I’ve made no secret on this board of having a a history of clinical depression, mostly because I refuse to be stigmatized by it. I deal with it, quite well, and, while I’m a bit nervous about going public with it while looking for work, any potential employer who looks me up on this board will learn a lot of good about me as well, I hope.
Anyway, here’s what’s going on. In a few days, I will mark the 10th anniversary of my going into the hospital close to catatonic and not expecting to check out again. Obviously I did, and I’ve even managed to thrive. Except for the no job business, I like my life and I like the person I’ve become. Up until last year, I had a hard time remembering the exact date I went in, but I was always aware of it, and never did like that day. I won’t from now on. The date I was hospitalized was September 11, 1992. Needless to say, I don’t like that day, and I haven’t for roughly a decade, long before last year’s events.
If it weren’t for last year, I probably would have done a quiet post to share my joy in having made it this and asked for a few kind words, kind of like an alcoholic celebrating 10 years sobriety. Instead, I’ll throw this post out here for what it’s worth and see what’s happened. I’ll watch a memorial service or two, of course, but while writing this, I’ve thought of one other thing.
You see, September 11th is also my former boss’s birthday. Since I consider her a friend as well, perhaps I’ll see if we can’t have lunch together, as well.
Anyway, I’m just tossing this out into the ether to see what happens.
CJ
