Im depressed. Nothing interesting about that. In fact, depression it seems is the lack of interest. All the stuff that makes life attractive seems to get squished out of me when Im depressed.
Im not depressed often, and usually when I am I can get out of it with some effort, the right CD or a good night sleep. Currently Im heading toward my second full week.
The problem with depression is that the longer one is depressed the more they squeeze the life out of other people. When Im depressed I hate myself for the way I behave and that depresses me even more. I wish I could call this a vicious cycle for that would imply that there is some malicious force that is interested enough in me to get me ensnared in its clutches. No, sad to say this funk Im in is all to human, mundane and probably affects everyone. Shucks, if only I were unique it wouldnt be so depressing.
At the moment my way of battling depression is to write this entry, listen to music and play with my daughter Abby (who is currently on my lap trying to “help” me type). A good venting is another thing that helps… sometimes.
So as I become introspective Im starting to notice some things about my current depression. I think it started a month ago after I asked for help and was rejected by some family members. At first I blew it off, but a few weeks later I started to think about it and I became bitter. This bitterness I am sure is one of the reasons. The other was the natural end of the school year goodbyes (which is the topic for a future entry). Finances played a part as well – but theyve always been a depressing topic for me – but I can handle them if they attack me one at a time. And then the last thing is that Im not working (Summer break). I am taking care of the kids, but changing diapers, doing dishes, and keeping the house leaves way too much time for my mind to explore all the ways that life is depressing.
And to be quite honest, I want to be depressed. I want to have some time in this unleavened state where things arent all glossy but are rather gloomy. There is something to be experienced, learned and processed in the doldrums that cant be fathomed at any other time. I want to feel, and to really feel one must have contrast. Life without contrast is over exposed celluloid.
If this were the typical “American” essay Id end on some high note on how one can “pick yourself up by the boot straps” and beat the depression. The problem with that ending is it is wrong. What if embracing your depression can bring about truer and richer impressions. Some of the best literature, music, poetry and art comes from people who embrace depression and use these periods of melancholy to enrich the rest of their lives and work.
Of course, dont dwell in the slough of despond too long, darkness provides contrasts as long as the other colors are revealed. A life lived in complete darkness is a waste of oxygen. Besides many of these same artists who used their depression (Tolstoy, Hemingway, Van Gogh) were later conquered by it (disappeared in the snow, shotgun met brain, botched plastic surgery). Now, if thats not a depressing ending then I really am a bad writer.
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