Tarred and Unfeathered
I don’t care much for the term “depression,” as by now it’s been thrown around so often and so carelessly that it’s lost all its meaning. And for a long time I preferred Tennessee Williams’ term for that which ailed him, the “blue devils.” But even that term implies a sort of mischievous energy, and at least when I fall prey to it, there’s nothing energetic about it. This state blunts my mental faculties as well, so finding the right phrase may be beyond my reach right now, but it’s more akin to a tar pit, something I fall down into, something that slowly constricts me to the point where every movement becomes labor. And it’s only movement that saves me. But the things that would help me the most, when down in the pit, are also the hardest to do. Writing. Reading. Hitting the gym. Talking with friends. Inside the tar pit my compulsive tendencies escalate, and seize upon activities which don’t feed my spirit or my brain; they merely open a window wide enough through which I can escape for a few hours. Like Playstation 3.
I fall into the pit with frustrating regularity, though with the help of modern medicine, and with more thorough experience with its contours, the times I spend down there grow fewer and farther between. Which is progress. I used to live down there. I spent my whole adolescence and college years, and pretty much all of my twenties, down there. So I have a little gratitude.
Before the Manly Fireplug came into my life I’d been single for over five years. So I’d forgotten how much the tar pit affects not only me but those close to me as well, and it was his frustration, coupled with my own, with my absence, which led me a few days ago to start clawing my way to the surface. To be a tad melodramatic.
So my apologies to you, in case you’d missed me.
Another factor that led me to fight my way back to the surface was the simple desire for self-promotion. A while back I was asked to take part in another public literary reading next Thursday, here in San Francisco. The reading series is called Inside Story Time, and the curators do well at bringing in some great writers, so it could be a good one. This month’s theme is “What to Want, or the Lineaments of Gratified Desire.” The other writers will be Rodes Fishburne, Holly Shumas, Andrea Drugay, and Justin Chin.
Looks like they have a full bar, too, in case you need a little more motivation.
Inside Story Time
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Cafe Royale
800 Post Street (at Leavenworth)
6:30 – 8:30 pm
$3 to $5 cover
It has been said that there is gift in depression; a calling to turn inward, reflect, discern, and listen.
Sometimes I think that’s true. Sometimes, bullshit. But I know the effects, the affects, and those effected by it. Blessings on you both.
February 14th, 2009 at 6:34 pmdude,
i’m so glad that you found someone. i thought i had found the ‘one’, but he turned out to be someone else. i’ve just stopped crying recently, and i can only think of that one cliche; what doesn’t kill us, only makes us stronger. i have to believe that because i’m still around.
keep up the good work because people do care.
and look up at the stars sometimes.
chin up.
February 14th, 2009 at 7:47 pmWish we could be there next Thursday.
And believe me, we do miss you.
February 14th, 2009 at 8:18 pmMichael, you know my story. It was a difficult struggle back from the depths. I had several good years, culminating in an amazing 2005. I visited my friend, Mark (who loves your blog and your writing), in Uganda, got accepted into a PhD program, stood up for my sister at her wedding in Vegas, took a two and a half month road trip in which I got to see long-lost friends, enjoy the solitude of some beautiful Oregon beaches, trekked several mountains, and canoed the Boundary Waters before moving to Pennsylvania for school.
Grad school went well until I started getting ill. First came the sinusitis and pneumonia, then the year-long struggle with undiagnosed pancreatitis, surgery to remove my gall bladder, then surgery to have a titanium implant in my jaw, followed by a kidney stone and a diagnosis of keratoconis. A year and a half of ill health took its toll and depression returned. Six months of increasing dosages of a second antidepressant, and two other drugs to counteract its effects, have led me to this point. Where I’m reading your blog today.
I returned to a place of normalcy about a month ago, and my body is finally adjusting to the new regime. I’m writing, teaching, collaborating, and my work is starting to get noticed. I still yearn for a solid social network and real intimacy. I don’t expect to find much of that until I leave Pennsylvania, but I am again hopeful rather than despondent about my future. Daily living is no longer an effort (even though laundry often seems to be).
I’m glad you’ve been able to pull yourself up from the paralyzing embrace of the tar that too often overwhelms us. You don’t need any advice from me. You have the love of a good man, and you know what you have to do to avoid the unrelenting grip of the blackness that seeks to envelop you. Know that during some of my darkest days, as I was trying to work through that evil black fog, reading your blog always brought me impactful moments of joy that remain with me to this day. If there’s ever anything I can do to return the favor, all you have to do is reach out.
Follow your joy. Keep writing.
February 14th, 2009 at 9:06 pmI missed you
February 15th, 2009 at 12:57 pmYes, you were missed. And no apology necessary. It’s good to hear from you.
February 18th, 2009 at 7:09 pmI call mine The Darkness. It’s a cloud that bews and spreads like something out of Close Encounters. Yet tar seems more apt, because the harder to try to scrub it off me the more it seems to be come spread out. Thanks for the post.
February 23rd, 2009 at 1:44 pmI’ve read this post several times since you posted it. It really is a tarpit, and I’m so sick of being stuck there. I was also too scared to get serious about treatment. I’m still scared, but I’m doing it now.
Your words about how the things that help the most are the things that are hardest to do – I have been trying to articulate that for so long! Thank you for putting that into such simple, powerful words. That is what finally kicked my ass into gear. I NEED to do certain things and years of my life have slipped away. My fear of not doing those things is greater than my fear of treatment.
And yes, wow, the power of knowing the effect we have on our loved one! They say external motivators don’t work, that we shouldn’t do this for others. Maybe… but a partner is a partner. Another powerful word. I’m not the only one who deserves the best Me I can be. It wasn’t until I had his support that I could really take this step.
Thanks for this post. I really needed it.
February 26th, 2009 at 8:43 amwhatever we choose to call it – it is devastating – and a pure and utter waste of life – waste of time, where we should love, laugh and live …
thanks for sharing
March 1st, 2009 at 5:49 amWelcome back
we missed your online presence, even up here in Montreal, where it’s been winter LOL
Trust the Manly Fireplug, Michael- that’s already one step out of the goo
hugs
David@Montreal
March 8th, 2009 at 5:39 pm