Depression has a way of flipping my perspective. When I’m in its grasp, it’s like no matter how hard I try to appreciate the beauty of the roses, I only feel the bite of the thorns.
No, I don’t feel sad. No, I’m absolutely not suicidal. But there are times, like now, when I just feel tired, of living. On and off, over the course of my life, I’ve had these spells. Many people do. So I have no notions that I’m special or handicapped by this.
The problem is that these bouts of depression interfere with my productivity. With my creativity. Especially with my writing. It drives me bananas to have all these thoughts in my head and not have the energy to write them down.
It’s like my brain invited me to a slumber party. “Let’s just lay around all day and do nothing,” it says. “We’ll have a pajama day, just me and you. It’ll be fine. You can write tomorrow. Or next week… Or never. You don’t have to write, you know.”
And so I sit, doing nothing other than watching TV and playing FreeCell Solitaire. There are days I don’t even have the energy to read a book or cook a meal. Lately, I’ve developed a pattern of either ordering out or going through– ugh! –the drive-thru for dinner. Nothing tastes great. So why bother.
I put on a good face, or try to, when I’m around friends. I make an effort to go out and do things. I don’t want my friends to worry. I don’t want anyone to worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid. Other than waste precious time. Which in turn, makes me feel like a shit for doing nothing. For not doing more, not being more. And so it becomes a pathetic cycle because beating myself up only makes me more tired.
I hope that writing this post is an indication that I’m coming out of it. I’ve never been able to figure out the whys or hows of it.
A good friend once told me that we celebrate anniversaries, whether we realize it or not. The anniversary of my father’s death is coming up, July 19th. I also carry the recent pain of having to put Ms. BlackBeary to sleep. We feel these things, internally, mentally. Even if we don’t acknowledge them, they’re there affecting mood and energy.
And then there’s all the soul-sucking, routine events. My regular job is frustrating, and draining, for no good reason, which only makes it more draining. There’s the novice writer who has decided to publish under my name. There’s falling short of expectations, mostly my own.
And there’s the doubts, especially the doubts about the quality of my writing.
There are lots of things I’ve internalized over this year of playing FreeCell. And they can and have become overwhelming at times.
But they’ll pass.
They always do.
Sara Stark, Author 
I hear roaring thunderous applause not only for your way with words but for your words. I am borderline recluse and beat myself up all the time for not having friendships like they used to be here in the South. A form of depression. I find myself envious of others who are always going and doing things with friends but have no ability to form that kind of bond nor in reality the interest.
I am positive this is a sign that you are on the precipice and soon your thoughts will glide over paper with ease. May depression never return to you, my friend.
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Thank you, Anna, really. Love you!
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It is like that now and then, isn’t it? Nearly 4 months ago when my Dad died things were so different. I spent two days ‘down’ this week after contacting Lockheed about his account, have the form yet to process to take him off the voter roles, and am working on the items for the community yard/garage/ driveway sale next Saturday which includes things from his apartment. I know how grief ‘works’ from my counselor side, but you and I know from our real side that we have to go through it plus some of the other fatigue and down times. Friends are helpful – you are one of those friends and I empathize with you while feeling similarly myself. I have been sharing your work with a friend, Bonnie, who lost her ‘mojo’ for a while and only getting a new job, stopping Toastmasters which was using up her writing and ‘kicking out’ some energy draining person did her writer’s block lift. Hard pear cider tonight and possibly a visit with you guys in August for beer & tortillas! Miss your face.
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This one, yes? Sarah Stark from New Mexico (“Out There”) different spelling but. . .can be confusing.
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No, there’s one using “Sara Stark”, unfortunately. I searched to make sure, before I published, that there wasn’t anyone with this exact nom de plume. Unfortunately this other writer didn’t.
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Miss you too! I believe I emailed Bonnie recently. Hopefully she’s found her mojo again. Maybe you should take up writing again.
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Sara, you have a beautiful, elegant, clear voice and writing style. You have articulated so well where I am and have been as well. I feel the same on and off, over and under, up and down. Experiencing loss of our loves and loss in our lives from different expectations not being met. I find I “hermit” myself as in a self-imposed isolation which is comforting in a way. Then I find I must push myself out into life as a butterfly coming out of a cocoon, or a chick breaking out of it’s egg. So difficult, but with the hope of something better! I love you, my friend, you are not alone.
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Thank you, sincerely, Penny. I’m still sorry that I made you cry all those years ago. You’ve always been a good friend to me. And having people understand because they’ve experienced the same feelings forms a bond. Love you, too.
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