Chronicles from the Edge . . .

Being acutely aware of how depressed you are is an interesting life experience.

Before, through other Loss Chaos, I was depressed.  I just didn't realize I was depressed.  There's a special kind of freedom in that.  The unknowing allows you to fade, resistance free, into the gray underworld of being numb.  

Now, let's flip that coin.  Here, in the Land of Awareness, things are different.  I am fully awake to the fact that many of my interests have quieted to a whisper.  Let's take food, for example. Why bother going through the hassle of preparing some fantastic meal when I can't TASTE anything?  You can ask me if I'm hungry but my mind goes blank.  Quietly searching.  I have no idea if I'm hungry.  So I just sit, with my head tilted to the side, wondering if I am hungry.  I keep waiting for my brain to light up with some spark of inspired thought, but nothing happens.  So, in the end my response seems to keep coming in the form of a shoulder shrug, followed by me saying I'm certain I should eat and finally stating "whatever" sounds good.

At this point in time, you can apply the same thing to activities, movies, anything really.

Now with that said, what has managed to pique my interest is the difference between these two states (The Unaware versus The Aware).  And how am I sure I fit in one category versus the other this time?

Well, that's where Tea & Tiramisu enter, stage right.  

So far, these are the only two things I have any interest in consuming.  Chai tea and a dessert that Whole Foods makes, which I am 100% certain is sprinkled with pixie dust and topped with Heaven flakes.  That's it. Nothing else sounds good.  

Now, trust me, I am well aware that my body MUST be hungry.  It's just my nerves aren't firing the way they usually do.  I usually light up when you say "pizza".  Not right now.  Salsa & chips would usually have me singing.  Nope, not today.  Things are misfiring, or not firing at all.  

Please allow me to clarify one thing...so I don't have my family on the horn worried that I'm not eating….that's not the case at all.  I eat but only because I know I should eat not because anything sounds good, tastes good or turns me on.  And certainly not because my body is telling me I'm hungry.  My body and my spirit are doing one thing and one thing only.....they are grieving.

What I find most alarming about all of this is that I am wide awake to it...and it's kind of nutty knowing your tastebuds (for example) are on hiatus while Grief has depressed your system.

Now, let's move on to another mind-bender, music.  I am a self confessed music lover with a very wide spectrum of genres that get me moving.  Normally I can count on velvety singers and soul stirring lyrics to make me swoon.  However, there are only a few songs that currently have the power to dive deeper than Depression's thick layer of mud and actually touch my soul.  I know all of this because I've been listening to A LOT of music waiting for my normal go-to's to move me....and they don't.  They just fall flat.   Each time I press "play" nothing sets a spark, and I wonder....What the fuck is going on?

The truth is, KNOWING that you can't FEEL what normally sets your soul on fire is, well, it's a bummer on top of the bummer you are already depressed about.

However, I've decided to lean toward the intrigue rather than away from, well, everything.  I've chosen to consider all this awareness the positive side effect to my current state while I continue to experiment with anything that will set a spark.

So with my chai tea and Whole Foods happy cake in hand, I'll keep leaning toward the light and away from the gray nothingness that sits on the other side while I play this song on a constant loop because it's one (of only a few) that pick me up and take me along with each and every beautiful note.

Phosphorescent's "Song for Zula"

Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective, 

Curator for Bohemian Living, Owner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 

and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  

She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:

a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 

deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.

Let Me Scream

I want to write

But, I require perfection. It has to be just right.

I can put something down on paper that seems exactly what I want.

Walk away from it only to return loathing it.

What gives?

I get trapped. Stuck in my own thoughts.

It's not writer's block because I have plenty of material.

Which is a curse in and of itself.

I try to write for myself. "It's healthy," they say.

Well, it's not.

How will my mental diarrhea be interpreted?

Why do I care?

I am the only reader.

I was a born exhibitionist.

I flourish from praise but sink with criticism.

Maybe it's my O.C.D.

Maybe it's narcissism.

I want to create.

Draw things the way I perceive them.

Paint as abstract as it gets.

But my brain doesn't allow for it's imperfections.

I try to just "let it go."

No, that's not happening. 

I hate disappointing myself.

I don't like people telling me something I have done.

"Came out so good."

Bull shit! That's a lie. 

You have to say that.

You are too human to say anything to the contrary.

I want to compose.

Every note is too flat or too sharp.

I can't allow it to make sense.

The rhythm is too slow. The beat is too fast.

Fuck, I need another cigarette.

Now I can't remember that last harmony.

Fuck it!

I don't want to write.

I don't want to create.

I don't want to compose.

LET ME SCREAM!

Russell Reich

Russell survived the battle of the demons inflicted by the streets of Somerville, Massachusetts. 

He skipped town with his girlfriend, landed in the Midwest and became a father of two boys.

He has always had a knack for things that inspire. 

Mainly music, but anything that took him away from the bad memories or the hustle & bustle 

of work/home life could evoke him to create just about anything he had the time for.

The Power of . . .

For me there is nothing that can spark more emotion, touch the most inner part of my core or enable my mind to wander into a flurry of emotion quite like this.

It can turn the crunchiest granola munching, eco-friendly housewife into a hardened thug and many muscle-bound, mustache toting, double-bagger riding renegades into sobbing little girls.

It can make my skin feel things that can never be felt by any other force.  It can bring me back to a point in my life, down to the millisecond. Whether I want to remember or not…a smell, a friend, a relationship, a vague memory.

I don't know of any other thing that is as powerful.

Its subjectivity alone is mind-blowing.  Its ability to coerce a crowd of thousands, God-like.

For me, it's mine.  Open for my own interpretation.  Ready to lead me in the direction I am meant to go or to bring me back from somewhere I don't want to be.

It's my distraction.  My getaway.  My come down.  My life.

It's my music.

Russell Reich

Russell survived the battle of the demons inflicted by the streets of Somerville, Massachusetts. 

He skipped town with his girlfriend, landed in the Midwest and became a father of two boys.

He has always had a knack for things that inspire. 

Mainly music, but anything that took him away from the bad memories or the hustle & bustle 

of work/home life could evoke him to create just about anything he had the time for.