Fuck It I'm 50

I have a moment before I turn into a pumpkin at my posting deadline of 11pm. I just got in from teaching, three, three-hour classes today. A lot of blah, blah, blah and I am blahed out.

But I have been haunted all day by the blunt edge of depression, gnawing away as I try to deny it, shake it, take pleasure in the kindness of those around me, look in awe at the setting sun over the ocean as the almost full moon rises. Just like those dumb commercials, “Are you showing these signs of depression…including a sense of hopelessness, an inability to enjoy things you normally take pleasure in, feeling confused and lethargic, not being able to make clear decisions, etc, etc., etc— yes, yes, yes.

I woke up after a little cluster of nightmares this morning. A recurring dream of going into a large, many stalled bathroom that is really dirty, but the other people that are using it are coping, figuring out how to take care of their business without soiling themselves. In the dream I follow the lead of those searching for stalls in front of me, and I finally find a clean enough refuge with a door that closes, and as soon as I sit, try as I might to stay awake, I am drifting off to sleep. And while I am in the half sleep, slumped on the pot, I know I am meant to be teaching a new course, and I am missing it, but I can’t get up, and then another class is coming up and I can’t make it to that one either. With my eyes shut, unable to open them, I struggle to roust myself to get my materials, to get to class and out of that endless, and rank bathroom. Finally the alarm goes off and for once I don’t hit the snooze, I am up and out of that dream. I have had many variations on this dream on and off for years.

And as soon as I had shook the dream away to being awake, still in bed, but sitting upright with the two dogs flanking me, (Saki went home today-just one dog tomorrow, my little Lefty) I recognized that deep well of despair, that is for me an acknowledgement of my depression. There is nothing more to say about it-it is here and it has me in its stagnant, ambivalent grip.

For the first time in a long time I am a little scared. Is it time to do something about this? Do I need some help? I am so confused I don’t know the answer. But thankfully I have many things I need to take care of, and I simply need to get out of bed and start on the tasks at hand. That’s all there is to it. Fortunately I am not one of the depresso types that stays in bed, I get up and get stuff done, often with a smile where needed, I am a functioning depresso.

So this has been the tone of today. I have moved reluctantly into everything I have had to do, and everything I still have to do before I call it a night.

I want to say that my classes were fine. Even humorous at moments, especially when I did in fact show up half an hour late for my last substitute class that I had written down started at 7pm, and in fact started at 6:30. Maybe my lizard brain knew this and was working up a worry for me, prepping me for my mistake and my humiliation. The damn dream did not however give me enough information to check and follow the original directions that I had been given by the teacher I was subbing for.

But I have to say, the two classes I subbed for today were screenwriting classes, and we got to look at the Waldo Salt documentary and discuss the craft of screenwriting and then talk about Saltwater and what it is to write, be a writer. All meaty stuff for me that fed my appreciation of my ability in the world to not only take time out to do these esoteric things, but also get the privilege to teach and get paid for doing, thinking about and teaching these things.

And in this context I embraced my sadness today and welcomed it as  new insights into myself that will give me more perspective into the characters I write, now and in the future. Hopefully their pain will be read and seen as real, I can dive into this experience I am having now, and bring it back up to touch other peoples’ experiences and lives. I am profoundly human when I am in pain, and I need to remember this when I write. For we all experience pain, different kinds of pain, but all humans know pain and it is a common denominator we writers must look at in our own experience and then regurgitate for the screen, the book, the poem, the essay- to speak to the essence of being human.

All this deep crap aside, I hope this sadness passes, because I am not quite sure what to do if it does not. Though, being the eternal optimist that I am, I have faith everything will be fine in the next day or two…I’ll let you know.