Its been a while
Its been a while since I have been in the grips of one of the depressions that used ot be so common. Black and crushing. It makes for better prose, but offers little else.
I dont know where it came from. I woke up with it this morning. In some ways, it woke me up. A dull ache at the back of my head. I checked, and could tell immediately, that my thoughts were muddied, packed tight with cotton, or fog, or whatever it is that chokes off the light from my thoughts. It got worse. A lot worse.
The pain came. Niumbness in the face, left side, the old poker driven into my gut. My hand gripped tightly into a fist. Thats always a give away. The vision blurred, but not as much as usual. I know a bad one, when I cannot read anymore. But I could read. Just not well. I even talked on the phone twice. The naseua is particularly hard to work with. It gives you the impression that you could vomit out volumes of villainous blackness, and be done with it. But there is no done with it.
If there is a silver lining... Compassion maybe. Sorrow for the broken and the twisted. For the suicides: J's father, A's father. For the inmate who gouged his own guts with a pen waiting for sentencing to try and destroy the ants he felt in there. For the inpatients, with their wrists taped and cuts lining their elbows that I shared the elevator with in Boston. For the fat man with the beard that begged from me in Palo Alto last week, for the girl in the coffee shop who was yelling in terror at the clouds coming down on her. For the young men, losing their fights, and retiring to early graves. For the potential being spent following the internet, instead of following dreams. For E, who would not go out in the daylight for years, and hid behind masks when she did. For Daniel Johnson, whose cannon became increasingly more aware of his brokeness. For Nijinski, who never danced again, for Vicky Vale, who never again acted.
You need to turn away from it. Popular psych tells you to confront it. I tell you to ignore it as best as possible. Just get through until tomorrow. When its your life at stake, its no time to be a hero.
Going to bed.
Bleh.
I dont know where it came from. I woke up with it this morning. In some ways, it woke me up. A dull ache at the back of my head. I checked, and could tell immediately, that my thoughts were muddied, packed tight with cotton, or fog, or whatever it is that chokes off the light from my thoughts. It got worse. A lot worse.
The pain came. Niumbness in the face, left side, the old poker driven into my gut. My hand gripped tightly into a fist. Thats always a give away. The vision blurred, but not as much as usual. I know a bad one, when I cannot read anymore. But I could read. Just not well. I even talked on the phone twice. The naseua is particularly hard to work with. It gives you the impression that you could vomit out volumes of villainous blackness, and be done with it. But there is no done with it.
If there is a silver lining... Compassion maybe. Sorrow for the broken and the twisted. For the suicides: J's father, A's father. For the inmate who gouged his own guts with a pen waiting for sentencing to try and destroy the ants he felt in there. For the inpatients, with their wrists taped and cuts lining their elbows that I shared the elevator with in Boston. For the fat man with the beard that begged from me in Palo Alto last week, for the girl in the coffee shop who was yelling in terror at the clouds coming down on her. For the young men, losing their fights, and retiring to early graves. For the potential being spent following the internet, instead of following dreams. For E, who would not go out in the daylight for years, and hid behind masks when she did. For Daniel Johnson, whose cannon became increasingly more aware of his brokeness. For Nijinski, who never danced again, for Vicky Vale, who never again acted.
You need to turn away from it. Popular psych tells you to confront it. I tell you to ignore it as best as possible. Just get through until tomorrow. When its your life at stake, its no time to be a hero.
Going to bed.
Bleh.
posted by warnerk | 12:28 AM
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