"A man sooner or later discovers that he is the master-gardener of his soul, the director of his life." ...

So, a blog. Why? Well, I've been told it can help. Marshalling thoughts and that. I'm going to try being honest with and about myself. By extension that means I am being honest with whoever may happen along and read this. That has to be good, right? Maybe it will help just getting stuff out. Who knows? Maybe it'll just be a fleeting fancy, something else that I don't maintain. That's alright. Maybe it'll just be fun. That's cool, fun is never wasted. Maybe it'll be depressing and narcisistic. That's ok too. It's mine. Maybe it will be all those things in turn. Like I say, it's mine and I can be all those things, often at the same time. In real life (and given half a chance) I also know I can be funny and engaging. Lets see if it works with just words ... 

As I'm typing I'm asking myself all sorts of things. I have no plan, no grand idea, just a blank document that I've decided to try to fill. I need to get something done. So, question to myself: What do I hope this 'blog' thing will help me with?

That's easy. Depression. I've had it all my adult life. Always present, whispering in my ear, it started boiling over into episodes in my mid thirties. 

I'm not an obvious casualty. Far from it (though it's surprising how people who are on their own journey with it tend to recognise one another). Suffice to say, I've done and achieved some pretty cool things despite and sometimes because of it.

Always, there to spoil the party, to remind me of my inadequacies and lack of deserving, has been the black dog. The cliche from hell. Who knew dog's could speak english? Black ones can and they're incredibly loyal. I've tried not feeding him, leaving the door open, hoping he'll just bugger off, but no. He's a plucky little fella who always seems to manage and patently doesn't want to live somewhere else. He has a warm kennel in my head, chewy toys and three square meals a day. I've been looking after him better than I look after my plants. On the bright side, he may have found a foster home. The sod has left some bones buried, mark you. I'm hoping part of this writing will help me dig those up.

What the hell, I'll go for another clumsy and over extended metaphor. Depression and I have been in an abusive relationship. We all know people who are or have been tied to a partner who is clearly doing them no good. Tales of unhappy relationships abound. Once bright, independent and intelligent individuals sunk into neurotic misery. In these relationships the incremental change from charmer to control freak is subtle and not easily recognised. How could it be when you're in the middle of a shit storm of self doubt? In those circumstances "why don't you just leave?" is one of the cruellest questions imaginable. To the questioned it's also one of the deepest. Anyway, often it's unaskable. It's up there with the always well meant, yet crushing: "but you've got everything going for you". I've had a whole load of stuff going for me, I still do, it means nothing. 

Right, let's tease this metaphor until it breaks. Part of my depression's shift from charmer to control freak manifested itself as deepening cynicism. Often dressed up as jokes. It may get the laughs, but it's acid and corrosive. It eats you, not the target of your 'jokes'. Like the bullying partner it is, my depression was ignoring my real needs and taking charge. 

And it is MY depression. I spent many hours in counselling and on my own, trying to identify triggers, trying to find a root cause. For a long time I tried to find external factors to blame, looking everywhere but at me. I've come to realise that a kind of arrogance goes with that, along with a paradoxical neediness that I find unattractive. As an aside, it meant I was never a gracious recipient of praise. If someone told me I'd done something well, I would respond with what was wrong  and how it could have been better. Learning to just say thanks has been a hard but worthwhile exercise.

The most worthwhile exercise of all has been acceptance. A simple word ... Maybe I'll write some more about that. No, not maybe. Reticence has been part of this. I WILL write more about that ...