HELLO, DARKNESS . . .
You never know when your old friend will come to talk with you again. Or who or what will let it in.
- Eighteen cloudy/rainy days out of the past 20?
- Aging parents?
- Laying down my arms and giving up the fight?
- Donald (t)rump winning the Republican nomination?
- Hillary Clinton looking weaker by the day?
- The announcement of a contract for a book written by a member of the Write Wing [my writing group] being published in the latest Publisher's Weekly?
- Bum left knee?
- Faithfully working on Black Rectangles and realizing that I have at least 250 pages to go in order for an agent to take it on?
- Having the courage to check Facebook only to read about new babies, kids' graduations, FABulous vacations and weekend trips, summer beach homes, and the fun ("We earned it!") retirement activities of friends my age or younger? (Why do I compare myself? Welcome to the disease.)
- The fifth day of not showering or washing my hair?
- Guilt for how much Matissta continues to endure and has endured?
- Cutting my anti-depressants by half two weeks ago so the medication would last longer, and I wouldn't have to shell out money for a psychiatry appointment that I will need for a series of orthopedic appointments? (I know, it makes no sense. Welcome to the disease.)
- Recognizing how needy, ungrateful and self-absorbed I am? (Fuck this disease.)
- An upcoming birthday that I am dreading because it marks the third year of no steady paid work?
- The fact that a seasoned, well-networked colleague/headhunter can't find work for me despite sending covers letters and samples of my work? "You're so talented," he wrote. "I don't get it." I tell him that it's an epidemic. "But you're so talented, I don't get it," he writes again, and I can hear his unspoken question, "What did you do to make this happen?"
Don't worry. I contacted my psychiatrist yesterday afternoon, and he told me that I "cannot, cannot cut back" on my meds. He was also willing to renew my prescription without me having to see him. I thanked him for being so kind and generous. "I'm very worried about the job stuff," he replied. "Combined with your family issues, this is a lot of stress." I tell him that I'm not the only one with no work; that it's an epidemic among white, well-educated people my age. "For you, for this long, it's not just an epidemic," he said. "It's also very serious."
Yes, you never know when darkness will come to talk with you again. I'm doing my best not to listen, but sometimes I'm just too damn tired.
Anyway, that's my old friend. Softly creeping. Planted in my brain.