Friday, March 14, 2008

truth and consequences

"Trouble...oh trouble, trouble...Seems like every time I get back on my feet she come around and knock me down again. Worry, oh worry, worry... Sometimes, I swear it seems like this worry is my only friend..."

- Ray LaMontagne, 'Trouble'

The truth is... I was busy with work. Busy with things to do. And now that the dust has settled, I'm a little busy with depression.

Not the kind where you have those meandering thoughts of... 'oh this sucks' or 'oh that sucks', but the kind where your chest cavity feels likes someone has filled it with cement and the only way you can get your brain to stop racing is to keep the television and your ipod on at the same time.

When things start to hurt for no reason at all.

But I guess the after really just the consequences. Since the truth is...I'm a little in love w/ my depression.

I know it sounds odd, but I'm a writer. If we're not in love with inappropriate people, alcohol or drugs - we have to find something else just as self-destructive to be in love with and that, as it would seem, sometimes turns out to be ourselves. Because the truth is that even though the days are harder to get through when I get like this - within it all I find broader sentences...bolder words. Scenes and situations and conversation and ideas and sometimes even, a little confidence.

Depression is the married man. I am the other woman who so desperately believes he'll change his noncommittal cheating ways and leave the wife just to be with me. The mood will melt away into something way more constructive and healthier and better than what it is.

But it doesn't. Instead...I continue to go on with it...I'm in love with it, I think. That's just my truth. So I spend time with friends, eat out, have a few drinks... I keep at my job, write what I can when I can - and when it's too tough I just avoid. Avoid visits or phone calls or responsibilities. Avoid it all because I'm just too busy focusing on myself alone.

The brain is a very small space.

And the funny thing is that through all the fog - there is this incredibly conscious version of me. Who sees this all as a mess that has been left alone long enough - and needs to be cleaned up. A version of me that knows how much work this is going to be. A change in routine. A change in attitude. A change in everything.

That version is the one that never would have gotten involved in such self destructive behavior in the first place. She got straight A's in school. She was compartmentalized when it came to emotions. She was responsible and careful and at times - even a little fun. She didn't drop things because they were too heavy.

And she's a little sick and tired of the me that I've become.

And I'm counting on her to kick my ass.

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