Nasty Business

So, yeah, hmmm..... I don’t know what to do with this entry. I feel like sitting here and writing until something interesting comes on the tube, because I am just that dull today.

If you read my past several entries, you will note that I have been just that dull for a while. Depression does that to me. The Darkness™ creeps in the back door, taking my good sense and a great deal of my intelligence by surprise. While Good Sense and Intelligence are struggling with the binds of duct tape in some forgotten closet in the back of my occipital lobe, The Darkness™ skips through my brain, picking up any stray bits of Reason or Positive Thought that might have been making a run for it. It’s a nasty business, but The Darkness™ treats its job very seriously with an eye for efficiency and maximum effectiveness. Bastard.

Meanwhile, I have been formulating a plan of attack that will subdue this mofo if not kick him all the way to the fucking curb. I have been combining St. John’s Wort (a highly effective sedative when ingested by The Darkness™) and Cleanliness (highly effective against true wallowing) as a front line against this bastard. While it’s distracted by this first double-whammy, I’m going to sneak in a second one-two punch consisting of Four-Days-Off-Work-In-Cosmopolis (this acts to disarm its common Work-Paranoia carpet bomb) combined with Inebriation-With-Excellent-Friends (this acts to buoy up my sense of place and worthiness in spite of its attempts at subversion). If this doesn’t scare it completely off, at least this will rock it to its foundations, weakening it for a top secret third assault, which I am keeping to myself so as to catch The Darkness™ more effectively at a vulnerable moment.

I have had enough of sitting back and letting this thing whip my ass every day. If I have my way, I’m going to be wiping the floor with this thing. I will. Really. At least I want to. It’s like playing a game of Risk, only with a map of my brain as the game board. I keep throwing the dice, and I occasionally make gains, even edging into the coveted limbic system once in a while, but something keeps stealing my troops. It can be exhausting.

Like today, for instance. I was fine. I was at work, and I was very busy. I was so busy that my brain didn’t have time to formulate thoughts about how ugly I am or how people are only nice to me because I’m pitiful or how I am unlikeable by nature or how death hangs over me ever closer with each passing second or a thousand other life-is-futile-and-I-am-shit thoughts. I nearly forgot about what I’ve been going through altogether. And then there’s The Darkness™ coming at me from out of nowhere, and I find myself staring at a pile of addressed envelopes that have suddenly been arrested of purpose and my lip quivers and I feel like I could cry rivers over the uselessness of doing any single thing ever.

But I am getting a bit better it seems. The depression is not as thick, it’s not as all-encompassing-with-no-end. Instead of settling in for a solid week, it is broken up into periods of a couple of days or even a few hours or minutes or seconds. It’s not hitting me as hard when it does come on, because I know that it will end within a conceivable and endurable timeframe. I’ve upped my meds and enforced a strict taking-care-of-myself rule that involves things like doing the dishes and washing my hair. It’s amazing what a little simple self-care will do against a wall of woe.

I wasn’t going to write much about this. I was going to try for a lighter topic, but fuck that. I was going to avoid most of this so that the Fiery One wouldn’t have to read it from so far away and be so far away worrying about me being too far away to hold. Screw that. I can’t waste what energy I have at the moment protecting others and denying what’s been happening to me. When he’s away, I keep all the negative stuff to myself, because who wants to spend your only five minutes of talk time whining? When he’s here in between trips for a couple of weeks, I brush aside my troubles, because we only have those two weeks together if we’re lucky, and who wants to bring down the party? So, here’s what I’m saying: Fiery One, I’m sorry if you will worry after reading this, but on the other hand, I’m so glad you read this. It makes me feel worlds better for having uncorked myself. I love you deeply, and you deserve better than some weird 1950s mock up of a woman attempting to act smiling and winning, when all the while she’s fighting an encroaching numbness that’s scaling the walls of her stifled emotions.

I am also saying one more thing: I apologize for my rampant use of metaphor. You should sue me. I’d sue me, but I already know what my crap is worth.


I just have to express the irony: for someone such as myself who has suffered a life-long battle with The Darkness™ (aka depression), it humours me to find out that I am the number one hit on Google if you search for “happy things”.


These poor, poor people are suffering way to much masturbation guilt.

Calvin & Hobbes, because I haven’t completely lost my ability to laugh.

What’s this about French troops in Kosovo? Where have I been?

This is too addictive. You have to do it. If you can’t find me later, you’ll know where I’ll be.

Elan Morgancrazy, listsComment