From Point A to Point Hell

Ya know, the less I say, the less I have to say, it seems. Thank the Deity for the fruit of the vine or I’d have nuffin.

From memory:
Baruch ataw Adonai, melohanu something something something, borai pree hagofen.

Blessed is the Lord, my God, for creating the fruit of the vine.

Amen. My Jewish peeps know where it’s at, yo.

Interestingly, I saw a giant LCD billboard on the way to work today at Stalag 101 displaying an FBI wanted ad for fraud for one of my brethren gone wrong, I guess. Not rape, not murder, but fraud. Yeah, mon. Figures.

But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I’m here to discuss the big D. Depression. Some of you get it, some of you don’t. Most people I talk to figure it’s something one should be able to simply ‘snap out of it’ and move on. No, sorry, it doesn’t work like that.

For instance, I’ve been depressed now since about April 8th, the time of my last post. One good friend hasn’t noticed, but then, I don’t really interact with that friend that much and I truly doubt that friend’s sensitivity to the world in general. My other good friend knows, innately, but won’t press because that friend’s a natural-born therapist (but just doesn’t know it) and will let me come forward with it when the time is right. That’s one of the many reasons that friend is too good for me, but that’s another sorry-assed story.

That’s what it’s like for me, being depressed. It’s not sadness, or not sadness alone. It’s more like just not giving a f*ck and that’s mixed in with anger. To the outsider, it’s alienating. To the insider, it’s familiar and ugly territory. Motivation is gone, will is gone, decisiveness, wittiness, character is all gone, gone, gone. In truth, I’d rather be dead at this particular moment, but if I was dead, I wouldn’t be ‘rather’ing anything, since I’d be dead. So tonight, I drink.

Truth is, I’d be best off with a mood elevator or SSRI, but since the SSRI/SNRIs make a man dick-less, it’s worse than being depressed. What triggers it? It’s all in the head. A chemical imbalance where stress and thinking creates a spiraling environment of downward pressure until the tipping point is reached and then one slides into inaction. Without this fine Zinfandel, I wouldn’t be motivated to write even this. In vino veritas, I guess.

If you’ve been depressed, you know it. Let me again repeat that it’s different from being sad. One gets stuck in one’s mind-space and it gets worse and worse. Some people commit suicide. Apparently, I’m not suicidal. I know that when I took Welbutrin, I was certainly capable – bad drug for me in that respect. Most people find that their family members and close friends show some level of concern, but it’s not enough – am I right, O Depressed Ones? There’s no limit in our neediness. But there’s a good reason.

For a depressed person, there is hopelessness. Attention means hope and most humans cling to hope to get through their lives on a daily basis. For a depressed person, the attention given out of concern is glommed onto like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. Un-returned phone calls are viewed with derision; proof that the called person could f*cking care less. That’s the mindset – correct me if I’m wrong. Oh, wait: you’re too depressed to even write a comment, right?

Here’s the thing: hey, depressed people, it’s all in your head. That’s the good news. The bad news is that you have to get motivated to fight your way up – you know what I mean. But, it can be done as I have done it. I just can’t do it right now. And that leads to a destructive wake. I don’t want to go to work. I’m angry with my girlfriend. My problems are overwhelming and insoluble. Is it true? I feel it’s true, but that’s not really so. It’s just (I should put that word in quotes) my frame of mind that allows me to think it’s true and absolute when, in fact, all is gray and variable and the option is not done until it’s actually exercised and even that could be changed.

So, what’s my action plan? I cherish my erections, so, drugs are f*cking out. So, straight thinking and acceptance are the methods I have to follow. Ah, f*ck it: maybe tomorrow.

But that just goes to show you: there’s hope, brothers and sisters.

There was more to this, but it involved self-destructiveness, so, I deleted it. It would be grand if life were like that. Maybe one could program one’s own life. That would be good, or at least, better than this.