emma b. says

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

hello then, hello again.

It's a new blogger, it's a late day, there is change afoot in the blossoms, everything is coming apart at the seams, but the night is fair and the climate temperate, perhaps if it were foul out I might be already in a car or an a plane for anytown, anywhere.

There is a song I have on repeat, I can't not listen to it, it's like a desire as strong as sex. I am driving in the morning with this song in my head, I am laying my head on the pillow with this song in my head, I am missing sex with this song in my head, I am running away with this song in my head. I am going and going and going with this song in my head, though I am still here, at least for now.

I can't write right now, nothing comes, no lament and no joy, just nothing. It's the unpleasant buzzing between my ears and it's pain of my shoulder blades knitted together, it's my jaw that unreasonably won't unclench, it's the long drawn out end run of an era that I can't quite begin to parse.

I haven't written of it here, mostly because I'd like to forget.... but the genesis of my writing here was the end of long and horribly debilitating bout with clinical depression. I used to look up and not know where I was, then came the rage, and I raged, right through my divorce, through an affair, through all sorts of ugly that I inflicted upon myself. For several years I raged and I wept, and suffered through long periods of inertia, didn't eat, ate too much, beat the crap out of my television, did a lot of drugs, drank my self to paralysis, played solitaire compulsively, slept with strangers, spent many thousands of dollars on therapy, washed back the celexis with red wine.... but I wanted to be free of the cage of misery so between bouts of self destructiveness I worked, on my self, and eventually it took. I had a great therapist, and I was committed, when I wasn't drunk... or fucking for the fuck of it. I also had the support of my family insofar as I revealed - they knew that I wasn't well, but shame prevented me from revealing the true extent of my misery, and debt.... And all the other reasons we don our hair shirts and do our strange penance.

(and here I just erased a paragraph that I can't retrieve)

The therapy and the antidepressants saved me. I resisted and resisted the drugs, crutches I don't need no stinkin' crutches..........

I have friends who are in crisis now, it's been tearing me apart. In a way that is uncomfortably familiar, I see myself in them, I see myself where I was. I have been falling stoically to pieces in quiet corners knowing just how hard it is to drop your guard long enough to thread through the bullshit. It's been tearing me apart in ways I hadn't expected to be torn. I have been thinking about that time in my life, prodding the sore spots, when I wasn't well, when I wasn't me, and I think I made the decision that when I was alright I'd coast on that for awhile.

I am ashamed that it takes my dear friends to be in trouble for me to take a good hard look at my life -- I have been coasting on goodwill for a number of years now, neither looking back nor forward and I kind of realized with the onset of my 36th year, well girl, you are no aimless child anymore...

It's time to go, it's time to leave. It's time to go exploring, it's a time to own elsewhere. I write that sentence after a pitch perfect day in San Francisco, Emma sweet, I think it might be time to grow up just a little.


Post a Comment

<< Home