Leave it to Brian May to once again be behind such life-changing sentiments as make the choice to live necessary and obvious, even to the most apathetic depression imaginable. Here I have been still allowing that I might choose to die in about a year from now, not for any real pain, but simply out of a sort of fundamental frustration with life and the universe. I just finished reading the stuff on Brian's page about Vicki, a girl who died a few years ago of terminal cancer. I can't say I was shamed into retracting my pact, because it is not a matter of shame. Rather, I am certain now that it is not life itself I need to decide on, but my way of living. If I had, as this girl, only months left to live, I would no doubt truly live every day of the rest of my life. Since I have no such certainty of death, I am allowing my life to slip away, mired in work at a department store I couldn't care less about, selling lots of crap to lots of people who need little or none of what I have to sell, wasting not only time, but material resources, energy and everything else, to bring me money with which I pay bills and buy a few needless trinkets. If I knew I was going to die in a year and a few weeks, I would have to do differently.
I have not made time or any decent effort lately at seeing my many friends, who I hope still remain my friends even after months and in some cases years of neglect on my part. This has been largely an effect of my depression, and yet I know well enough that if I was around my friends more I would have less severe depression, and it would not feel so awkward to see people. I am becoming a recluse, unnecessarily. I live in an annoying apartment, which I know most of my friends who have visited disliked being in. It has lousy ventilation, and even without cats would smell stale, and it is cold in the winter. My ex was still telling me almost the last time I talked to him that I overheat my apartment, cause in Washington I did like to keep my room at about 72 degrees occasionally. This apartment is lucky to hit 65, ever, except in the dead heat of late July. And I use these things as an easy excuse to not invite anyone over anymore. And since I live in Longmont, and can't drive, and most of my friends live elsewhere, it is easy to have no contact with anyone away from my place, too. If they lived here, I might meet up with them at Old Chicago's for dinner some night, or meet someone in Boulder for a concert at CU, and many of them would really not mind and could even drive me back to Longmont after. It simply takes some effort and motivation, which I was not possessed of.
Well, as being on facebook just a brief while has shown easily enough, I do still have friends, lots of them, and lots of incredibly good people who I am glad I have known. And as they mean more to me than my store, and are more rewarding than new shoes, I have to change something to make my friends my top priority after taking care of myself.
And hobbies- I own a piano, and a mandolin, and a pair of drumsticks, and I have enough of a science background to understand books on making electric mandolins, setting up sound studios, and anything else music related. I may not have a great volume to my voice, but I have a great range, and I know it. Heck, I have performed in choir concerts the Hallelujah Chorus in every part but bass. When properly warmed up I can sing all of every song Freddie has recorded, and I am quite capable of writing my own songs. Making music is a much bigger hobby than anything I have played at so far, but everything I do so far is something that requires little effort, and no committment, and it is all easy to drop or ignore. My life feels like it is made up of tons of tiny bits that take up all my life and all my energy, yet add up to practically nothing. I may miss some of the tiny bits if I concentrate on just one thing, but really. By my age, my favorite musicians (Queen) had made quite a few albums, toured all over playing music for thousands of fans at a time, and had been treated to countless priceless moments that are well worth losing some random time-wasting experiences.
I let depression and my handicap decide a lot for me. There is a lot that is not my handicap behind my not driving, for instance, and I will most likely be driving in the next few years, when I can afford to. I don't play my piano or mandolin because of my handicap, too, yet these instruments make sounds for me just as they do for others. I can type at almost 40wpm, faster than many of my friends, without thumbs, and on a 'normal' keyboard. Surely if I actually try to work with my instruments I can learn to play them, even if I can't ever play someone else's music. And I have a very strong will, which most days makes up for whatever mania or depression I am experiencing. Some days I have to admit the mood disorder and deal with it, but most days, till I get worn down or careless anyway, I can act as if I am just fine. Most people only know I have a mood disorder because I have told them. And as Brian and the author May Sarton demonstrate by example, in a creative life mood disorders can be used for what they are worth, adding a certain depth to music and writing that most 'normal' people never could reach.
Really if I concentrate on restoration ecology and music, and my friends, my life will be full enough, and maybe I could actually feel interesting enough as a person to be happy meeting Brian May.
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