For as long as I can remember, the question, “If you were stranded on a deserted island, what would you want with you” has floated around. There are other variations, but nonetheless, same type of question.
Obviously, the question is preposterous to me because I don’t do very many things which haven’t been planned, down to the smallest detail. If I happened to be stranded on an island, that would mean that I was either flying over an ocean, which I don’t see in my future, or I would be in a boat that wrecked.
I’ve seen too many of those stranded at sea type of movies to know that I must see the shore. Not that I could swim to the shore if the boat cracked in half and I had no choice but to swim. I just need to see there is a possibility to improve my situation.
Joking about having Bradley Cooper and Ryan Reynolds to keep me company just adds to the tangibility of any of this happening.
But…..if I were to use my imagination, which is small, but I do have one, I would get in a boat and row myself to that island. Behind it I would tether another boat full of sheep, some alpacas, a cat or twelve, sheep shears, spinning/fiber making tools, various sizes of knitting needles, a way to make fire, pray for a source of fresh water and lots of fruits and vegetables that would grow on the island. I must be sure to include my mini Juiceman multi-tool, and I would probably have to learn to like eating fish.
I would live on that island alone.
That way—every time I feel like crying, I could cry and not have to explain what makes me so sad, because I don’t know. I could keep my mouth shut and live in my world of knit one, purl one, and not have to explain that I’m okay—just quiet. When dealing with a bout of depression—again, and again—I wouldn’t have to feel any guilt for making life rough for anyone around me. I wouldn’t have to come up with an explanation why I can’t move, or don’t feel happy, because I don’t know why.
Maybe–if I lived there long enough, I would have not have distractions, and I could replay all the positive thoughts in my mind I can think of. Could I possibly learn that it is my choice to be happy or sad? Would it even matter?
If there were no people that I had to disguise my torment from, would that release some of my angst? Would that be enough to create happiness?
It would certainly remove the social phobia I constantly seem to fight against. There would be nowhere to go, nobody to see. If I lived there, I wouldn’t feel the pressure or fear of hanging out with anybody. I wouldn’t feel guilty if I sat on my little island for years at a time–never venturing from the little camp I create.
I wouldn’t let anybody down. Perhaps, I could learn to not let myself down.
If Bradley Cooper, or Ryan Reynolds just so happened to be on that island when I reached it, I’m pretty sure they would become too smelly and I would have to move to the other side of the island. Either that, or I would make them so crazy that they would gladly take my little boats and row into the unknown.
As much as I would like some relief from depression, lasting longer than a couple of weeks, I dream of relief for my family. They are the ones who suffer the most.