Thursday, March 12, 2015

Today!

It's hard to know or explain or even make sense of the shit that moves you. Know what I mean? A lot of times it feels like being depressive in this particular way is like a vast, vast vertical distance that separates me from everyone else—they're all up there, in the sun, and I'm way down here, and the light that filters through is beautiful and precious but not for me, and so I stand there awkwardly in it for a few moments, hoping it won't act as a spotlight. Everyone bottoms out, in that sense we're not ever totally alone, but this bottom is mine only and I know it well.

Sometimes things float you to the surface, and it might be bullshit to say those things take one familiar shape or another. Sometimes the things that float you to the surface, though, are things that just make you feel like your version of humanity, the one that seems so out of place under the honest glare of daylight, is attached by certain threads, however thin and fragile, to all those other versions, most of which, importantly, are more like what whoever conceived of humanity had in mind. Those are pretty good moments. I've got a good dog who'd go to the park and pick out the most impressive dog in the place as a playmate. And then he'd play with that impressive dog with all his focus and energy, from 50 feet away, without the other dog ever knowing about it. There was something connecting them, though, something that heartened him, like a primal thing that bridged the distance he couldn't cover himself. It's like a reminder that you can't be so far off.

It's weird though, when you're in a certain place, those moments can seem dangerous, because sometimes they feel exactly like fond farewells, and fitting as a closing point. At any rate, today I watched a video of a man who was moved to tears by a beautiful song sung by a talented artist, and I feel very glad to have watched it. He said sometimes music just keeps you afloat, and I thought he and I must not be so different. It's not music—I mean, of course he's right, sometimes it's music—so much as it is the notion of needing a thing to keep you afloat. Everyone's been there, but when you're there—when I'm there—it's the loneliest fucking feeling in the world, like you must be the only person on earth so lost and stupid to need something external to yank you back to where there's air to breathe.

Anyway, that's a glimpse at my depression. I'm on something like day 12 of Wellbutrin, and I'm optimistic.

Monday, March 2, 2015

Welcome!

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