Scars and Illusions

Bruiser 018

“If you are going through hell, keep going.”  ~  Winston Churchill

Today’s photo  .   .  .  well, I may have used it before. It’s Bruiser, a big ol’ tom who used to be a street fighter. You can tell by the scars on his head. Bruiser has gone to his forever home, but I have the great pleasure of knowing two more big toms who have apparently been through the street fighting thing as well – Chunk and Scraggly. It’s hard to tell why affection toward certain cats occurs but I believe that there is an energetic resonance. I love all of the cats but some of them have that certain je ne sais quois. An interesting thing about these three big toms is that they all have such sweet demeanors. It’s almost like they are grateful to be off of the streets. Who wouldn’t be. One thing that continues to mystify me is my love for the ferals, the ones that display hostility instead of sweetness. Their attitudes seem to indicate that they would kill you given the chance. Maybe it is just my love for life? Go figure. I admire these cats. That’s what I am saying.

An intense down cycle has me feeling a tad weepy, and shaky, but I know it to be an illusion so I’ll head into my day as if the illusion thing is just that: an illusion. It’s good to have that option. Sometimes I wonder what it must be like for depressives who are fully wrapped up in that illusion, those who have no discernible option. I’m sure that I have been there in the past, but I can think of only one time, over 25 years ago. I had a scare that night. It may not have been the night when I endeavored to learn how to find a way to manage the depression but it may have been. There’s no way of telling. Management, as I practice it, is in essence a constant flow of reminding myself that the illness is largely illusion-based, mentally speaking. The constant reminders become exhausting after a while. Pile that on top of the fact that the illness is not just mental, it has a strong physical component as well. You can bust down the inappropriate habitual thoughts but the physical down seems to be untouchable. How does it feel? It feels like gravity has a personal grudge against you, a grudge that is accompanied by some considerably unattributable aches and pains. And the mind races. Depression is a high-energy state. The only thing slow about is the way it makes time seem to creep by. But enough of that. if I keep on going here someone is likely to think I am making up excuses to garner some sympathy. That just ain’t so. I’m an advocate for public awareness toward busting down the stigma that mental illness bears. I ain’t the only one. But I have only, at most, about a dozen readers. Most of them here locally, but not all.

I wanted to write about honor and dignity this morning. Looks like I am not going to get to that. And respect. I also wanted to include respect in today’s post. Whiny me has been feeling disrespected lately; not overall, just in a few places in my life. Whatever. I’ve got an authentic smile in my pocket and I know how to use it, which I most certainly will do, and I will use it as it is supposed to be used, in a strictly spontaneous manner. That’s a promise. If I feel disrespected? Is it an illusion? One can never tell, but I don’t believe so, I think it’s real. I’ll stick with the smiles. Let the day begin. I’ve got a couple of tomcats needs pettin’.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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