318: letting words come

Stopped and started a bunch of posts. Here's a bit I started 2 weeks ago:

hey, guess where i've been?

Hiding in bed and Freaking Out!

Yep. Been whammied by a bit of depression with a side order of anxiety. And a smattering of overwhelm and self doubt to keep it interesting.

Yeah, I know. There are so many great things going on. What gives?


See, depression doesn't really make sense, is the thing. You can't really reason with it. It doesn't care that I'm engaged and about to write a book. It just clubs me and drags me into a dark cave with no regard for the rest of my life. I hesitate to write about it because I figure with so many good things happening for me, no one wants to hear me complain.

But something sticks with me: Last fall at Quilt Market, I chatted with an acquaintance (and blog reader) who said she doesn't have depression or anxiety herself, but that she has people in her life that do. She told me that reading my blog helps her understand her friends who struggle like I do.  If writing about my experience helps demystify it for someone, or makes someone else feel less alone, well, then... I'll do it. Just please, don't hassle me about it. I don't want to be mad on top of depressed. Ok?

So, yeah. Been spending tons of time in bed, either sleeping or just staring at the wall. Eating like crazy. Still managing to work out a couple of times a week, somehow.

Oh yeah, and another thing. Been thinking more about my brother lately. I suppose that probably has more to do with the depression than I realize. Pain has a way of coming out sideways, doesn't it?

There's a memorial coming up in a couple of weeks to spread Michael's ashes at Craigville Beach, per his request. Last weekend some bikers came into the shop on a beautiful day- they were out for a ride on their motorcycles  like he would have been on the first super-nice day of Spring. We were never close, so the reality of his suicide is abstract to me . We weren't in each other's lives even though we only lived a few miles away. My only brother, we would  easily go a year without seeing each other or speaking. He was really more like a distant cousin or uncle than a brother. There wasn't any tension or anything between us, just no connection at all. Our childhood was pretty intense, and he moved in with my dad when I was still just a little kid (he was 4 years older). After that, we never really spent any time together and remained strangers into adulthood. I would try to reach out from time to time, but it never came to anything. I did see him a couple of times this year- he came in to  Yummy Goods- I didn't even know he knew about it but he found my blog and came last November, I think. He visited  again, a few weeks before he killed himself.

I don't really know where I'm going with any of this. Just talking about it.

....................................................................

And now it's a couple weeks later. 12:05 a.m on Friday morning- the day before my brother's memorial. And I still don't know what more to say.

Here's a bit of writing I did a couple days after he killed himself. I wouldn't call it a poem, really. Just sitting outside in February and letting words come:

Chilly Breeze. Goosebumps.

Is that you making the windchimes serenade me? Probably not.

Are you  floating in relief above me, looking down on all of this? Probably not.

Are you going to protect and guide me now, from that other place? Probably not.

I am now as I was a few days ago--- Before you pulled the trigger. Before dad lost his only son.

I am alone. No myth to comfort me.

Not so sure about this 'god' stuff. Cringing at this 'universe' stuff.

What I do feel is love. Cold February breeze.

Dead crunching leaves, heart beating, hands writing.

Shoulders dropping away from the ears as I've learned to do. Noticing the breath.

Intoxicated by the colonies of moss - velvet, emerald.

I believe in the love I feel pulsing in me, flowing around me. I believe in the beauty I find in ivy's map of veins, the composition of rust and the collage on my brother's work jeans.

I believe in the warm kisses of the sun and in snowdrops and crocuses returning through a crust of snow.

I'll start here.

 

xo,

m

((( it's now a couple hours later and i'm editing this to add that I feel super vulnerable since posting. And so you don't worry,  I am feeling much less depressed since a couple of weeks ago when i wrote the first part! Still up and down, but not way low down like I was. What a relief! ok, that's all. bye now. xo)))