Welcome back, Major Depression

If only it were as aesthetic in here...

I did notice you there in the shadows – it was awfully kind of you not to jump right in with the others and give me a little bit of time to prepare for your appearance. But you weren’t promoted to Major over all the other depressive categories for nothing.

Am I being too friendly? Really I’m devastated and terrified that you’re back.  The last time you came you wouldn’t leave for three years, with a break for ‘geographic therapy’ whenever it struck me to relocate. It would take you some time to catch up, typically, but you always did. Lost you in Southern Mass last year, though. I guess it was keeping that Dallas cell number…

Yesterday I thought I had a cocktail, purely accidental, that worked, that would keep you away. I didn’t repeat it precisely today, but close enough, and I want to get away so badly I’m going through the options.

Often the psych wards don’t know what to do with you. And anyway, the just want to get you in and out, not that I mind, extended exposure to your less fortunate victims tends to make me feel worse, more detached.  And God forbid I section myself and McLean and Beth Israel have no vacancies. The other wards – MGH, Brooklyn College and Arbor – I think I would deliberately assault someone just to be shot up with Thorazine. In the better units, it’s all meds-based, and I am resistant. Doctors don’t like to believe you are resistant. They want to retry every failed combination and then some, new classes of pharmas, new combinations, alternative therapies. And then the shit they want you to do when you get out. It’s too risky.

There’s running. I haven’t thought of that one too much, I have no one to run to, or with, Perhaps that’s a positive, but Borderline requires companionship. We don’t do so well just inside my head. Of course.

And there’s death. So many avenues. The simplest are the ones come with the higher risk for failure, the harder, well, I’m not apathetic enough for that kind of hurt. Never been the cutting sort. Mental agony is fine without adding the physical to the mix. Or blood. Unless its full on exsanguination, of course. But I’d have no way of bleeding myself out. That’s for slaughter houses and horror movies.

You bring gifts when you come, gifts nobody would want. This visit you gift worthlessness with a side of apathetic hopelessness.  I typically bring candles or handcrafted vases when I visit someone. To your credit, you give me more words than I have without you, but the apathy renders them mute and useless. That would be frustrating if I cared to live and make use of the language.

I know it won’t make a difference, but I’ll say it: you are suffocating me, and that is killing me. You and your greater and smaller co-morbidities are making a Clive Barker film out of my mind. “Hellraiser” specifically, tearing it in so many directions. Really tearing it, as if it may fracture and be permanently unwhole this time. Last time was bad enough – 3 full years – but somehow your resurgence, recent as it is, is worse because I saw you coming. I saw you coming and the terror rose and expanded until I’m choking on it and I can’t stop it. And I do not want you here to the point I’ll do nearly anything to escape from you.



  1. ‘geographic therapy’ – I have done this therapy. Despite the depression, you are an incredibly talented writer. I hope you know that. ♥

    • Thank you Zen! If nothing else, “geographic” is an experience (“remember that time when you were sectioned at that horrific place in Brooklyn? & the all the doctors [somehow all from India] said spending the night at the Holiday Inn after getting into a fight with your husband was “risky behavior”? and you almost did lose your mind just from the surreal lost-in-translation effect of a cultural difference – of course most people don’t go off to hotels when their husbands act like dicks in Calcutta. They aren’t working in Manhattan assisting their more fortunate and American-educated compatriots through the US immigration maze that will keep them in 6-figures at Morgan Stanley until the end of time.” Why are my comments turning into blog posts? Oh, the Adderall. Thanks for reading, & as always, I appreciate your comments.

      • 🙂 No worries! I do the same and it’s not until I’ve posted it I think WHAT? That was a post! Adderall, yep, that would do it. No judgment.

        Ha, I moved ten times in one year, was happy as a clam until it came crashing down. NO ONE told me, hey, do you think maybe you move too much? Nuh-uh. I am seen as an “adventurer” which I truly am! I love adventure. It is HARD for me to stay in one spot. Argh!

      • WOW! 10x in one year? Do you have a blog entry for that??? Please summon the inspiration to take your readers on that journey, if you do not! Hugs.

      • I will. 🙂 I will be posting that on my other blog, “How I Developed Borderline Personality Disorder.” If you click on my Gravatar you can see all three of my blogs. I am not there yet, in my blog, I’m still four! Yikes. It will be awhile, but yes, I will write about it. My story would not be complete without it. 🙂

      • YAY!

  2. Sharon says:

    I’m in tears… you are so eloquent. Now that I know it, I can’t imagine the world without your words.

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