right before they tumbled off... and I swear they always had that "FUCKFUCKFUCK!" look as they violently clawed at anything and everything to try and get a grip... all to no avail. Bye bye, kitty.
This is how I feel when I KNOW I'm about to slip into a depression... especially this latest bout I'm currently handling.
I know I shouldn't bottle negative feelings, but I do it anyway... I know I shouldn't dwell on negative comments OR ACTIONS... but I do it anyway.
I know nothing good will come out of these bad habits... I fucking KNOW I'm going to slip and absolutely nothing will be available to grasp to stay out of the sink... and I go ahead and fall.
Hopefully one day I'll learn there's no way to "safely" tread this slippery surface, and just stay on solid ground.
Ever seen a cat panic when they're about to fall from a high place?
My dad's mom had this... ummm, well, it's supposedly translated as "sink" or a water basin, but it doesn't do this structure justice. This "sink" is common in the ranch we're from, because it's where women would do their laundry. It's a cement pool... a "baby pool" in the shape of a cube, built above ground, no taller than a woman's hip (I mean, they have to bend over it in the first place, in order to scrub the clothes). Two thirds of the cube is the actual pool that was always at least half-filled. The other third was where the women would scrub the clothes on the ridges built into the cement (they'd have a cup on the side that they would dip into the pool in order to grab water to rinse the soapy clothes. Am I doing a decent job describing this shit for people who live in this day and age where all we have to do is shove our clothes into a machine and press a couple of buttons in order to get shit washed?).
Anyway, I loved playing by this "pool," mainly because the cement was so worn, it would be irresistibly smooth, and water would evaporate in the strangest way. When the cement would be wet, it was the slickest, most entertaining shit to mess with (I'd try to write my name as fast as possible... I'd try to beat the evaporation process. That's the kind of shit that entertains me. I'm simple).
Well, I remember numerous times when my grandmother's cat (of the moment. They went through cats like I go through socks. Rough times in the rancho) would be curious enough to climb to the edge of this pool. As it circled the top of the baby pool, that slick cement would almost never fail to trip up the cat and BAM! cat in the pool-- or floor, when lucky. I remember catching glimpses of the cats right before they tumbled off... and I swear they always had that "FUCKFUCKFUCK!" look as they violently clawed at anything and everything to try and get a grip... all to no avail. Bye bye, kitty.
This is how I feel when I KNOW I'm about to slip into a depression... especially this latest bout I'm currently handling.
I know I shouldn't bottle negative feelings, but I do it anyway... I know I shouldn't dwell on negative comments OR ACTIONS... but I do it anyway.
I know nothing good will come out of these bad habits... I fucking KNOW I'm going to slip and absolutely nothing will be available to grasp to stay out of the sink... and I go ahead and fall.
Hopefully one day I'll learn there's no way to "safely" tread this slippery surface, and just stay on solid ground.
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