Waiting for that phone to ring and that hand to write and that brain to produce words can be so excruciating…

But this reminds me of a distinction I’m appreciating more and more.  The phone doesn’t ring because everyone other than the owner of the phone is failing to call it.  However, the only person responsible for the lack of words flowing from the pen is the one holding it.

I have this theory that depression is a kind of self-reinforcing cycle, maintained by the common response to misery - which is to show compassion.  In other words, depression sets in and then builds on itself, motivating the depressed person to take no action - in order to get close to rock bottom where he or she might find compassion from someone else.  Our failure is that we’re not chess-minded enough to see that, in fact, the depressed person really is the only one who can decide to come out of it - the only one who actually does have control - and that our compassion rewards the decision to avoid using that control.

So I liked the phone vs pen comparison, but the locus-of-control difference between them ought to be more highly respected - in life, I mean; the poem itself is pretty cool .  Oh, except that you’ve got some extra S’s in it.  Please use the permalink to get the “Edit this piece” link and fix them.  If you have trouble, let me know.