The Furious Spinner

Sitting on the couch. Mario is eating lunch. Annie Lennox is singing "Dark Road." She is singing my life right now:

"I can't find the joy within my soul
It's just sadness takin hold
It takes strength to live this way
The same old madness every day
I wanna kick these blues away
I wanna learn to live again..."

Yes, indeed, I've got my freak on again. Wanna dance?

It ain't sadness so much as anxiety, fear. If you could temporarily inhabit my body right now you'd wonder how I was able to exist. One breath at a time, darlin's. One breath at a time. Those of you who've been there (here?) know. Curled up on the couch most of the day. Trying to move from place to place. Trying, trying, trying. Turned on the TV and heard something that sent me further into the freak. Mario talked to me on the phone and said, "Turn that off. Turn that off. Turn that off."

This is one of the reasons we need to turn off our TV service again. It was on when we got home from D.C., even though we had it turned off before we left. You might say, "Kim, don't turn the television set on." Oh come on. I have no willpower. If I'm feeling shitty, I'm gonna try to do something to feel better. Since I don't drink or do drugs, I guess I do TV. Bad TV. Anyway...

It is day dark outside. The winter drearies are here. (My friend Becky calls this time of year here the Drearies. Wouldn't that be a great novel title?) It should feel cozy inside because of the snow. I should be writing. I think I figured out the problem with my novel. As soon as I let it go, as soon as I let it all go, and let the sea come in and take it away, Grace came and sat with me and told me her true story. And some of it broke my heart. She wasn't who I thought she was. She wasn't an Amazon. She wasn't....She just wasn't who I thought she was. But she told me her story, and I said, "I don't know if I can tell that story." And she quoted the first line of Prince of Tides (Pat Conroy) to me: "My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call." Ah yes. And Gracie's whole beginning opened to me. How could I have forgotten? Of course. My wound as well. Will that be the epigraph to my memoirs one day? "My wound is geography?" Naw. "My wound is my self." The Buddhists would no doubt agree with me there.

Everybody is an island to themselves.

Very good, Annie.

I just looked up fear on a Buddhist site. There are many things I like about Buddhism, but the following paragraph is an example of what I don't like:

"When we are frightened, we should ask ourselves what we are actually frightened of. Are we frightened of getting sick? But at present we have no choice in that, and so that fear is not constructive. It is wiser to be afraid of contaminated rebirth and the four rivers of birth, ageing, sickness, and death, all caused by our delusions. This fear is constructive, it is called 'renunciation;, the wish definitely to escape from samsara's sufferings, the motivation that will enable us to escape from samsara and all sickness."

Yes, please, give me MORE things to be afraid of. This sounds very close to the Christian view that we are all contaminated because we came through a woman's womb. Hey, that's sacred space; takes your hangups about women elsewhere.

I may have my freak on but ain't I a woman?

I do agree that we can't control most of what happens to us in our lives, so it's more productive to control our minds. And right now, my mind has her freak on. Definitely. So maybe I'll just put a bow on that freak and dance around the room.

I've been lax on doing my mindfulness stuff. My bad.

This too will pass.

By the way, I still haven't actually started the novel again. I'm throwing out the ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY pages I've already written on it. Once I start writing again, I'll feel better. I always do.

And I always get nervous before I go see my surgeon which is what I'm doing next Tuesday. That's an "always" I'd like to change.

I wonder if I could think of my depression and anxiety as a dress I put on? I always describe it as "having my freak on." Maybe I could just take it off. Hey, I don't like dresses anyway. Except for one little black cocktail dress. Okay, there are a couple other ones I've got that completely hug my bodacious body, but I ain't got the guts or glory to actually go outside in them. One gray. One red. But I digress. I was putting on my freak dress. No, I was taking it off and putting on something that is more to my taste.

My husband is laughing at me. "You think my anxiety and depression is funny?" I asked. "Oh come on," he said. "'Putting your freak on?' That's funny." I stared at him. "I don't think your pain and suffering is funny," he said. Trying to be serious. "All right then," I said. I turned my back on him and smiled. Oh good. I was smiling. This wasn't going to last too long this time.

Just went out into the rain and snow and took a walk. Put my arms around the Big Old Library Oak. Aaaaahhhhhh. Very nice. Then I continued sloshing through the snow and rain and down to the river. Choppy waves. Slightly green. The rain pelted my face. On shore, near my feet, were thousands of shells, mostly tiny mollusk shells. Bones from the Old River.

Then I walked back up to the house. I went around to the back to see how the Rosemary bush was doing. Wet snow weighed down some of the branches. I whispered hello, how ya doin'?

Inside again.

Better.

Man, gotta remember that. If all else fails, go hug a tree.

No, Kim. Don't wait until all else fails. Just go out a hug a tree.

Labels: depression, writing

2 comments

2 Comments:

I'll dance whityoo. Thanks for asking.

(cover TV with a beautiful cloth, keep only for very select DVDs, or give TV away - more dance space :)

http://www.hayhouse.com/ live radio,
for feeling better when freaked out
(look down at the left hand corner)

As they say at Tumbleweed -
Wear more dresses

By  VQ, at 9:31 AM  

My dearest Sister Kim, I so wish I could be there with you when the dark times hit and the old freak(in)light turns on all by itself.

We both need a nice long spell with the old mermaids and some of those magical tears from the old sea too.

Much love, Sister Cate

By  kerrdeLune (Cate), at 3:32 PM  

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