Wednesdays&Cyanide
Member
- Oct 25, 2018
- 8
European history, and more specifically French Rococo history, has often been an escape for me in my life. From inspiring my aesthetic in fashion and decor, to the meanings in my artwork, to feeling understood by being able to connect with the lifestories and tragedies of various historical figures, history has been something small in my life I could depend on to give my life a little happiness. I seemed to think that history is something that would be relatively untouchable. I didn't think something would be able to start destroying one of the only things that gave me some joy in my average day to day life.
It seems rather stupid for my love in history to be so affected by the tragedy of Notre-dame catching fire, but it seems to have made its way to my depression and anxiety.
From a perspective of my love for history, it makes me feel fearful of what could happen to the places which hold so much meaning for me. The Queen's hamlet in Versailles was recently restored and given how much work was needed to restore the hamlet, and given the state it was in to begin with because it wasn't really built to last, I can't bare to imagine how I would feel if those structures came down. The history of Marie Antoinette means so much to me (it's hard for me to explain why without me going into a massive tangent so I won't do that here) so for any (more) elements of her lifestory to be destroyed would absolutely devestate me.
From the perspective of depression and anxiety, the tragedy serves as a reminder to me that nothing is impenetrable, everything is subject to change. More often than not, for the worse. We're often told to remember that people aren't static, that people change and may leave our lives at different points in our lives, so shouldn't base our happiness on others. We're told to 'focus' on what 'makes us happy', and even though when you're at a point of wanting to ctb nothing can really make enough of a difference to help you want to live, those small things that bring a little happiness can still make a difference to our day to day lives. But even then, these small things can be tarnished or taken away from us.
I apologise for the rambling, and I'm sorry if nothing seems to make sense in this post - I was typing this out while sitting in the same room as my parents who are screaming at the top of their lungs in an argument.
It seems rather stupid for my love in history to be so affected by the tragedy of Notre-dame catching fire, but it seems to have made its way to my depression and anxiety.
From a perspective of my love for history, it makes me feel fearful of what could happen to the places which hold so much meaning for me. The Queen's hamlet in Versailles was recently restored and given how much work was needed to restore the hamlet, and given the state it was in to begin with because it wasn't really built to last, I can't bare to imagine how I would feel if those structures came down. The history of Marie Antoinette means so much to me (it's hard for me to explain why without me going into a massive tangent so I won't do that here) so for any (more) elements of her lifestory to be destroyed would absolutely devestate me.
From the perspective of depression and anxiety, the tragedy serves as a reminder to me that nothing is impenetrable, everything is subject to change. More often than not, for the worse. We're often told to remember that people aren't static, that people change and may leave our lives at different points in our lives, so shouldn't base our happiness on others. We're told to 'focus' on what 'makes us happy', and even though when you're at a point of wanting to ctb nothing can really make enough of a difference to help you want to live, those small things that bring a little happiness can still make a difference to our day to day lives. But even then, these small things can be tarnished or taken away from us.
I apologise for the rambling, and I'm sorry if nothing seems to make sense in this post - I was typing this out while sitting in the same room as my parents who are screaming at the top of their lungs in an argument.
