Fighting depression. My list of things to write about stretches back a couple of months. And the topics to kick off with depression.
Depression is something that I deal with from time to time. And it often comes when I realize that no matter what I do, no matter what I say, things don’t change and people don’t listen. When I reach that realization, and it happens more often than not, that’s where I begin to extrapolate that into what’s next and what can I do?
Examples of this happen both personally and professionally. At home, it doesn’t matter in what ways I say and do something, things are not done to my satisfaction more often than not. And when I say something, it takes several times saying it. And even then, the instructions aren’t followed. Considering one of my children needs things in clear black-and-white, this child finds ways of screwing something up.
My workplace is different. I won’t be delving into that into any detail only because there are some things I have to keep penned inside of me rather than see the light of day, written on a blog or social media or spoken. Let’s just say that when it comes to my work, I’m focusing on the fundamentals and trying my best to be excellent at those very plain and simple things that make my chosen profession what it is.
And back at the home, because of just how overwhelmed we are with medical debt, it’s scrounging to make sure we get the basics down.
Don’t get me wrong, there are times when my crusades for both work and home get in the way of doing some of the basics that are needed done in my life. I’ve done better. But what really sticks in my craw is that I get little to no help at home. Things are taken out and left. Nothing is ever put away. Nothing is taken care of. It just lays there. Essentially forever.
My frustration boils, then it settles, and it becomes more depression. If the ones around me haven’t figured out things in the last dozen-plus years, what’s the point of droning on about anything else?
My depression generated from work, conversely, is frustration born from hurt pride. I know I shouldn’t be so prideful. I should be more humble. So, I continue to quietly be as humble as can be, not get frustrated over things I see done around me that irritate my senses of everything I believed when it comes to my profession. I would go into further detail with those irritations, but again, I’ve learned those lessons now. Big Brother is watching. No need to offend others here, or anywhere for that matter. It is what it is. Work is work, not meant to be a funhouse.
Perhaps the way I’ll reach happiness is when I just get out and accomplish things for myself, and likely by myself. It seems that is what worked when I was a child. Perhaps that’s just the direction I need to head back to.
Covering my son. I had a brief conversation with a local coach during this winter season. I mentioned, at the time, that I need to see my son compete athletically before he sets foot into his high school because I won’t be seeing hardly any of his games when he is a ninth grader.
The coach said I should still go and watch him compete. I will, at times. Most times, I’ll have bought a ticket to watch from the stands. There might be times when I will need to photograph his games, but I will never, ever, write about his games. Not once. Nor will I cover his classmates.
I’ve decided, and not last week or yesterday, but some time ago, that once my son sets foot inside his high school, I won’t be covering that school until after he graduates. I may not cover his school for one more year after he’s out of the school.
The reason why I’m taking that 4-5 academic year hiatus from covering his particular school is because I will know him, and his classmates, too intimately. The key is that should we still be living right here, and I suspect we will be, I don’t need the neighboring community to believe he and his classmates are getting any extra or special coverage because he attends that school.
Rather, I’m going to cover the neighboring schools and not attend events where he goes unless I buy a ticket, or I’m needed to photograph those particular contests.
I may still get those complaints — the good Lord knows I get them now over as silly and small as a sub-headline — because of some sort of disrespect syndrome that rests inside some folks. You’re not going to win them all over. But, for that 4-5 years, while my son and his teammates, even the ones that are a year younger, perhaps even two, are through the school.
A reporter must give an unbiased accounting of what occurs. I can’t, in good conscience, cover my son. It’s not the ethical thing to do. And a journalist without ethics is nothing, a person who’s reputation is meaningless with no trust. I can’t erode that trust the public must have for my employer.