Sunday, March 11, 2012

NOT A MARX BROTHERS' COUNTRY

I would that I could get a handle, a solid persepective, on how to better wrangle and motivate this meat suit, this mortal coil, I currently inhabit. And there are times when fear and despair and exhaustion, mental and spiritual, are difficult to distinguish. Which is it? A veritable barrage of negative-thought critters constantly sniping and tripping me along the way. The view from this dumpy lighthouse is not optimistic; the light generating mechanisms are clogged.

And even today, when I at least have the benefit of another location, (being in Rhinebeck), I still feel despondent. Le d├ęsespoir. For those of you who do not, have not suffered from genuine depression, there is a place here, and it just might be a defining characteristic, where all positive possibilities are dimmed out of sight and far out of reach. There are other territories of depression, the not-caring, the self-destruction, places of anger and hatred. But the darkness and nothingness parts are tough as they do not even spur one to any sort of activity.

I keep returning to the fear part of this. As I analyze myself, as best as I can, is it fear that stops me from acting or even figuring out how to act in one's best interest? Fear of rejection, more failure, of imagination, not having any damn gumption? I really cannot get that view. All I know is down. All I feel is sad and frightened resignation. And the fear of more hassle if/as my situation deteriorates.

When you are this far "in country," anhedonia runs in the blood. Anhedonia sounds kind of fun, like a made up Marx Brothers country. Not so, my friends, not so. Nothing does, nothing pleases, nothing interests. One wonders, one marvels at others soldiering on. Even more so, at those being happy, energerized, comfortable.

I have never been one to prioritize stability and comfort, and even now, as I yearn for more of it, I know that those things, too, are illusory and often not as stable or comfortable as my current projections would have them. But still, right now, nothing seems as sweet as the knowledge that I had enough money and reasonable things to do to continue to generate it. And that, too, is another country, the country of more comfort, more stability, more ease.



K and I, as well, as other friends, speak often of fairy tales. What are the deep stories and myths that shaped your life? I think we internalize stories whether or not we realize it. I am stuck somewhere in Sleeping Beauty, playing the parts of the princess and the fairy godmothers. And the part I should be embodying, psychologically, is the prince, no?

Did Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty suffer existential, psychological incarceration? Was there dreaming or yearning or any sensation during the inactivity? Or was it all the physical limitation while their spirits and minds continued to soar and sing? Where are the fairy tales, the flights of imagination and archetype, that crystalize some of these states and these feelings, the down countries of which I have been speaking?

This might be somewhat incoherent. However, incoherence, an inability to understand and therefore perhaps change, is one of the frustrating, maddening, frightening aspects of deep depression. No foothold for a future. No light on the path.

Monday, March 13 ...

Now back in Brookly. And while I am not singing around the house, nor are any birds or fairy godmothers helping me with my chores, I can see some light if not the path.

Apropos of nothing.

2 comments:

  1. I spent a weekend holed up in my own myth, the old witch lady without a cat or coven. Not a bad weekend, but just did genealogy and watched some not too good movies a student had loaned me, and read a not so good book for book group, about Sumo and Noh and firebombing, Street of a thousand flowers. The movies, heartwarming but grating: "Amexicano" and "Maldeamores". Now off to be grateful I gotta job. but not too prepared. Wish I could send you a liferaft--but I don't have one.

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  2. I usually am able to say "go away big green monster" to negativity & depression & usually have the energy to keep up joy & passion, but these last 2 weeks I've felt I'm barely keeping afloat somewhere in a void between. After a week of good but intense, tearful parent-daughter group workshops at my daughter's therapeutic (& arts, thank goodness!) boarding school a long 2 day drive away, got a message on the return trip that my dad has a severe lung infection from which he will never fully recover, if at all. So, like Laurie, I have no great answer to it all, except that keeping afloat is constant, often hard, work. Thank goodness for music and and books that grab one momentarily away so one remembers how to smile & just be.

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