Depression, they say. But really? Is that just one of those post-modern, first world reasons to dip into the medicine chest or pull the covers over your head? You want to talk depression? Grandma Bundy, my father's mother. Completely rigid, paralyzed by Rheumatoid Arthritis for the last 32 years of her life. I never knew her except in a hospital bed in the dining room being tended by her older sister, Aunty Ann. All her food put through the blender to drink through a bent glass straw. She had no teeth. Periodic calls for the bedpan, as needed. Crank up my knees. Crank down my head. Please move my pillow.
That's depressing.
Or how about my mother? Deep into Alzheimer's Disease. Life slipping away day by day. Unable to remember herself, her family, her life. It's a long, long good-bye, a centimeter at a time. And depressing.
So maybe I'd just rather trade in the label for something a bit less demanding, a bit more romantic. Like Melancholy. Disconsolate. Ennui. Blue.
After all, the very mention of the word depression brings on the eye-roll, the sneer, the unspoken need to slap someone and say "Quit Whining! You think you got it bad? I know a guy ----- a woman ---- a little kid---- some people ------"
But that's kind of the crux of it, isn't it? I don't think I've got it so bad. I know I've got it good, as a matter of fact. And just in case I forget, I've got an entire array of internal voices ---- the whole committee ---- to remind me of just how delusional and wrong I am. "Sit down and shut up!"
This is not a plea for sympathy. You got that? NO SYMPATHY. Simply a description of the moment. Any recognition? It's not the same for everyone, this undefinable gloominess, this enervating dispiritedness. Your brain chemistry is not mine, so it looks a little different. Hard to even recognize, sometimes. Jumbled thinking? Too much sleep? Too little? I feel, a lot of the time, like I'm wrapped in bubble wrap. Good thing, since I also run into doorways and trip over dogs.
Sunshine. Birdsongs. Rainbows. Butterflies. Unicorns. Keeping my eye on the prize.
Perhaps it's the vapors. I think I need a fainting couch, preferably red brocade.
Just remember what Andrea says "We all have a different threshold."
ReplyDeleteI understand. The red brocade fainting couch sounds like a lovely spot in which to read, relax and battle the demons.
ReplyDeleteKathy, I totally get it! For me, I've come to see it as a desire to "escape"; I never really know when it's going to hit, but when it does, I get the notion of wanting to "disappear". Usually, when I get to that point, I realize that I've been in my head too much and that my "committee" has been truly overactive behind the scenes. I feel like crap when that happens. I have found that once I identify it, I can let it go a little bit; I can let go of it a little more by writing or talking about it. Sometimes, I have to let the sadness or ennui overtake me for a few moments. I love Ann's story about the "oh, poor baby" time she and Kathy have. Sometimes, we need to take a moment to feel those feelings, recognize them and then move on. We don't have to escape from them; they do go away. I've heard others say: "thanks for sharing" and then they move on with what they know to be the next thing in line. I love the way you write, so I suggest you continue doing that! :-)
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