SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Odd Duck Grows Up

I have suffered from this malaise that I can only term as depression since I was a teenager. I forced my mom to take a picture of me the day I felt indifferent, couldn't smile. Whatever chemical it was that makes one happy was in short supply and she couldn't understand why I wanted to have a snap for posterity. I felt as though I could look back on it and figure it out when I got older. Still don't know why I struggle with bouts of melancholy. Maybe, it was just hormonal.

But I've lived twice as many years as I was old back then, and I cannot shake the fits that anchor me to this wheel of life that takes me wherever it choses to go. When the ride is over, I get off and try to get a handle on what happened and move on.

When I was a teen, I penned a poem that still sums up how I feel today. Mom and I were both astonished by the result and could not figure out how I managed to pen such words...

Mine is a lonely life I choose to live
I want all of human kindness
without wanting to give

I seek refuge in my mind
hiding words people seek to provoke
When they find the words unkind
it's me they seek to revoke

What do I do; what can I say?
Why is it when I need a friend
they all seem to turn away?

I'm unaccustomed to making conversation
I fear the words I want to speak
Because people find them unfashionable
my words are myself, oblique.

That is to say, I cannot find empathy in this world. Sometimes, my mom called me an 'odd duck.' I was treated as different, even though I felt normal. Social conditioning taught me that I wasn't meant to commune with others. I was too emotional, open about my feelings. I didn't know how to make small talk because I felt it was not what mattered.

The greatest social injustice is to repress a young, fragile mind into mediocrity. When I try to rise above it and find my own unique style, I was rebuffed. So, I insulated. All of the feelings trapped inside ate at me. I learned to become drepressed, not knowing how I fit in. And, no one knew how to help me because they couldn't relate.

Mama's odd little duck grew up and waddled into a world of imagination, discovering writing (like poetry). Eventually, I turned writing into a journalism career. Then, while a member here, after having been away from my professional career for some time, I was hit with an odd epiphany about how desensitized and ignorant reporters, especially in television, appear to be. And so I offered this...


Just a matter of moments now,
the depression will come.
Camped out here on the precipice of pain,
we will wait now for the rain.
Growing darker, the winds of discontent
will be an ominous indicator
of how troublesome this storm can be...

...We're live, waiting on depression,
the result of unexpressed aggression.
Are you safe in your houses tonight?
The blackening sea swells below.
There's almost no sign of wildlife.
We'll try to pan our camera
so you can get a look for yourself...

...Depression is violent, unpredictable,
killing unsuspecting people yearly...
...Here to keep you informed of
the forthcoming peril that is depression...

...Make sure you are safely bunkered,
hide in the hollows of your heart,
hold on tightly to something,
a loved one, preferrably
with strong shoulders.
Perhaps, seek professional help,
someone to steer you to safe harbor...

...There's so much we yet don't understand,
no one indicator can give us a clue,
why the violent storms keep returning.
Are you safe in your houses tonight?
Here it comes. Can you get a good shot of this?
We'll attempt an interview,
maybe get a soundbite...  No?

...I'm live,
just another victim reporting.


Walking through this writing community, I realize now that many of us are inspired to write, to express in this format, because we cannot have our feelings be heard and understood.

Now, I realize, I can at least pull up a bar stool and commiserate with others who struggle. There are messages from people all over this website who have discovered coping skills.

I have been off anti-depressants for some time, replacing it with exercise. My rotator cuff surgery set me back and I've been feeling that old pull come and tug on my psyche again. It makes me feel helpless, reminding me that I have not accomplished what I've dreamed of doing. It makes you feel worthless and yet I know that I am not.

And when this ride is over and I have come out of what feels like another deathly spin, I'll walk away from the accident scene stronger and wiser because it can't kill me. I may be an 'odd duck' but I will find my way back to the pond to swim again with my mother and bath in the remembrances of a woman who built me a shelter for life.

Oblique  [E] #1145653 Troubled teen years reflected in old poem. We know now why. Need an updated ‘label’. by Brian K Compton Tabulating

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Are You Safe In Your Houses?  [ASR] #1292664 My commentary on misunderstandings with depression and the denial. by Brian K Compton Tabulating