Meaning Something

Another day, another blog post apparently. I’m not committing to doing this every day, but it seems to help and I’m not going to turn that down.

I’ve started doing vocal journal entries on my phone fairly recently. I just switch on the voice recorder and then lock the screen and hold my phone to my ear as if I’m talking to someone, and then I talk. I generally do it when I’m out walking somewhere, and as well as it being therapeutic to talk about whatever takes my fancy, it doubles as a good excuse not to interact with people because they think I’m on the phone. I figure it’s unlikely that anyone other than me will ever listen to these entries (and me ever listening to them is also unlikely), so that kind of takes the pressure off. I don’t have to make sense, I don’t even have to speak coherently. I can say whatever. It helps me to figure out how I feel about things. It gives me the illusion of having a friend to talk to. It gives me the sense that I matter, because I’m making a record of something and people don’t generally record things that aren’t important or meaningful. I also have this vague idea as I’m talking that maybe one day my kids or grandkids will listen to my entries, and that helps too because it means I try to pull things out of my life to mention that I feel might be significant.

I think it also has a kind of romance to it; I’ve always liked the idea of time capsules and things like that. Something where you can have a window into the past, a snapshot of a real time that really happened. Sometimes I think life just plods on by, minute by minute and second by second, and we don’t really care. I know I often just while away hours waiting for the next thing to happen to me.

I like to think that one day I’ll be better. Or at least that anxiety and depression won’t have such a hold on my life, won’t be the poison that it is now, seeping into and polluting every aspect of me. And then when/if that happens, I think I would enjoy looking back at my life as it is now, to see how far I’ve come.  I think I would like to hear my own voice speaking to me from my past, with the added perspective that time and experience brings.

Or not. Who knows, maybe I’ll never have a use for these entries ever again.  Maybe they’ll stay on my phone handset and gather dust in a box somewhere as life and technology moves on, forgotten and meaningless.

But regardless, it helps me now, so I’ll keep doing it. You’ve got to take what you can get, especially when you don’t get much because of the steel grip mental illness has on your life. If there is something that brings you happiness, or peace, or even respite from the pain, take it. Because that means something.

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