The Black Hole

At the risk of sounding self indulgent, narcissistic, or just plain inappropriately open, I'm going to share my experience of the past 36 hours, in the hope that at least someone who reads this will gain something useful from my telling it. Among my friends and family it's common knowledge that I have an uneven temperament, but yesterday I found myself stuck inside of a black despondency that I've rarely known. Tina, my children, and even the dog are away, so I'm alone here, which is something that I usually am able to savor. Instead, I got the perfect storm: isolation, overwhelming feelings of inadequacy relative to work, parenting, and general self worth, worries about finances, and a terrible case of intestinal cramps. I knew that there were things that I should have been doing to push through the mood. I couldn't even bring myself to call my wife or a friend for moral support. I was as close to paralysis as I could remember ever being. After an unproductive day of trying to accomplish something, I forced myself to go out for a bite to eat, just to be around people, then came home and went to bed early, hoping for a better day to dawn.

This morning, I was up early, and it was cool and beautiful outside. The cramps had mostly subsided. I followed some routines that have helped me in the past, including doing a drawing. A road crew was getting ready to grind up the pavement in front of our house in preparation for a new layer of asphalt. I did a sketch of the big machine that does the heavy work, then made a copy of it and walked out and gave it to the pilot, who was surprised and delighted to receive such a thing. I sent some tobacco to a pipe carver who I knew would enjoy it. I wrote a brief but nice note to my wife. I ironed a shirt and pants then walked instead of getting a ride for the mile or so to Swedish Motors to collect my car from being serviced. I went to a meeting at my son's school to discuss the year's agenda with his teachers and support team. And I'm launching back into my work as soon as I finish writing this post. With vigor.

Depression is still poorly understood, and scoffed at by many who haven't really experienced it, seen as an over-hyped excuse for laziness. For those who have felt its teeth though, it is a vicious black maw that shreds even the memory of how it feels to want to be alive. It's as real as joy. I'm fortunate that I knew how to find my way out of it. Yesterday I didn't think so, and if you've ever been there, you know what I mean. I started today by doing small, caring things for other people, and I think that, along with what I can only call grace, helped. So thanks to the anonymous road worker who inspired me to do this sketch, and thanks to the source of that grace, whatever the source might be.

Pavement grinder, 8 1/4 x 11 9 16, 2B pencil

close up view of the grinder