In my lighter moments, I have a deep appreciation for solitude. It affords me opportunities to explore myself in ways that my public presentation of yore could not. When I'm not saddled with depression, solitude is peaceful, and when I'm not judging myself for self-abdicating from any number of perceived responsibilities, the time alone is precious. Never underestimate the quality of time you will spend with a beloved pet. My Willow is truly a blessing, and I love her very much. Our conversations get fairly deep during treat time, after she's screamed in my face to rattle me out of bed. Fancy cats do love their Fancy Feast. The rumors are true. I'm sure some reading this now can attest.

The trouble with solitude is when it becomes isolation. I've only just learned the actual difference, considering two philosophers over which I have very recently developed a cursory understanding. At least from the three-hour primer, I have a basic appreciation of the difference between Schopenhauer and Montaigne. Schopenhauer was an isolationist; he used solitude as a shell from the outside world, protecting himself from the ills of society. By contrast, Montaigne viewed solitude as a means of understanding oneself, and celebrating those aspects we cannot openly practice among others to develop our higher selves. I don't pretend to know either very deeply beyond that sketchy characterization, but it is useful in differentiating between isolation and solitude. One is a castle, the other a temple. I intended my removal from social life as a temple, but too often it has been a castle.

I don't blame myself. I've been dealt a rough hand the last years, and I'm still working through what CPTSD even means for me. Before I deleted my accounts, I had arrived at a point where I believed the simple realization that I -had- CPTSD was, in itself, a life-changing epiphany. In many ways it is, but it is not an answer. It's just another variable - a big one - but knowledge of a condition does not resolve the condition. At the time, I thought that finally understanding why I was experiencing so many difficult symptoms was the breakthrough I needed. It was not. My TRD on top of things (itself very likely a byproduct of the CPTSD), and the parade of mostly-useless or even harmful medication changes I'd been shuffled through over the last X years, makes for an unhealthy brew that has led me where I am.

Welcome to my castle. Yes, we have many tapestries. But if you are Scottish, I am Mickey Mouse.

Coincidentally, or perhaps synchronistically, my psychiatrist had just texted me a link to a video about Jung's belief in the necessity of isolation (or loneliness) as part of the alchemical process of individuation. That, to me, largely agrees with Montaigne's perspective, though Jung's experience was a bit more extreme and (for me) difficult to follow. While they extol the virtues of solitude, and the necessity of it as a chamber for personal development, at least in my cursory understanding, they don't address the other variable my psychiatrist discussed with me - that need for social interaction.

Granted, both Montaigne and Schopenhauer lived centuries ago, and could not completely, hermetically seal themselves. Much to his chagrin, Schopenhauer still had to eat among the people and walk his poodles among them as well. I believe he named them all Atma. The poodles, I mean. He was a strange man. He didn't even realize that they were as ancient as the cosmos and pulsating with raw magical power. Maybe he did...

I would rather be like Montaigne. I'm trying. The depression can be debilitating for long periods, and I don't even realize it until a couple weeks have gone by. It can be nearly impossible to do the barest of minimums; if I can put it off, I will. I've always been procrastinative, but the kind of depression I sink into is sneaky and tricks me from doing things that, with just a little effort, like getting out of the house for five minutes to see and -feel- the sun, is as mythic a task as cleaning the Augean Stables. When I compound that with total isolation, it becomes truly corrosive, and you get journal entries out of it like my previous existential howl.

At the very least, I like to believe vulnerability is a powerful teacher. I just need to strike a better balance between which pearls I cast into the open. When I'm hurting, my judgment is not so good. I don't regret it, nor do I feel the need to apologize for anything. I just recognize that moments like that are born of deep pain, but are not fully indicative of my lived experience. I'm not weeping into my palms every day. Some days are pretty good. Those are the ones I need to recognize better, in the moment, and make use of while I have the energy.

To that point, I need to follow my doctor's advice - and much of yours. I am grateful for the comments all of you leave. I read and think about them all. They have a real impact, and I want you to feel appreciated. Thank you.

I am considering what I want to do next. I may create a Bluesky account again, or something on Mastodon, or both. I do enjoy the long-form, as I am a creative writer and enjoy performing in an essayist style. The point I have taken away, whatever and whenever I decide to do something, is that what I have been doing is not working for me the way I wanted. I did not intend to build myself a castle, nor stay away forever. I do, however, need to make changes, and apply more discipline in how I present myself. A couple journals ago, I said that I don't deal with addiction in partial measure, which is true. But, the point has been well impressed upon me that I do, in fact, need friends in my life, and I miss you.

Another point that has been impressed upon me, is that it's not inauthentic of me to wear a mask. I was thinking about it wrong. I have had a tendency, and enjoyed, referencing that the Emperor has no clothes. To a great extent, I do believe that, but, conversation of this depth is not where I need to meet people. If I think of myself in terms of a house, the front porch is where I greet most people; that would be where it's okay to don a mask. For people with whom I share a mutual trust and interest in the subject matter, I can invite them farther inside, where the atmosphere is more conducive to having this kind of conversation openly. My problem has been that I mistake wearing a mask for being inauthentic, the irony being that I don't apply that rule to pretty much anybody else. I like talking about these things and getting into the weeds, learning and experiencing. But, just because I'm comfortable without my clothes on doesn't mean I should greet you at the porch with my scandalously jaw-dropping birthday suit. Figuratively speaking (or not).

One day at a time, though. Whatever I do, I will not rush in. I recognize I need to change my behavior, but I do not scold myself for it. I just recognize, I will have a learning curve, and that's okay. I'll just try to melt down publicly... less. If I need a week or two to disappear, I will try not to deactivate my account as a way of keeping myself from bleeding out in front of everyone. Right now I am in good humor. When I wake up again after my next rest, I may not be, and I don't know how long that will last. It's a very realistic possibility. The bad days do greatly outnumber the good, and I try to keep that in mind. If my psychiatrist decides I'm unipolar, I am a likely candidate for esketamine, and that could make a real difference. I've thought that about every med he's switched me onto, but I've been a tough nut to crack. There's definitely hope, though, and things I can do regardless to help myself.

At any rate, I wanted to extend my sincere gratitude once more to all of you, whether you've listened, commented, or went the extra mile to construct an ear wax effigy of my character you "pray to" at least once nightly. You. Are. Appreciated. I hope the effigy has big paws and is named Atma.