I'm cold and I can't even remember the last time I wrote anything worth reading and I can't remember the last time I felt like I had something to look forward to.
It's the season, it's the weather, it's the expectations I put on myself, it's my age, it's hormones, it's the moon, it's the tides, it's the depression, it's the anxiety.
Whatever. I'm tired of feeling this way. I KNOW it will pass, I know things will get better, I know I won't always have this crapfuzz going on in my head. I know I will enjoy things again. I know that there are people who are so much worse off than I am (and that only makes me sadder, more depressed, to contemplate the sorrows of humanity). I know this is a sort of brain-illness, I know the Buddha says that suffering is life, or is it vice versa? I know that the days will very soon start to become longer, I know that it will warm up, I know all of this and I know more even than all of this, and I have experienced it over and over in my life and I know that I wish I never had.
I had the boys again today and that was good because I can't fucking lose it when they are here. But Owen said I sounded "tired" and there is no doubt they can tell the difference in me when I am in this place and I hate it that depression affects not only me but my family, my friends. My grandchildren, for god's sake! I try so hard to be the grandmother they deserve- to play ball with Owen on the stairs, to take them outside to feed the goats and chickens and the mule, to explore in the bamboo jungle, to play games, to be cheerful and always mindful of the loving and right reaction and it's so hard when I feel this way. And I did all of those things today along with making sure they had food to eat and something to drink and jackets on and shoes kept up with and Gibson's diapers changed. But.
Everything is hard. And that exhausts me. It is better, I think though, to keep trying, or at least that's what I've always done, perhaps because I've had to, I don't know.
I do not know.
Here's what saved me today- Owen and Gibson. They wanted to put make-up on me and do my hair and I let them paint my entire face as dark blue as any woad-painted Celt. They touched me so gently, my face, and my hair that I felt as if angel wings were brushing me.
My friend Judy who came by. Judy is as prone to suffer visits from the black dog as I am and there is no need to try and pretend around her. She does not need me to be cheerful, she sits and we talk and she makes the boys laugh and that woman has been through hell and if she weren't a warrior, she would not be here and she does not make me feel like a fucking jerk for having the dark days and she can talk about her own without shame. We can talk about it but do not wallow, we laugh, we talk about other things, plenty of other things and when she left, my spirits had risen a bit. When she was getting ready to leave Owen said right out of the blue, "It's a big world out there. Be careful of monsters. If a monster gets you, you call me."
That little boy. My skinny little man who puts on the Rolling Stones and break dances for me. He twirls on his butt on the floor and holds on to the vanity in the hallway and kicks his legs and does 180 degree turns. He tells me that we are going to a party and that I look beautiful. Of course he also tells me I am old but I already knew that.
And then Mr. Moon came home and he played with those boys and there is nothing like watching that. Gibson has him so wrapped around his little finger that it's heartbreakingly beautiful. That tiny little man, leading his giant Boppy through the house to go play whatever Gibson wants to play. His grandfather changes his diaper and Gibson stands up on the bed and hugs him so hard, pats him on the back and says, "Game, Boppy?" And they walk to the Glen Den and play Wii swordfighting, the man and the little boys and it's all so damn precious and this is all so damn precious. Precious in the sense that it is priceless which was a better word before that stupid credit card advertising campaign.
And by god, I want to be able to laugh along with it. To not just witness it and cry because of this stupid fucked-up brain of mine.
I know all of the reasons not to be sad. I can list them until you nod off from boredom.
They help and they do not help. This is not a problem of circumstance, it is a problem of the brain and body. And I feel loathe to even write about it these days. I have written about it so many times and was chastised so recently and yet...this is my life. This is the way it is for me and by god, I am not going to pretend that all is well when it most decidedly is not.
It will pass. All things must pass.
All things must pass away. And I take heart in the fact that when that happens, when this particular bout of madness passes, I will write about how that feels too.