I’m depressed. Sunk in a miasma of the time of plague. My big sky mind totally covered in clouds.
There. I said it. But bear with me: I don’t think I’m ‘clinically’ depressed. The deal is, we all have a lot right now to be depressed about. Our ersatz leader has decided to hold his big pandemic rally in my hometown, on Juneteenth. Really? Whose amazingly stupid idea was that??? Soooo many things wrong with that idea. I won’t even go there.
And my hip still doesn’t work right. I hate folks who yammer on & on about their aches and pains, so suffice to say that years of being a runner — slow, by the way, so don’t go self-righteous on me — have caught up w/ me, and I can barely walk. I have the human equivalent of hip dysplasia — they put dogs down for it. Suffice to say: this is not fun.
Plus, did I mention the elephant in the room? Covid-19 is a very real threat still. TWO MILLION Americans have or have had it. And more than 115,000 have died from it… My beloved is particularly at risk, as a cancer survivor and COPD sufferer. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t worry.
And Black Lives Matter. Because they do. Even to a very privileged white grandmother. I have so many friends of colour ~ good friends, people whose sons might be the 2 young black men recently arrested in Tulsa. For jaywalking…🙄 Really — jaywalking. It could be my dear friend Dewayne’s nephew. Or my dear friend Ben’s son(s). Or Shanedra’s, or Sylvia’s, or Naomi’s, or some other friend’s young black male relative ~
My sisters worry about jobs, health, the future of their children. As I do… How will my university-employed son & DIL negotiate the health-threatening labyrinth of classes this fall? What about my 3-year-old & 7-year-old grandsons? How about my son on the completely opposite coast, lucky enough to work remote, but almost certainly lonesome for his usual social life.
I don’t think depression like I feel now responds to pharmaceuticals. Please note: I LOVE pharmaceuticals, in their proper place 😉 W/out them, I probably would have left home years ago. Anti-depressants have kept marriages together, helped stave off suicide for family members, and generally helped many people I love dearly. Me included!
But now, I tend to think my depression has real causes — it’s not physical or psychophysiological. It’s caused by events I find both profoundly sad and very frustrating. There’s no drug for that, I’m afraid.
My beloved reminds me that I’ve seen worse times: my parents’ death, my mother’s decline through the downward spiral of Alzheimer’s, the war that separated my family for almost a year… And he notes, as well, that most Americans fear for their jobs, their children, their very lives, these days.
Yes. But, I respond, being told you’re part of a trend — one of a statistic — isn’t particularly comforting. My dog gets run over by a truck, and you tell me the number of dogs lost annually to trucks…? That doesn’t really help.
My husband wants me to be happy. Of course! He loves me, and you want the people you love to be happy. But I suspect it’s also easier when the people you love are happy. This is not an easy time for anyone: the economy sucks, politics are bitter and ugly, religion is as judgmental and acrimonious as politics, the police who were supposed to protect us are on a racist rampage, and overall? Well, let’s just say it’s been better.
So if I seem angry sometimes, or sad at others, you can dismiss it as the new normal. You can tell me that all over America people are worried about their jobs. And you can remind me that in 10 years, we’re sure to have made changes in our culture of white privilege. Or you can give me a hug and tell me what I really want to believe: that clouds come, and clouds go. And only the blue remains. That’s Buddhism, baby; that’s sheer faithful belief. Here’s to a bluer sky ~