Out of the Darkness

 

Out of the Darkness

 

By John W. Vander Velden 

I have not been afraid of the dark since I was very small. I recall when I was moved to a larger bed and a room upstairs, that my parents left the hall light on for my benefit. But like I said, that was a long time ago. Of course it would be easy to understand fear of darkness for we all are afraid of what we cannot see, and many things could be lurking within the shadows. 

But there are other types of darkness that have the potential to engulf us. And this pitch does not evaporate with the movement of a light switch. There are those that endure within blackness of depression which attempts to suck all the light out of their lives. Many live beneath the stigma of fear and misunderstanding of the condition, and never seek the help they desperately need. 

Often those closest to them have no idea of the weight depression places upon their love ones…or the danger. For there are those that live within that blackness who find themselves spiraling downward into a pit whose walls are so slippery that upward movements seem impossible. For them each day is a time of hopelessness and pain. For some the only escape, they may see from this blackness, is suicide. 

Their pain is not imaginary. It is not something they can simply ignore. In many cases it is not something that will simply fade with time. And it is not caused by a lack of faith. 

Depression is real! 

But for many there is help, but it begins with understanding. For those who are near and dear to the depressed are often first to deny its existence. They close their eyes until it becomes too late, then stand confused about the causes of the tragedy that has unfolded at their feet. There are many of those within the darkness that do not recognize the condition they themselves deal with each day. 

I do not write these words as a spectator, for I am a participant in the continuous struggle I face. For years I did not recognize or understand the darkness that came and went, the hopelessness, the mental anguish, I lived through. I will not go into the depths of the pit I found myself, or the solutions I considered at those moments within the pitch. It is enough to say that things changed and the darkness has faded. But it never disappeared. 

At last someone coaxed me to seek help. 

Now I stand in the light, or close enough that I feel its warm optimism. Yet the dark shadows are close enough that I remain constantly diligent, aware of how easily things can tumble in ways unwanted. 

Why am I bold enough to admit to this weakness? This disease? Because of the stigma that depression and all forms of mental illness carries opens me to ridicule. But h ow do others find the courage, and it does take incredible courage, to seek the help they need, if I and others do not step forward and say, “I deal with chronic depression...there is hope.” 

I have not reached this place on my own. I have not found the courage to live on my own. I owe much to those near me that saw the depth of my illness before I could fully grasp what I was dealing with. Not everyone has the love and support that I was blessed to receive. Open you hearts and arms to help. For each of us know someone, a friend, a loved one, a family member, or a co-worker that is trying to find their way out of the darkness. 

 (609 Words) 3-20-2022

Thirty-Three

 

Thirty-Three

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Thirty-three is an odd number. Not only because the integer is not divisible by two, but it doesn’t quite fit in with others very well. All the same it comes to my mind in several ways. One example. I have a stack of LPs, what are now called vinyls. In the day before CDs became the norm, certainly long before digital music of any kind, long playing records were common. Those platters were spun on turntables rotating at thirty-three and a third revolutions per minute.

Even then the number seemed a bit strange. It was the one third that made it most peculiar. For wouldn’t thirty- three or thirty- four make more sense. Yes, thirty-three and a third times three, which seems like an awful lot of threes, equals one hundred. So why did someone in the know pick thirty-three and change for the speed of a LP. For that matter why had someone picked seventy-eight rpm for the first pressed recording, and forty-five rpms for singles with that silly big center hole?

Who knows?

And in truth, who really cares. It is just some silly thoughts that have passed between my ears as the number thirty-three approaches for a much different reason. For you see thirty-three years is a milestone that Jackie and I have reached.

I can remember a snowy March Saturday. The gray day with thin wisps of snow blowing across US 6 as we went to a church. Much of that morning is lost, for now in a blur of memories faded by thirty-three years. But there are portions of that day I will never forget. Portions of infinite importance to me. Memories of friends, best friends of years shared. Memories of brothers, true friends by blood. I remember a set of clothes I only wore once. I remember waiting, anticipating in front of a room filled with those I had known and loved, and others I have come to love. I remember the music, the emotion, the fear.

At thirty-seven I was no longer a child, but I understood the intensity of the moment I face. How I was about to change my life in a way that could never be undone. I stood with my band of brothers, kin and friends, prepared, I thought, to make a vows to Jackie. Prepared to give more than my life, but also my heart, my future, my everything. Willing to bind my life to this woman who was foolish enough to accept this pitiful person who loved her.

We have shared this life for thirty-three years, and what a ride it has been. There are times when it seems impossible it has been that long. Surely that number is inflated. But when I take the time to look back at what has occured, the places we have seen, the child we raised that is now a man. When I consider and all our triumphs, for there have been several, and remember the tragedies we have endured, then yes, the span of years has been significant.

But anniversaries should not be limited to a rear view of years passed. It also needs to be a time for looking forward. A time of anticipation. No, we do not know what our future holds but we know, that for now, we walk boldly hand in hand. And have confidence we will never be alone, even if the day comes when the two of us becomes the one left behind. For God will never abandon, and love’s cord cannot be severed.  

I have been honored to have shared my life with Jackie. She has been my dearest friend for thirty-three years. Oh she’s not perfect, but she’s my champion. The person I can always count upon. The person that sees more in me than I see in myself. Jackie has helped me rise to places I would never imagine reaching. It is my hope I have aided her assent as well.

In this life we are a team... And as a team, and with God’s help, we stride forward into the next thirty- three years or however many we are given!

(690 Words) 3-17-2022

409 In Ten Years

 

409

In Ten Years

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Ramblings...Essays and Such... began as an experiment, and March marks the completion of my Blog’s tenth year.  Fact is I had no idea what a blog was when I began in 2012. I had read that as an author I needed an internet presence. Whatever that meant.

I did a little research.

Small quantities of knowledge is a dangerous thing.

I hadn’t even looked at anybody else’s blog before I began. Yet I had an idea and found a platform that was free. Free is good. And I figured I would post one thing each week. But what would that one thing be? I could post bits about writing. But in truth knew less about writing than blogging. So instead I began writing short pieces.

100-300 words pieces were my goal. Originally. For no particular reason other than I felt certain readers would be put off if I rambled on and on. So with those parameters I sat down at the keyboard and wrote more than fifteen shorts before I posted my first. I would not commit to something like a blog for less than six months, and having four months of material gave me a smattering of confidence.

So March of 2012, as I had said before, I began my blogging career. If you can call it anything that approaches a worthwhile endeavor. I’m not certain I can. At first it was like a party where no one came. In some ways it still is. Once in a while one of my posts got a few page views. But things began to change a bit in 2016. The numbers went up just a bit. But then about two years ago something happened. Someone discovered an old post, Broken Teacup. It went form an obscure post with ten or twenty page views to my most read essay. To date Broken Teacup has been read over 17,000 times. No, that is not viral, but I would say it is at least bacterial.  

So this is the 409^th post on my blog. 409 short essays, poems, and something I call micro-stories. There would be more but I reduced the amount of new material I contributed in 2018 so I could use the time to focus on other writing projects. Also in my inexperience early on I deleted many of my early posts. Thought I could not have over twenty posts on the blog at a time.

Silly me.

I have restored many of them and will add others in the future. But all the same 409 bits of writing seems like a sizable quantity.

10 years.

Some might commend me for persistence. Others might ridicule me for my folly. Whether anyone sees my blogging as plus or minus doesn’t really matter to me for I continue to trundle on.

So I thank you for taking a few minutes out of your Saturday to read my words. And hope you have found my words worth your time.

I thank you...409 times. (498 Words) 3-11-2022