Wherein the Author Manages to Write While Depressed and Addresses Said Depression

Alexander Hamilton, a biography of whom is briefly mentioned in this post.

I’ve been depressed all morning. I wasn’t sure how to modify the word depressed in that first sentence. Very seemed trite but also insufficient. Extremely could have worked but seemed too dramatic. Morbidly was just too much, although it could apply. Anyway its been bad. (Again I eschewed modifying the word bad.)

There were ants all over. We’ve started a period in which no rain is on the horizon. We were out of milk. The missus has a cold. The internet is full of the sad, the ridiculous, the infuriating and the ignorant. People continue to refuse to see the world the way I do. Too many want more guns, less taxes for the rich, immigrants exiled and Trump made king. There is too much sexual harassment and there is the ongoing vilification of the innocent Woody Allen. His defenders, such as me, seem to be vastly outnumbered although we do hold a monopoly on the facts. Like that he’s been found innocent and it was believed his accuser was coached into making the spurious charges and the poor girl has grown up believing them.

It’s unusual for me to be able to write when I’m this depressed but I’ll not question that this time is an exception and instead take advantage of it as best I can.

So this is what the depression is like. Everything makes me sad. My normal state is sad and nothing I think of makes me feel any better and often makes me feel worse. Movies? Sad. Wife? Sad. Daughters? Sad. Work? Sad. Retirement? Sad. Music? Sad. Going to basketball game this afternoon? Sad. Trip to NY in the Spring? Sad. Running? Sad. Happiness? N/A.

Reading is problematical when depressed. I’m currently working my way through Ron Chernow’s biography of Alexander Hamilton (I think it would make for a great musical). Under the heavy cloak of depression I can manage a page or two before the mind goes numb with melancholia. I had had slightly better luck with the Sunday NY Times, but was unable to read articles of any significant length.

Walking to the store to get milk was easy enough — that is, once I managed to get motivated enough to dress then walk out the door. I could have wiled away a couple of hours watching a film but the effort required to decide on which one to watch proved too much. I considered turning on the TV but the very notion of television depressed me.

One thing I’ve proven adept at doing during this depression is staring at the floor. Not that I can tell you anything I saw or least of all anything that I pondered. The depressed state does not lend itself to creating or retaining memories. It’s akin to having an excruciating physical pain in that all that you can think about is how miserable you are.

I was not depressed yesterday. I was for part of Friday. Thursday, I’m not sure. I think that was one of the days during which happiness and depression were having a tug of war within my soul. That’s an unpleasant situation to deal with. You can practically feel warring factions within you trying to claim possession. As a consequence you are gleeful one second and morbid the next. Within a minute your emotions run the gamut several times. Within an hour you’re like a non stop yo yo. Events can tip the balance one way or another and then back again. The slightest bad news gives victory to the depression while a bit of good news will send you into happy land. I don’t recommend going through life this way. Indeed in 12 step programs one learns to live at an even keel. Getting too high can lead to nasty falls and getting too low can be hard to dig out of.

As I pause now and again while writing this I’m enveloped in depression. However somehow my fingers take control and resume typing and words emerge that manage to make sense together. I don’t know how it all works and indeed often it doesn’t. But I’m lucky now to be managing to write although it is left to anyone who might happen to read this to determine if it is anything worthwhile.

I do take solace in knowing that this will pass and I’ll be skipping merrily down the lane again. Then again as things have been going I also realize that subsequent to that happy event I’ll doubtless once again be dragging my feet down that same lane in a state of great mental anguish. I can only hope that someday the depression will leave me completely and that day will precede my death but quite a long while.

Well, I’ve managed to write this much so there’s perhaps hope that this accomplishment will lead to an upswing in my mood. Nowadays you just never know.