Steal the warm wind

Depression posting

I was memo’ing Seth this morning about the curtain of depression I’m experiencing and decided to write about it since I can’t seem to write anything else and I owe you one. Even writing this feels sludgy but alright on with it.

I like the curtain as a metaphor. You know there’s daylight behind it but it’s the daylight that feels false.

Eva Hesse, Expanded Expansion, 1969

I don’t like telling people when I’m depressed, especially people who don’t understand what that means. Without an alibi (something material) or an existing understanding (they’ve met the demon), it’s hard and also humiliating to try to explain, and then I feel like I’m failing the person who cares, and then they feel like they’re failing because they don’t understand, and then I feel like I’m failing because I made them feel that way, and so on. So why say anything? It’s either that or hide, which I’m capable of doing for a while but costs a lot, usually more than saying something.

One note on the material: there is a hierarchy to suffering and I think it’s important—and genuinely helpful—to remember that. Compassion and grace are good but not without honesty.

Maurizio Cattelan, Daddy, Daddy, 2008

Here’s what it feels like: tired and stupid, weakling, I start to think most things are “bad,” my tolerance for bullshit (giving and receiving) goes down, I lose the ability to communicate well, I’m spaced out, fear, despair, frustration, regret, guilt, disgust specifically about consumerism and earthly desires (???? - this has to be divine guidance), confusion, boredom, shame, my feet are in lead boots, there’s gauze around my eyes, my heart is wrapped in scarves.

What I do to try to fix it: ask myself how I got here, what patterns am I repeating, what responsibility do I have, what am I refusing to learn, is this real, talk to a couple of specific people, make myself be social, exercise, ceramics, write, read, cook, drink water, shower, consider all possibilities, listen to music, try to be patient, lie down, permit some failure and some fucking off, check the garden, count my blessings, respect my gifts, interrogate my demands, think about the people I love, think about everyone, remember it’s a trick, remember it will pass, that life isn’t over, there’s more to see, do something for someone else, expect nothing.

Joel Meyerowitz, The Hammock, Provincetown, Massachusetts, 1982, 1982

And it does always pass, which is another thing. The list grows long when I rise to the occasion.