#whoamiagain

I don't know who you are - or more precisely, I may or may not know who you are, but I don't know whether or not you, the person reading this, is someone I do know from elsewhere. Consequently, I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome you, and to thank you for choosing to read this little blog, whose primary purpose is really only to serve as an open ocean of sorts, an ocean across which I can pilot my mind in whatever direction it will. If you've decided to accompany me on this journey, I hope you'll be able to find something relatable amongst my ramblings, something helpful when I ponder; in exchange, I hope that you'll be willing to be patient and tolerant with me in those moments where the said ramblings run (to switch metaphors for a moment) off the rails. As a sufferer of major depression and anxiety, this happens far more often than I'd wish for myself, but part of the reason for my stepping (again) into the world of the Internet journal is also to help me work through such moments. Writing of this kind allows me to put down my thoughts in a more coherent manner than they invariably spill out when I'm speaking about my weird and non-linear thought processes and emotions. As such, I've decided to take advantage of that fact by using the written word as a medium through which I can more effectively explore, understand, and then perhaps even address, the disturbances to my thoughts that are caused by my mental health issues.

In trying to devise a title for this blog I spent more time than one might otherwise do for a blog of little import in the grand scheme of the Internet. Certainly there are writers out there in the blogosphere of far brighter imagination, far longer experience, and far deeper expressive power than I would ever claim myself to possess. All I have to offer is my own experience, and my own perspective, but I hope that will be enough. And it's from my own perspective that the title I finally chose arises. The poem "In The Desert" was written in 1895 by Stephen Crane, in fifty words of free verse, and its subject matter and imagery have always resonated with me right to my very core. It isn't what one might call pleasant: a reasoning but tragic being squats stripped of culture and all trace of humanity, to a point where all that is left to him is a scarred heart filled with the pain of his experience. But even as he eats of the heart itself and experiences the bitterness of its anguish, it remains nonetheless a treasure beyond price to him, for no other reason than that he may call it his own, even as he causes it further injury by eating from it. This is a concept I relate to deeply, most especially when I'm in the desert myself (that is, in a phase of deep depression). In those moments, I feel as though all I have is a damaged and broken heart that I can't stop causing more damage to. But with that said, emotion always touches me profoundly when it does touch me even now, and when I do care for someone, I always care immensely; the depth of my ability to care is the only thing that I feel is always with me. So even in those times when all I have left is a heart tinged with depression and anxiety - still, I like it, because it is my heart.