I feel like I have been mentally paralyzed the last few weeks. I’ve been ‘phoning it in’ at work, I haven’t been writing in any of my various projects, I haven’t been drawing or painting, I haven’t been writing in my journals – hell, I haven’t even put out a blog in weeks. To top things off, I still haven’t submitted any of my stories in months. What the hell is up?
Turns out my moods went into stealth mode. Okay … that needs some explanation. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned at other points in this blog that I share an unfortunate connection with many other artists and creatives. I suffer from occasional bouts of depression (undiagnosed). Before I alarm people, let me say that while suicidal thoughts do sometimes occur, I never pay much attention to them. I’m not the type. Drink myself to oblivion, yes – shoot myself, no.
In the past, my mood change would announce itself through mania, followed by confusion, then anger, hysteria, and finally full-blown blackout. These blackouts could last several hours or several days, accompanied by deep seclusion, endless self-ranting, crying jags and even occasional hysteric paralyzation. Dramatic stuff. They scared me to death. I thought I was losing my mind. (Turned out I’d already done that, but I cover that elsewhere.) A book put me on the road to recovery.
I have long since lost the title and author of the blessed thing. I only remember it was a semi-clinical study of creative thinkers and their mental issues. One of those was Vincent van Gogh. The author made the comment that it was a real shame that his doctors had never prescribed a tincture of St John’s Wort – a well-known anti-depressant at the time – which might have lessened his episodes and saved his life. There was my answer! My research up to that point had revealed that the most common treatment for severe depression was ‘lithium’ (I don’t know the precise drug name – maybe Prozac?), and I had not heard good things about it. For one thing, it was rumored to cancel the creative impulse in an artist. For me, that would be like killing the patient to cure the disease. No, thank you. But St John’s Wort was milder – simply a ‘mood enhancer’, and furthermore a botanical. Minimal, if any, side-effects. The whole thing sounded tailor-made, so I went and found it.
My ‘little green pills’, as I have dubbed them, have been a Godsend. They do not make me feel happy, per se, they make me feel nothing. And it is precisely that break in the emotional cataract that I need in order to get myself wings-level and climbing out of the blackness. I don’t use it every day, just when I need it. It has been so helpful for the last ten years or so, that I have trained my family to watch for signs of my worsening mood and ask me, “have you taken a pill yet?” By telling my family (and a few friends) about my problem and how I choose to deal with it, I have brought them in on my side and made the whole process as stress-free as possible. If you also suffer from depressions, dear reader, I highly recommend that you seek counseling first. I suffered in silence for many years because I refused to do so. But even if you decide to go my route, don’t leave your family out of the circle. They can be your greatest allies and your firmest coaches. Don’t do this alone!
In any event, I went through a lot of experimentation, trying to find if I had any food or thought pattern related triggers associated with my condition. Turned out that sugar, and especially lactose and HFCS were making things really bad for me. I cut back on sugary breakfast cereals (a long-standing comfort food) and started using lactose-free milk. That one move pulled the teeth out of my depressions, and they started getting sullen. They came at me less frequently, but they came at me in a sneaky fashion – they didn’t waltz in roaring anymore, they started souring my moods and would trigger off of small setbacks and roadblocks. Nowadays it seems that my depressions are trying to stay beneath the radar, just hanging around like a background hum in a bad amplifier, not really triggering a conscious reaction, but souring everything I do.
Now, of course, I’m on a severe carb diet because of my diabetes (see Old, Fat and Sick 3), so my depressions aren’t being given any fuel at all. So, of course the damn things have to find a different way to get at me. It looks like my asshat moods are actually trying to induce some level of shame in me while trying to distract me from my work and art. So, it’s trying to trick me into not doing anything and then trying to make me feel bad because I’m not doing anything. Did I tell you that I really hate these moods? Yes, I know they’re a part of me, but it’s a part I don’t want, and I just wish they’d dry up and blow away. Well anyway, the fight goes on. One of the worst effects of these moods is that when they get bad enough, they pretty much cancel my ability to work creatively. And because they’re being stealthy, it’s that much harder to see the problem coming on, until I’m at a dead stop and can’t figure out why. Under those circumstances, the panic sets in hard, and it’s really difficult to think straight.
But the depression has made a mistake – I said they’re trying to induce shame in me. I don’t generally feel shame. So, yeah, they encourage me to goof off, which pisses me off, but they can’t control me. I have a solid hold on my problem now, and it doesn’t frighten me anymore. I can’t be afraid of going insane – I’ve already been there. The only thing it can do is sneak up on me and freeze me with my own inaction. But I understand that now. Soon I will close that door as well and be that much closer to having my moods under some semblance of control. I’m smart enough to be aware that I will never control these moods completely, that’s not written into the rules of the game. But I can and will have the upper hand. The first step in that direction is positive action towards my goals.
So saying, I’d like to announce that I have sent my manuscript of ‘Soul Surgery’ out to a mainstream publisher, to see if they like it enough to buy it and print it. I’m not going to say I’m not anxious, because of course I am. But a rejection slip is just a note saying they don’t understand the work and wouldn’t be the right group to publish it anyway. I will not stop. I will find the right publisher, and the book will be available as soon as possible.
Be well.
bcd