More speckled thoughts

Depression is a real medical condition. It eats away into you just like cancer, only more insidious and more powerful because most people do not believed that it is an illness. There is medication for it, but people do not really believed that it worked, do they? And in my opinion, nothing beats depression like exercise. yoga. a swim. jogging. fresh air. wind blowing in the face. cycling down slope full speed like a manaic. ice-skating. blading.

When my grandfather passed away, my grandma was very depressed. But there was no medication for her for that. She had some medciene for her stroke and some other stuffs which may/or may not have helped. But eventually they concluded that she didn't need the medication. She was seeing a neurologist that time, or was it a urologist? I tried to tell them to get her to see a psychiatrist, as adviced by my good friend, for her dementia at least ... and her schizophrenia before it got worse ... but ... :( And slowly she falls into this current state. Nobody cared enough to do anything about her condition. My mom is too weak to make decisions ... and there was the problem of money as usual. It is heart-breaking to see my grandma in this state, and to see my mom shouldering all the workload. Sometimes I wish there is a miracle cure for her state of mind. Othertimes I wish ... *sigh*

*****

Did I mention that reading other people blogs can become quite addictive? How so? In the first place I always liked reading. I like to read about murders and mysteries (preferably by British authors, for American authors tend to be too violent and ...well, less subtle) and sometimes fantasie and science fiction. But blogs on the other hand, are of real people. Even though I do not know them, sometimes reading blogs strike a deep sense of fear in self, or perhaps a little sense of understanding and empathy. There seem to be many blogs of bittersweetness and sadness, but there are also blogs of humour and perceptiveness. Of human nature and everyday common thingies. It's a different thing all together from reading the normal stuffs I read. It's the little things that matter. And most interestingly, sometimes it makes me feel most glad to be myself, here and now. As it is, not to ask too much from life.

I am reminded of reading a book once, when I was in Sec 2. I can't remember the title anymore, but the book is a true story about a lady who suffers from multiple personalities or schizophrenia. Of her thoughts and trials and how she coped. That book hit a nerve somewhere. It's hard to describe the feeling, but it's a feeling that goes deep into the bones. Other books that affected me similiarly: To kill a mockingbird; 1984; The Diary of Anne Frank. It's the kind of book that has an aura to it; I'll read only once and will always remember the feelings of it. It's kinda frightening actually. More frightening than any horror books. I never like horror books ... they only gave cheap thrils. bah. I never dare to read horror books alone though. heh

And writing a blog can also become just as addictive. :) I think the best part about writing is that when I'm angry ... I'll put it down, and purge it out of my system. Then I'll not be yelling at some hapless innocent person who happened to be in my way. :) Then when I read about it again, I'll laugh at myself for being so silly at that time. :P And all the things I want to remember will also be here for me to read.

The only not so good part about reading other people's blogs, for me, at least ... is wanting to reach out to them. Sometimes it gets hard to resist putting a comment down, or wishing to know the person irl. I'm not sure if it's a good thing. Is it better to remain an observer? Looking in through the glassball and see the snowflakes of another soul? Is it too intruding to put down comments and interact? If a person is depressed and wishes to die, should I try to knock some sense? It's absolutely none of my business, but I'm rather itching to do so. If you admire someone's writing, should you comment so? It does seem somewhat superficial. Perhaps it's just boredom.

Spotted thoughts ... speckled thoughts ... too much of them now, no time for any soon.