I know I’ve been a downer lately.

Not blogging.

Then blogging about how I’m not blogging.

I’ve given hints here and there that all is not always well in Yuliya land. And the minute I hit publish on posts like that, posts in which I have made a conscious decision to talk about depression, I am at once relieved and regretful.  I second guess my decision to put it out there because ‘it’ isn’t inspirational or happy or an appeal to the taste buds but something darker, more uncomfortable and quite possibly NOT the side dish you want with your morning cup of coffee.

Let’s face it, it’s much easier (for me) to joke about it…

Then to write the words “I struggle with depression.”

Because as part of that struggle I face my own judgement and the judgement of others that what I am feeling isn’t real. The implications both subtle and overt that if only I knew what real problems were (famine, war, rape) I wouldn’t waste my time feeling melancholy or whatever over my life.  My life, which on paper looks pretty great.

But depression isn’t about whether or not your problems are more or less legitimate than someone else’s. It is an internal struggle in which your perception of the external is skewed. When you are in the grips of it, you believe that you are a burden to those who love you and that the only solution can be to take yourself out of the equation. Permanently.

Someone I care about recently made that decision. She was a bright, beautiful, caring and wonderfully unique person and she ended her life.

I am still in denial about this, her Facebook status updates and photos with family and friends are deceptively normal, happy even. And yet she’s gone.

I wonder if I could have been there somehow, if I could have made a difference, if maybe I could go back in time to our time in the dorms (I was her Resident Adviser) and DO SOMETHING to change this outcome.

I know logically there is little I can do in this case except be there as best I can for the loved ones left behind that are dealing with the aftermath.

But going forward, what can I do?

The only thing I can think of to do is to make a conscious decision to talk about depression. To say “it’s okay” , “I understand”, “I know that you are struggling, I struggle too.”

This is MY corner of the internet and it’s my responsibility (first and foremost to myself) to be honest, to be open, to be vulnerable and authentic.

To say I know what it’s like to be in that place, the place where suicide seems like the answer.

To say to anyone reading this, that if you are in my life, online or off, and you are feeling like this is your answer PLEASE reach out and tell someone. Pick up the phone, get online, get the help you need.

If you know someone that you suspect might be struggling, please reach out and be there for them. The person struggling with depression might be outgoing, gregarious, or bubbly. They might not be someone who looks like a typically depressed person, whatever that looks like. Their life might seem perfect on paper, in a blog post or on a Facebook wall.

They might not ask for help. You might wonder if you should say anything at all.

You should.

Be relentless, be annoying, be WRONG, just be there.

***

To Jessica’s family and friends. I am so sorry for your loss. She touched my life and she will always remain in my heart.

Normally on any given day of the week I open the computer, click on “add new post” and put words together in an order that is intended to be funny or poignant or memorable or sassy or whatever else I am feeling and/or interested in conveying that day.

Normally I am on Facebook and Twitter (often simultaneously) interacting with my friends, some of whom I have met in real life and some who I haven’t but feel as if I know just as well.

Normally I am engaged and connected in some way with people either online or off, sharing pieces of my life, bits of my story and opinions on issues that are important to me.

But every so often a week or more passes before I summon the will to gather pictures and write about life. And though I have the words swirling in my head once I open up that post draft they all sit there as quiet as church mice.

And sometimes I don’t get on the Twitter or the Facebook.

And some days I don’t even turn on the computer at all.

I won’t text message anyone, avoid gChat like the plague and hit silence whenever the phone rings. I don’t want to interact with anyone, read blogs or go on playdates.

And I have no explanation. Not really.

I haven’t had tragedy strike (tfu tfu tfu). In fact things are going relatively well.

Nor do I have the excuse of “no time to myself” instead I would guess that I actually have more time and more help than ever.

And it’s not as if I have nothing to say, I am still as opinionated as always.

And yet I just can’t do it. I am discouraged, disenchanted, and disengaged.

My gremlins are loud and the judgmental conga line in my head is even louder. Nothing I do is good enough, worthy enough, or witty enough.

And I write this not to garner sympathy. Or for page views.

I write this because if I don’t it will just get harder. If I don’t write I will just sink deeper into the abyss. If I don’t reach out and take this small step to connect I will start to believe that there is no one left for me to connect with. And if I don’t write this then later when I feel just fine I won’t believe myself that it ever gets this hard for me.

And I write this because just maybe you’ve felt like this before (or are feeling that way now or will feel that way in the future). I’m here to say I get it and maybe this ramble run-on of a post entry will help you feel that you’re not alone.

So okay, first step done. Post written. I feel a little better already. Thanks for listening internet.

This Christmas season I have found my joy in less.

Having less.

Doing less.

(Stressing less.)

How did this blessfull journey begin? Like all things for me it started with a project.

I’m big on projects.

My wedding? Project with a capital P.

Feathering the nest? Multi level many moons project.

Pregnancy? A whale of a project!

Motherhood? Well other similar words like ‘project’ come to mind, ‘projectile’ for example…

My latest project is to get rid of ten things a day in the month of December by donating, re-gifting (with full disclosure), re-purposing or (and this is least desirable) throwing away.

And as my closets, pantry, garage and other nooks and crannies are emptied I can feel the shift in my being, the fullness that comes from less.

Less stuff means less time spent cleaning, organizing, arranging, or hiding it when company comes.  Less time spent on stuff means more time spent on this:

What will I do once December is over? Will I keep getting rid of stuff? How will I know when I’m done?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. Yet.

But I do know that this is more than a project, this is the start of a journey.  (Journey sounds way more sophisticated than project!)

Inspiration for the journey ahead:

The Story of Stuff

Rowdy Kittens

Becoming Minimalist

Miss Minimalist

This post is part of “The 12 Days of Finding Your Christmas Joy” with Bungalow’56