To my eyes, the above painting of Jesus looks less “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” and more “Sweet cuppin’ cakes, the punches just keep coming.” My feelings exactly.
Lately, I have been feeling lousy about life. That’s why I haven’t posted a word recently, despite having spent the past nine days on vacation. Every day I’d think, “Let’s write a whole passel of posts today. Two passels, even!” and every day I puddled into sloth instead.
I try not to talk about depression publicly. I don’t need my cheery readers to think I’m crazy, and I don’t want to make miserable readers feel any worse. Besides, “come watch the human train wreck!” blogs seem sleazy, and I don’t want strangers gathering around, munching popcorn as they watch me implode.
But I also don’t want to falsify my own life, which is why I regularly bring up inelegant, reality-soaked topics such as body hair, sustainable period products, and my gullibility. Why can I admit to financial desperation, but not my own thoughts and feelings?
Because being poor only halfway trashes my sense of self-worth and my ability to achieve big things. Sadness does far worse.
Depression and I go waaaay back; at the end of 5th grade, I found myself increasingly unable to deal with life and stay on top of my work. Years later, college gave me access to affordable therapy and medication. The therapy was pleasant, if not wildly helpful, but the medications altered my thinking in surprising and unwelcome ways. Once I quit pills and therapy, I self-medicated with junk food by the pound; it was cheap, readily available, and put me to sleep. Sleeping felt safer than waking life, so I kept boxes of Little Debbies and bags of candy stashed around my bedroom.
My duels with melancholy are no longer life-threatening. At worst, they’re merely soul-sucking, and I often feel perfectly fine. Exercise and/or good music help. Under duress, I sometimes fall back on the Pastry Cure.
But there are wounds that neither cream puffs nor Gilad can heal; Helen died on Saturday. I’d been feeling down for weeks, maybe months, but losing Helen tore my heart open… tore my ventricles and stole my one remaining breath, some would say. My rat, my rat, why hast thou forsaken me?
Normally, during this stage of the Misery Cycle, I A) dump someone or B) chop off all my hair, often resorting to C) both simultaneously. Having invested years in this relationship (and, frankly, in this hair), I will force myself to find a more direct path to happiness.
You haven’t bested me yet, depression. En garde.
Our rat Josie died on Saturday. We got a new one today, named, surprisingly enough, Helen. So maybe, in some way, your Helen is with us now.
I know you say you try not to talk about depression publicly, but in the 9-ish months I’ve been struggling with my own bouts, the very best thing I’ve found is to be able to talk about it. And you don’t have to have that discussion here, as long as you have it somewhere safe and loved and as often as you need to in order to lighten that heavy feeling in your chest.
And, if you cut off all your hair again, you already know how amazingly gorgeous you’ll look.
Sending hugs over the mountains and the Mississippi (and maybe some brownies, too).
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Rebekah Reply:
May 23rd, 2011 at 12:51 PM
Maybe Helen is just a good name for sweet rats.
I don’t talk to anyone about it. Hard conversation to start; people close to me either don’t believe me or don’t want to hear it, and people NOT close to me have no reason to care. You’re right, though, it’s important to discuss these things.
Thank you for the hugs. They’re never wasted.
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Oh, poor Helen! She was lucky to have you, Rebekah. Rats are so painful to care for as they are rarely with us for very long but so worth it. I can’t imagine this *not* taking a toll on you. When I lost my parakeet years ago, it was so painful. I buried him with the key I wore around my neck for years so something of me would go with him.
As a fellow self-food-medicating person, I hear you. I am sending warm fuzzies your way (no, not my cats – just feelings) and I just want to say that you are fantastic person!
I just read all of your prior posts – I hadn’t seen the scam or job ones until now since I was traveling for work when it was posted!
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Rebekah Reply:
May 23rd, 2011 at 12:54 PM
My rats were/are over 2.5 years old, so I’ve been fearing their deaths for some time.
Thank you for all the post-scam advice and your pet-loss-related sympathy, Jesse; I knew you would understand.
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I don’t know how I did this but somehow I thought you scam thing was recent! :( It was under a post that was up currently and I clicked on it! But I’m relieved to see it was a while ago!
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Darn that Pastry Cure! Fresh air and exercise work better for me, and I KNOW they work better for me, and in the deep recesses of my mind I also KNOW the pastry cure makes me feel worse in the long run. But alas, I like pastry better than I like fresh air and exercise. Plus that Little Debbie girl on the box, doesn’t she look like she really wants to cheer us up? What a shame she is merely powerless cardboard.
Meanwhile, it’s natural to be sad when a pet dies. That’s not generic depression, it’s specific grief, and it takes time to go through, but it does get over with after awhile.
Love you!
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Rebekah Reply:
May 23rd, 2011 at 12:55 PM
Thing is, I was sad weeks before Helen died; general depression. Happily, I no longer live a block from the Dollar Tree, so if I want junk food I’d have to either bake it myself or walk a mile to buy it. This has made a HUGE difference in my eating habits.
I love you too, mum.
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Feeling depressive REALLY sux. But, anytime I overcome a hard time I couldn’t believe how things looked differently, how I felt stronger and how I needed that time of sorrow to renew my skin like snakes do.
I’m so sorry about your pet. As a regular person, I don’t feel much sympathy about rats… but yours looked so cute and I know how much you loved it.
Take care and glad you posted again. =*
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Rebekah Reply:
May 23rd, 2011 at 12:57 PM
“I needed that time of sorrow to renew my skin like snakes do.”
Ah, what a beautiful way to look at this!
Do you still have Soupy?
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I’m sorry to hear about Helen, Rebekah…She was lucky to have been under the care of someone who really cared for her. Grief is uncomfortable, but a natural part of this process (…that doesn’t make it easier, though). I’ve been grieving these days about a situation in my life, too, so I can empathize.
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Rebekah Reply:
May 23rd, 2011 at 12:57 PM
Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you were hurting. I’ll e-mail you right now.
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Hi Rebekah,
I’m new to reading your blog. It has been a welcome introduction. I am with you on this one right now. But we go on. Hope is a marvellous thing.
Katie
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Rebekah Reply:
May 25th, 2011 at 6:08 PM
Be strong, Lady Katie! It’s lovely to meet you —I’m off to read your blog.
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Your tale of Helen reminded me of that scene in “Bed of Roses” when Mary Stuart Masterson’s character is standing at the window in abject sorrow, because her fish died. But it really isn’t just because her fish died, its because so many other things are affecting her. Its a beautiful scene. Sometimes I think people don’t realize how beautiful sorrow can be. This is by no means an endorsement to stay depressed, but I think its a natural part of life, and that when it finally passes it makes the sunshine seem more bright by comparison.
And Helen was a lovely rat. I know how much you enjoyed her companionship.
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Rebekah Reply:
June 6th, 2011 at 10:23 PM
Thank you, Megan.
I’ve never seen “Bed of Roses,” though I remember the poster. Would you recommend it?
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“Because being poor only halfway trashes my sense of self-worth and my ability to achieve big things. Sadness does far worse.”
Because being “cluttered” only halfway trashes my sense of self-worth and my ability to achieve big things. Sadness does far worse.
I think all the best players are on team depression. My mother, who was drafted long before me, suggested once that there aren’t many holes too deep to write your way out of. Sorry about Helen and more recently Grendel. I’m fairly new to your blog so you’ll have to forgive me for thinking she was a cat.
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Rebekah Reply:
September 29th, 2011 at 6:03 PM
Once again, I’m tickled by your way with words. Go Team Depression!
So you’ll declutter, I’ll try to make a living, and we’ll both write our way to better lives. Everyone wins.
Cats, rats… both destructive, furry, and pets I’m likely to have.
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