A flash of color.

A young friend of mine, who may or may not be bipolar, recently described one feature of depression as a dimming of the colors. Though I’d never thought about it that way before, I was immediately struck with the truth of the statement … in both a literal and figurative sense.

Today I snapped a photo simply because I actually noticed the depth and vibrancy of the colors:

20151118 hp november colors

To find and notice color in mid-November, in Minnesota, is a good thing, especially on a rainy day.

(And, by the way, it’s a miracle that we’ve only had rain and not snow … a miracle that I appreciate very much.)

When I uploaded the above image from my phone to my PC, I noticed a backlog of unnamed, unsorted, un-posted files, including the following shots, which I took almost exactly a month ago, at the height of leaf season:

I took the photographs because I could objectively see how lovely the colors were, and I had good intentions of posting them somewhere, but I don’t think I ever did.

Isn’t it funny how that drab view of a clump of wet sticks caught me by the heart today and inspired this quick post, when that golden tree failed to move me to action just a month ago?

Maybe I’m coming out of the worst of this thing … though I am tired of resolving to feel better, so today I’m just letting whatever happens happen. Instead of fighting, I’m trying to make peace with my black dog.

This blog hiatus I’m on was actually planned. By mid-October, I knew I was going to need a break as soon as Halloween was out of the way. (November is a terrible month for a paranormal-themed blog anyway.) I did intend to come in and made some kind of announcement about taking November off, but I didn’t quite make it before I crashed. So this is that belated announcement. I may be back before December, but right now I’m not really planning on resuming regular posting (or being much engaged with social media) until then.

And on that awkward note, I’m out for now. My Ogre has come home and we’ve got plans to go stock up on soda while the prices are low.

(Hey, I’m a little surprised I decided to write anything, to be honest. The words aren’t coming easily at all lately.)

 

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10 Comments on “A flash of color.”

  1. The starkness of the trees on my area makes the world look barren. Depression feels like there is nothing to grab onto and everyone can see your warts because there are no leaves on the trees left to hide anything.

    • Yes. I know that exposed feeling, especially from an earlier time in my life. These days, I worry less about what others might see in me, and more about what I see. The hardest part now is failing myself. I hate this struggle to get words on a page more than anything.

      Having adjusted my life to reduce tension and stress, depression is a now quieter, more personal thing than it used to be. There’s no one to blame, other than my own brain chemistry. There’s nowhere to hide.

  2. zipcoffelt says:

    Glad you’re taking care of yourself, Renae! And selfishly, I hope you’ll be back Blogging next year.

  3. Brittany says:

    As someone who was diagnosed as bipolar as a teenager, I really related to the “dimming of the colors”. I’ve never heard it expressed that way, and it really touched me in an unexpected way.

    Recharge. I hope you enjoy your time away, but not so much that you don’t make it back soon(ish). As one of your newest readers, I look forward to your return.

  4. You and I have an awful lot in common, don’t we?

    Yes, the dimming of the colors quite caught me too. The person who said it to me is very young … and doesn’t self identify as any kind of artist … yet he noticed something that I should have been able to name years ago.

    I’m trying something new right now. I’m making things quieter … literally quieter. I’m turning away from the TV, and from a dumb video game I play (that can suck up hours) and from general chatter, like that found on Facebook. All of that is fine in small doses, but when I go down, it’s too easy to lose my whole day to random noise. Better to spend time thinking and reading (books.) If this is going to be part of my experience, no matter how calm and healthy my life is, then I have to just incorporate it … accept it, make room for it. If I can stay out of the numb zone (which is the worst) and find a way to use what I feel, I’ll win.

    It’s a fair trade for being able to fly sometimes, I think. (I am referring to hypomania of course, which I wouldn’t give up for the world.)

    • Brittany says:

      It’s amazing what the less jaded eyes of the young can see. It’s beautiful and sad and lovely.

      I think I know what you mean about the numb zone; despite the fiscal and physical damage I’ve done in my ups and downs, the worst mistakes I’ve made have been while seemingly feeling nothing at all, lacking empathy and sympathy, and uncaring as to who I might hurt.

      I hope your new plan works for you. As with every year before, the fall has me both elated with the (still pending in Houston) weather change, but also low due to nostalgia, guilt, and regret. I’m lucky to have a rock who tries to help keep me balanced (husband), but I know it’s time to find someone who can help me work through some of the more difficult topics.

      • The truest blessing for a person with bipolar is a good, loving, stable spouse.

        It made me smile that your seasonal change is still pending in Houston … it is snowing (a tiny bit) here today.

        • Brittany says:

          Yes, this limbo is a certain kind of hell (yes, I totally just did that). The only type of season we’re seeing right now is Sniffles Season. We have got down to a low of about 50 thus far, but it usually only lasts until the sun comes back up. Then we’re back to the 70s or so.

          Agree on the spouse sentiment. I got way more than I deserve on that front, and beyond my wildest hopes. Just don’t tell him that. 🙂


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