This is not a happy post. But it is hopeful. And hopeful is the best we can do.
I love home decorating, especially covering my walls with meaningful pieces, as 511 suggests.
But in all honesty, I am not yet in a place in my life where I can collect a lot of real art;
I have my framed piece from the Festival Internacional de Musica en Barcelona in my Living Room
and a photo of Keith Richards that my dad shot as the Stones played in Hyde Park last summer, which hangs in my Entry Way.
And this and that.
I have but one piece of true art in my home, and it means a great deal to me. It is a framed and signed poem by Ray Bradbury, given to us as a wedding gift, from an incredibly person in our lives.
It is so significant for so many reasons; I am obsessed with words;
It is something so unique and rare;
It reminds me (us) of just how complex, complicated, confusing and often consuming the human mind can be.
Here is the text:
THE POET CONDIDERS HIS RESOURCES
The autumn sea, October sea
Tears darkened seams inconstantly
And stitches clouds with rain and fire
And charcoals hearths with dead desire
And turns old souls on burning spit,
Forget all Good, because of it;
Because of traveling night and clouds
Which bury moon in winding shrouds
The heart is buried , blood turned ice
And all the fruit jams, teas, and spice
Are pantry poisoned, forced to change
By weathers that incline to strange.
So what was dead now bolts upright
To knock is head on lid`s midnight,
And while all cold things jump and start,
Antarctica floes in warm heart
And tropic seas of blood are purged
By nightmare iceburgs, once submerged
Which now lift blizzard brows to seize
Sane room, sane door, sane locks ,sane keys,
And shriek the tumblers , warp the walls
With panic-colored storms and squalls.
And all of it, both live and dead ?
. . .
Trapped in circumference of my head.
Ray Bradbury 1979
Tonight I am brought back to the piece I wrote about depression, entitled, “Oh Captain, My Captain”, in which I discussed mental illness after Robin Williams’ devastating suicide.
In that piece, I made a plea to the people reading to help to protect their friends. I also tried to remind sufferers that they are not alone.
But today I had a conversation that explains it so perfectly.
If you have never experienced depression (which as of two years ago, I had not, in any way) it is very hard to understand.
It is insidious and it is debilitating.
But I think the most confusing part, despite the notion of “But you have so much, what could possibly be making you sad?”
is the feeling of abject loneliness.
Someone who is depressed feels so lonely. They can be surrounded by people, with friends, at a holiday dinner, not alone in any way, but still terribly lonely.
It feels like drowning.
I am welling up with tears even typing this, as it is the worst feeling imaginable.
I am lucky enough to have a network of soul friends, as I call them, who can relate to me on this deep level of understanding that only sufferers can. But my heart aches for them, my stomach gnaws at itself, every time I hear that they were unable to get out of bed that day, or are feeling at their lowest, or can’t imagine ever feeling better.
I am not a doctor. I am also not “better”. I am still dealing with a lot. But, if there is any message I can impart to you
(and hopefully, if you know someone in need, you can share this with them, I implore you),
it is that things can and will get better. Even at the worst of times, when you can’t move or breathe or open your eyes because everything looks too bleak, but you can’t close your eyes because your brain is pounding you with it’s incessant ruminations and chatter,
it will pass.
That spell will pass.
I believe in intervention. I believe in therapy. I believe in medicine. I believe in alternative medicine. I believe in support systems.
I believe in holding your best friend’s hand and saying “I am not going to let you go anywhere.”
This post may seem out of the blue, as the last thing I posted about was my son watching Bravo TV, but trust me, it needs to be said.