So, November, right? How did we get here? I’m still expecting the days to be long and the sun to be shining on the reg. Which it is, considering we’re ass deep in the season of the pumpkin and hanging out in the gray and rainy land of Portland, Orygun.
There’s a typical dip in the serotonin that happens around September, with it’s wonky rapid light changes and all. The dip didn’t show up on time, although I’ve had one eye on the door since school started back up. Things have been trucking along, routine and schedule firmly ensconced, barring a brief and tumultuous pilgrimage home to Texas. (Home and Texas are two words that should have oceans between them, but if home is where the heart is then I have many homes in that over-sized, highly conservative state.)
Everything has been sort of been off. Like the light is slightly wonky, one fluorescent bulb buzzing waspishly in the corner of the room. Like the lush, wet smell of the Portland green is sporadically punctuated by errant puffs of sulfur and sewer. Like you lean in to smell a pretty flower and spy a dead animal carcass in the bushes. Just off.
Not horribly, awfully, sadly off, just mildly irritating-ish off. And not irritating in the typical way it blazes through me, like a mass of roided up ants in my pants making me do the I WILL KILL EVERYTHING IN MY PATH dance. It’s been more like a my, that was pretty frustrating when I forgot to pick up the milk, my hair lit on fire and my kid ran into the road with scissors while eating candy comprised wholly of red dye number whichever one gives you cancer, aspartame and corn syrup without wearing a helmet while singing the NSFW version of Ceelo’s Forget You and throwing the double bird at all within his line of sight and I think I’ll just rest on this giant toadstool for a while and see where the day takes me kind of way.
To shorten it up, diagnosis: pervasive numbness.
Let it be known that er’thang good in this hood. Roof: check. Food: check. Health: check. Stash of Cadbury mini eggs: check. Marriage: bueno. Husband: awesome. Kid: the best. Friends: stellar. Luck: abounding.
Let it be also known that depression is a lying mofo who ain’t got time for that. It doesn’t care how awesome your life is or how happy you should be. It will take you down whenever and whyever it damn well feels like it. Probably because it’s not a being or an entity. It’s a jumble of chemicals that has fearsome and random power that can sometimes be controlled, or at least managed, but sometimes will pick up your farmhouse and set it down in another world. One that you can only hope will be populated by tiny creatures who sing and pass out candy. More often it’s a world like the inside of that Hellraiser puzzle box.
I’m not in depression. I’m depression adjacent. Depression-ish.
But so did Robin Williams. Who I miss in more of a visceral way than is normal for one who didn’t know him IRL.
So, I’m opening the toolbox, cleaning and assembling the arsenal, reorganizing the chemicals circling the brain as best as I can. And I’m doing it all to the fight song of my people. Because every one of us, no matter how much it doesn’t feel like it sometimes, has one more day in us.
Disclaimer: Wilson Phillips are not medical professionals and are not a proven treatment option for depression and/or suicide. Any reference to said performers is satirical and nonsensical in nature and intended to induce laughter and/or strong feelings of empowered nostalgia for 1980’s power ballads.
But hey, hold on anyway, ok? I’ll keep you company.
If you’re feeling sad, depressed or suicidal PLEASE talk to someone. Friends, family, church peeps, medical professionals. I’m here too. You can also call1-800-273-TALK (8255), the people are really kind and non-Judgy McJudgerson. You can get information at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Your value to the world is unknown. You never know what small kindness or encouragement you give someone else will lead to events that will better the world. The world needs you for as long as it can get you.