Still trying to find out what belongs in my 2025 bingo. What am I finding it so difficult to decide on these. They are not firm commitments. Simply brainstorming things that I may want to do. Perhaps I should lower the complexity that I am expecting of myself. The bingo items so far expect me to complete projects or are ambiguously stated. Maybe what I need are themes?
On another note, Sidamo coffee is really good. Very flavourful, fruity, and not that acidic.
I supposed changing the tasks to “start” rather than “complete” would resolve some of my hesitation. However, I have never had problems starting projects; the difficulty lies in their completion. Listing my incomplete projects would be a start. I could then eliminate (or back-burner) those that don’t resonate, while throwing those that do on the list. This is probably a worthwhile activity regardless of the bingo list.
During our flight from LAX to IAD, I came across this book I want to die but I want to eat tteokbokki by Korean author Baek Sehee. I am not that far into the book yet. However, it already has made noteworthy impacts on me.
Simply put, it feels like a book I would have like to have written. She speaks about the constant light depression that I felt in me starting from late middle school. I had no idea that was a thing. Dysthymia, or PDD (persistent depressive disorder), is new vocab to me. I also did not know that it was possible to be diagnosed with both this and MDD (Major Depressive Disorder). Although now that I researched this on my own, this seems less likely. It seems obvious now, if we can have major depressive disorder- why not other kinds? If there were no other kinds, it would just be depressive disorder, right?
It did not feel like that. Everywhere you look, society and the media focused on the extremes. All the books on depression I read as a kid, were about the extremes. While there were extreme moments of depression, I wasn’t always on the cliff pondering my death. Heck, there were moments I was happy. Many moments, actually. However, the gaps between them all were always laced with almost an aftertaste of the main course. A low-buzzing, lingering, depression that kept me alert and awake with the knowledge that it could destroy me at any moment. (Is that also anxiety?)
The second noteworthy aspect is her approach to finding community. Instead of searching for one on her own, she wrote and lit her stories up as a beacon. The community found her. This should have been obvious, but it never occurred to me. It is not that I think my experiences are unique or anything of the sort. If anything, I may have considered them to be the opposite. There have been plenty of books written about chronic illness and survivors. The communities already exist. Yes, writing about my own experiences would be a beacon- but it would be another in a sea of many. Or so I thought.
It could be one more data point signaling camaraderie to those sharing these experiences. It would be another data point in confirming that despite the difficulties, there are multiple paths available. It could also just increase the chances that a book on the topic they need finds its way to them. Just as how Baek’s book is yet another memoir about depression, and it happened to resonate with me. Which, in return, has allowed me to learn about dysthymia and update my knowledge about myself.
This has encouraged me to revisit my medical history, and its attached trauma. A topic, I have been reluctant to revisit in over a decade. I usually hand wave it away by calling it “my medical stuff”.
I recall an experience from the first year of my dialysis treatment. My doctor introduced me to another patient who was in the precipice of the first surgery towards treatment. He was in his early 20’s and taller than me. Dialysis and all that it entails is intimidating. Everything about your life changes from that day onwards. He was hesitant. I understood him. Up until a month before my own surgery towards treatment, I had wished to deny treatment. I would not get the surgery, and refuse dialysis. I wasn’t suicidal, no. And still, the persistent mild depression was amicable to me passing naturally as a result of kidney failure. I met with him a few times in the clinic and we texted briefly. I shared everything- honest and frank (perhaps to a fault). I will never know how much my talking to him helped him in his decision making. However, he did reach out after this treatment stabilized to let me know that he went with it. That felt weird. But, like, a good kind of weird.
“Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again.”
André Gide