May 09, 2012
Confession: I’m sad, I’m really sad. I’ve been sad for nearly two months. Ain’t that sad?
It’s like Julia Flyte says about living in sin: “Living in it, with it, every hour, every day…feeding it, showing it round, giving it a good time, putting it to sleep at night with a tablet of Dial1 if it’s fretful. Always the same, like an idiot child carefully nursed, guarded from the world. ‘Poor Steve,’ they say, ‘he can’t go out. He’s got to take care of his sadness.’”
Yarr, I hate being like this: it makes me want to make pirate noises, like Yarr. No, that’s exactly what it doesn’t do. It makes me want to never make pirate noises again, because WHAT IS THE POINT OF PIRATE NOISES when you are SO SAD.
I didn’t want to tell you about it because you’ll be all like “Oh Steve, have you tried giving your life to the Lord and then he will tell you how much he loves you and it will be fine?” and I’ll be all like “Yes, but it DIDN’T HELP VERY MUCH.” And you’ll say “Well but have you tried taking some pills” and I’ll say “Only St. John’s Wort because at least St. John’s Wort is a plant,” and you’ll say “What good are plants when you can have chemicals!!” and I’ll say “I don’t want any chemicals in my brain, just plants!!!”
And then you will go on about exercise and eating right and getting out of the house and having a Support Network and being with friends and thinking positive thoughts, and possibly not believe me when I tell you I have done all those things and am still doing them, but that the sadness still sticks around, like some kind of parasite whose preferred places of residence are the spaces behind your eyes and way up under your ribcage and way down in the pit of your stomach.
I want to kill it, drown it in a bucket of water like a puppy, if I were the kind of person who drowned puppies even when there was a very good reason, which I assume I am not, although I have never had occasion to find out. I want to rip it out from where it lives and grind it into the dirt, like Uma Thurman grinds Daryl Hannah’s eyeball in Kill Bill, even though that was a really gross scene. Take that, eyeball, take that, sadness!
Yech. So, for the advice-prone among you, you should know: this is, for once, not about Having the Proper Perspective or Giving Thanks for the Small Things or Not Throwing a Pity Party or any of those things. Sure, those things are good, and I’m working on all of them, and actually I think I’m pretty good at them by now.
This is something else, because I’m not sad because of being depressed, if you see what I mean. I’m sad because I’m in a rotten situation, and it’s one I can’t tell you about, at least not yet, and it’s one I can’t get out of, at least not immediately. Oh, how I’m trying to get out of it. You’ll just have to take my word that I’m doing the best I can. I don’t know when it’ll be over, and I don’t know how long it’ll take me to recover after it is over, and it’s hard not to know those things.
Meanwhile, all I’ve got is trust in the Lord. Also disgusting metaphors about eyeballs and puppies. Well, that’s something. Oh, actually, I’m feeling much better now.