I’m still alive, despite dropping off the face of this blog for several weeks. My depression is much better, and I’m fairly sure that the drugs are to thank. So three cheers for Western medicine!

But life is still full of stress and chaos and heartache, and I’m having a very hard time not letting it overwhelm me with despair and fear at times. My crocheting has been pretty much limited to Thursday nights when I meet with my knitting circle, the ladies of which have been extremely supportive and compassionate during my difficult times. My free time at home has been full of cooking, video games, books, movies and naps - things that so involving I don’t have room in my mind to worry, or to think about blogging.

I try to think of things to write here, but it’s hard. I don’t want to cross the line into “too personal” and there isn’t much else on my mind at most times. I should write about my adventures in cooking, or the books I’ve been reading. I will try. I’ll also try to use more engaging language - right now I’m distracted and having trouble just forming full sentences.

I watch the cat in his daily adventures, and most days I’m envious. His life involves napping, playing, eating, lounging, purring, cuddling, sleeping, eating, whining, sleeping and playing again. When something upsetting happens, he sulks for a few minutes, and then moves on. Nothing weighs on him, and when he’s on his own, he can find his own happiness by playing in a box, basking in a sunny patch, or watching the birds and squirrels. I can find my own happiness, too (and a sunny spot on the floor is often enough) but daily events have much more of an impact on me. If I’m pushed away from a cuddle, I can’t simply brush it off like he can. I can’t get my way by whining, and I just being cute will only get me so far. I can’t get fed just by brushing up against someone’s legs, and I could never nap as much as he could, even I were allowed to and wanted to.

I don’t wish I were a cat. The possible benefits of being human, in the grand scheme of everything, outweigh the great amounts of pain that are possible, and I think that I would dislike having that much fur in the summer (my poor cat would definitely agree). Even the pain of being human can be transformed into a positive experience, from moment to moment. It gives me a chance, for example, to learn more about myself, the world around me, my friends, my concept of friendship, and the many many ways that friends, family and strangers can offer comfort, hope and love. Seeing the world through a lens of joy colors it one way; seeing it through a lens of sadness gives an entirely different picture. Adding gratitude to that lens gives a different picture still - the world is no less beautiful when gazed on with a heavy heart, and it may be easier to be grateful for small joys when sadness is overwhelming. Even the feeling of a tear on your cheek can be a precious gift when you’re grasping for every small moment of joy and beauty that you can find.

This is a lot more than I intended to say. Tomorrow I will write again, and maybe about something more concrete when I do.