Think of this as a Public Service Announcement.

For the past week, I have been lower than whale shit which I thought was a natural response to the results of the presidential election. But two days ago, when I didn’t bother to get dressed or brush my hair or much of anything else, I realized that I was experiencing a depressive episode — a period of incapacitation that plague those of us diagnosed with double depression (serious depression and dysthymia). These episodes last approximately two to three weeks and according to what I have learned from my psychiatrist, I need to “lean into it” as well as take Klonopin which I don’t need to take on a regular basis. I do, however, need to take a daily anti-depressant. I have never had a depressive episode this severe since my double depression diagnosis in September 2013 when Adrienne took this photo:

I knew something was up when I sat back down at my writing desk yesterday afternoon and discovered this in my diary:

So I then decided to take a selfie which looked alarmingly like the photo Adrienne took 11 years ago. The image frightened me (and I am too ashamed to share it) as well as several of my comments in response to my past two posts. Most alarming was my callous dismissiveness of Adrienne. Not acceptable.

I am sharing this so others in a dark place feel less alone; well, actually, so I feel less alone which is partly my responsibility because I am pushing others away. That’s the vexing thing about depression — you want help, but you convince yourself that others really don’t know what you need. The abyss, albeit dark, is a safe, completely self-contained place.

One of the best descriptions of depression I’ve ever come across is from Anne Sexton’s poem, “The Poet of Ignorance,” from her book The Awful Rowing Toward God. Here is the ending:

There is an animal inside me,
clutiching fast to my heart,
a huge carb.
The doctors of Boston
have thrown up their hands.
They have tried scalpels,
needles, poison gasses and the like.
The crab remains.
It is a great weight.
I try to forget it, go about my business,
cook the broccoli, open the shut books,
brush my teeth and tie my shoes.
I have tried prayer
but as I pray the crab grips harder
and the pain enlarges.

I had a dream once, 
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?

Thank you for reading this and for your forbearance. I want to believe in dreams. We all do. For some of us, that is a great weight. Love to all.