31 December 2009
30 December 2009
29 December 2009
24 December 2009
23 December 2009
22 December 2009
17 December 2009
15 December 2009
09 December 2009
08 December 2009
02 December 2009
22 November 2009
18 November 2009
17 November 2009
16 November 2009
I remember reading Jane Kenyon's poems at one of the worst points in my depression. Her collection "Constance" sat on my bedside table and I read it over and over and over again. She described the pain and anguish I was feeling better than anyone (save Sylvia Plath) I'd ever read. The words in this piece, from "Having It Out With Melancholy," pressed against my pain like a tourniquet, making it surge before it dwindled:
5. ONCE THERE WAS LIGHT
Once, in my early thirties, I saw
that I was a speck of light in the great
river of light that undulates through time.
I was floating with the whole
human family. We were all colors -- those
who are living now, those who have died,
those who are not yet born. For a few
moments I floated, completely calm,
and I no longer hated having to exist.
Like a crow who smells hot blood
you came flying to pull me out
of the glowing stream.
"I'll hold you up. I never let my dear
ones drown!" After that, I wept for days.
I read these poems now, the poems that pinpointed my agony, made me feel less alone, brought on wave after wave of uncontrollable tears, and they're like memories of a battle. They're the stories you tell about a scar.
I still feel as though I'm floating now. The days are flowing by, but for once, I don't feel disconnected, adrift, aimless. There's no one, no malevolent thing, to snatch me out of the light. The fear has faded, the panic is gone.
11 November 2009
10 November 2009
06 November 2009
05 November 2009
04 November 2009
03 November 2009
02 November 2009
01 November 2009
30 October 2009
28 October 2009
27 October 2009
This time Alabama looks mad; Pugly enjoyed his bee costume and the attention he got while wearing it at our Halloween party.