Something Approaching Agony

I say to myself, "I don't know how I can even begin to describe the pain I'm dealing with right now." The mind goes blank. I have a few images -- a clenched fist, a bowstring drawn back to its limit -- that's how my body feels. Something approaching agony. My jawline aches from being tightly held all day. I say those small prayers -- God, oh, God ohGodohGodohGod -- until the words are meaningless.

I'm not looking for pity. I'm not looking for anyone to take care of me, pet me, cater to me. I'm just looking for a distraction.

/breathe

Books, baths, cats, my computer, knitting -- these all help -- but I still have those stretches where I only have the awareness of wanting to scream. I find myself panting, like an animal, trying to make it through waves of suffering.

/breathe

I'll be alright. I'm always "alright." One horribly annoying thing that came to my mind once (when I was going through the worst depression of my life), was that I never have the luxury of breaking. Gah. I'm far too solid and stubborn for that. "Breaking," crying, carrying on, grieving, whathaveyou. I carry too much strength for something that easy (damn that personal pride).

Well, enough Internal Dialogue. Here's a photo of my inchoate irises.

I imagine them -- and my peonies -- making a sound like a kernel of popcorn exploding in hot oil. What would be the onomatopoetic word for that?

Depression (and All That Jazz)

There's a recurring scene in All That Jazz (one of my favorite movies) where Joe Gideon wakes up every morning, takes his amphetamines, brushes his teeth, and says to his reflection in the mirror, "It's showtime, folks!"

I think I need to start doing that -- the "it's showtime" part, anyway.

Not too long ago, I tried to explain to The Husband how, when I'm depressed, whether in the depths or in the shallow end of the pool, it takes a tremendous amount of energy to get up, go to work, and be "on." I mean "on" in the sense of gathering myself up and performing, whether I'm answering the phone, interacting with my clients, what have you. It's a conscious effort. Before I pick up the ringing telephone, before I open the door to the reception area, I can feel myself (in my head anyway), preparing to go on stage.

Yes, it's showtime, folks!

I've been in a low-grade dysthymic funk for some time now. It was enough to have me roaming the 'Net this past Sunday afternoon looking for psychological assessment self-tests on depression, if only to reassure myself that I'm not yet in The Pit(tm).

Now, I know full well I'm not in The Pit. I'm not even remotely near The Pit. I've been there -- not a happy-funtime place -- and I know it when I see it. Most of the time, anyway. Right now, I'm dealing with insomnia, lack of enthusiasm, and a burning desire to consume pints of Ben & Jerry's for breakfast, lunch, and dinner (Mint Chocolate Cookie, perhaps; or Phish Food; maybe both.) No suicidal ideation. No feelings of worthlessness. Just a pervasive grayness. Blah-ness. "Gosh I need a day off to sleep and mainline chocolate" - ness.

So, anyway. Sunday afternoon. Internet roaming. Depression self-tests.

I can't remember exactly where I found this question, but the last of the three potential responses had me laughing out loud.

Q: Do you have a specific plan for killing yourself?

• (a) Yes
• (b) No
• (c) I'm working on it

Now, while my true and factual answer is (b), I will admit to daydreaming about the reaction one could get from one's shrink if one answered (c) (I admit to a number of smart-alecky comments that go through my head but never come out of my mouth).

I am wicked, truly.
~

WWLWD?

I've never been reticent about my depression; it's something I'm hardwired for -- being depressed, that is, not being not reticent. If you're a Smart, Well-Read, Somewhat Observant Person in this day and age, how can you NOT be depressed? But I digress. This isn't about explaining or defending myself. I'm prone to the demon of depression. It's a given in my world.

I felt it sneaking up on me this afternoon. It never comes all in a rush, but incrementally, slowly. Sometimes I can see it, and sometimes I can't. I had a bad case of the "I Don't Wanna's"(1) at work today, that feeling of not being able to identify anything that could help you feel better. Chocolate? No. Caffeine? No. Knitting? Cats? Bath? No, no, and no. For some unfathomable reason, this thought came to me -- "What Would Laiane Wolfsong Do?" -- and I had to smile.

Laiane has been my gaming alter ego for years now. EverQuest, EverQuest 2, Morrowind, and Oblivion, and Vanguard (when it comes out). A smart-alecky, stealthy half elven ranger who's absolutely deadly with a bow. Some people play fighters, some play mages, but I am always drawn to those that hide in the shadows and use their wits and guile (and an uber bow, d00d) as weapons.

So what would Laiane do? She would one-shot(2) that demon and have it drop in its tracks is what Laiane would do.

Laiane needs to come out and play. I'm thinking a good, long Morrowind session is in order tonight.

**********************
(1) The "I Don't Wanna's." That particular mood when you don't want to do anything at the office, i.e., I don't wanna do that filing, I don't wanna call that difficult client, I don't wanna assemble a corporate record book, u.s.w. Severe lack of motivation.

(2) One-shot. In gaming parlance, to kill an enemy/monster from a distance with a ranged weapon using one arrow/cross bow bolt/throwing knife, u.s.w., as opposed to the "root and shoot" or the "snare and scare" approaches to mob hunting.