I am not doing well right now. Not at all. I feel like the shadowy man falling down, down, down, in Mad Men’s opening title sequence, though not nearly as well dressed. I have been working from home the past couple of months so my hair doesn’t always get combed and my shirts don’t always get tucked (into my pajama bottoms). The house smells vaguely of stale mud and I don’t know if it’s me or my dog. Even Diego, my pup, who used to enjoy the novelty of my company, looks at me with these pitying eyes as we take our millionth walk around the block. “Again?” they say, “Can’t you find anyone else to hang out with!? Seriously, anyone!?” It is reminiscent of my cat’s doleful, “for the love of God, please have a baby already!” look, when I wrap her up in a scarf, turning her into Babushka Kitty.
I don’t even do that anymore. That’s how bad things have gotten: I don’t find cat memes funny anymore.
I am just so unhappy; unhappy with what I am doing, unhappy with who I am, with how I feel, and I have no idea how to fix any of it. Each day feels harder, like I am sinking lower. Every resolution gives way to more disappointment, more disillusionment, and more depression. How do you climb out of a deep, dark abyss without any footwear or a flashlight? And how do you know where to get some? How long do you keep trying to claw your way out-the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet scraped raw with the effort-until you give up, because even wanting change, hoping for it, is just too painful? Sometimes dreams can be more toxic than failure.
I feel like I am descending into madness and that I should record the fall for artistic purposes, but even that is trite and unoriginal. I am not even breaking down well. I lack flare.
I sit like this, wringing my hands, until I stumble on the following link of Tim Minchin’s grad address at the University of Western Australia and I am stirred out of the sadness that I was certain, this time, would really never end: http://www.upworthy.com/this-is-the-most-inspiring-yet-depressing-yet-hilarious-yet-horrifying-yet-heartwarming-grad-speech?g=4
I am moved by Minchin-not just because I wish my hair was his shade of red or that I could rock the crazy look like he can-but because of the beauty in his realism and his humbling sincerity. (At first though I am surprised that Californication’s Atticus Fench is so brilliant and I immediately go from being grossed out by the image of this washed out rocker to wanting to have sex with him). I love that someone so wildly creative can be so practical about his gift. I love the beauty of his message, delivered in an elegant, understated way. His words are like a hand thrust out to me in my dark little hole, offering to help pull me out. I grab on. I listen to Minchin speak and I listen again and then I listen a third time with my husband who effusively declares the speech to be “pretty good” which for him is high praise. I am reminded of the humanity in my sadness, how utterly ordinary and familiar it is. So turned on am I with Minchin’s depiction of romance that I not only stop crying but I open up my computer and write this post, having been unable to write a single word for weeks. I am not a miserable depressive, but a romantic! A romantic who flirts with sadness! If romance is recognizing the chance to fill our one, small, random little life with things we love than I am teetering on the erotic!
Unable to inhabit any single moment, though, I again start to worry. Sure, I am writing this post now but what happens when I finish it? This helpful link surfaced today but what about tomorrow? What if there is no Tim Minchin for me tomorrow? I don’t know. But right now I feel an overwhelming need to wrap a handkerchief around my cat’s head and take a picture. Today, thankfully, that is enough to break my fall.
Wendy! You are truly an artist. This is so beautifully written that it had me in tears of sadness followed by tears of joy. Thank you for this.
Coming from one of my favourite artists, Reena, that means so much! Thank you!
I’m reminded of how the wasp lays its eggs by stinging a caterpillar. Once stung, the caterpillar is toast. That is, its flesh is the food the larvae eat when they are ready to grow and need a tasty treat. Caterpillar flesh; yum, yum. The caterpillar suffers for no reason, and is eaten from the inside.
Natures grand plan? Nature is heartless. Majestic in its cruelty; Indifferent to suffering.
Today, I truly feel like the caterpillar. I would like to be a butterfly. I think about it all the time. That is, I think about all the marvelous possibilities that are there for me to grab onto if only the lousy wasp larvae would all die away.
I would flap my wings and cross the continent winding up in LA. I would eat and drink and live the life we all deserve if it weren’t for the brain malfunction.
I would be in NYC right now, landing of flowers in Central Park. Or chasing the bike riders as they cruise the bike paths.
But instead, like you describe, what is going on is a decent into some madness.
Google Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome so see the list of what the lucky are currently experiencing. No doubt you will recognize some of the words listed. Insomnia, anhedonia, mood swings.
Keep smiling, things could always be worse.
And keep writing. I heard some guy named Shakespeare started by writing a blog.
By the way, all the symptoms, the insomnia,, anxiety etc. What makes this a very sad story for me is that I started having these symptoms BEFORE I took the first Ativan.
You are lucky. Your are just depressed.
Powerful post Wendy. Sometimes a little spark ignites a beautiful flame. This post is your beautiful flame. And though I don’t necessarily agree with Tim, I loved his address. Thanks for sharing it. 🙂
Who’s blog is this anyway? It’s me again. This time in NY. I just rode a bike to the foot of Manhattan and over the Brooklyn Bridge into ….. Brooklyn of all places. And stumbled around Prospect Park and somehow found a bike path that took me to Brighton Beach where the Russians are. I took the Q train back to 23rd St and got off and weaved and bobbed through the traffic on Broadway back to home. It was like a video game. Cars, buses, trucks are changing lanes and me and my bike dodging around and paying zero attention to lights and/or pedestrians. Exciting as all hell. And then I’m back and the ‘whatever it is’ hits and I feel awful. If this thrill ride in pretty decent weather can’t help, then what can?
I remember hearing that if you are tired of NY city or tired of Las Vegas, you are tired of life. Hmmm…. Ya…. makes a lot of sense now.
Wendy, I’m riding your coat tails. I better stop and get my own sad life on its own site.