I have a rash. Gross. How nasty is that. And why a rash. Couldn’t I just get the shakes like a normal drunk? NO! I have to get this God awful, creature from the Black Lagoon, hideous rash. And it’s on my face. It’s not like I can cover it up with a shirt. Bleckh!
I skipped today’s meeting because I (literally) didn’t want to show my face. Vanity to the rescue! I have no desire to go to a bar or market to buy booze. I’ll stay sober today because of sheer ego.
On the upside, I actually feel pretty good – emotionally if not physically. I mean, I used to wake up and wonder if I was going to kill myself. Yep, that was the question every morning – why live? I didn’t ask that question today. I hope I don’t ever ask it again.
But while it’s still fresh in my mind I’d like to talk about depression. I don’t think people (even professionals who treat it) really understand depression. It’s not sadness. Everyone gets sad. Movies, music, misfortune, all these things make us sad. It’s part of life. Depression isn’t that. Depression is the loss of hope. Depression the state of mind where you know you’ll never want to crawl out of bed again. Dante’s inscription above the gates of hell reads, “Abandon hope, ye who enter here.” That’s depression.
It’s even worse when, according to modern mythology, you shouldn’t be depressed. For instance, if you’re successful, smart, healthy, etc. and you’re still depressed, it only makes you think, “My God, I still can’t feel happiness at the top of my game. I’ll never know it. I may as well just stop here since it can’t possibly get better.” People make the mistake of asking you to categorize the things you have going for you or saying, “Hey, look at that guy. You could be like him.” That only drives the stake in deeper. Because, yes, I could be in his situation. I’m supposedly in a better place and I still want find my way 6 feet underground. Holy crap, I’m doomed.
I felt that way. I felt it only a few days ago. I wanted to write it down today in case I forget what it’s like. In fact, I hope that writing it down will be my only remembrance.
So yeah, I have a rash. I’m not sleeping well. I wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat. I’m out of work, running out of cash, and my dog just pissed on the carpet (no lie, she just did). But so what? I don’t want to kill myself. That’s good. I hope I don’t jinx the mojo but I’m beginning to believe it might even get better.