From my journal for November 21, 1995
No headache this morning, just the despair. The headache would have been manageable without the despair, I’ve lived through worse, but last night the two together were too much. I see that the hopelessness is once again triggered by the helplessness, by the belief that if I don’t know what to do, no change is possible. That’s where I get scared that this could go on forever, I have no belief in any natural cycle or any outside help that will bring me out of it. I see that this goes back to “I cried and cried and nobody came.” When I know what to do, I’m capable of working very hard to do it. When that doesn’t seem to be working any more, then I get confused and lost and scared. The headache was confusing because it might have been a “good” headache— clearing toxins because of exercise — and an indicator that I need more exercise — though I’m so tired that that one’s hard. Or it might have been a “bad” headache, an indicator that eating all those grains is not good and I should go back to the stricter diet — but that’s almost too hard to contemplate, it’s been such a relief having Jack’s good food to eat. [We hired someone to cook for us.]
“I cried and cried and nobody came.” A phrase that was periodically written in my journal. I had no idea that it referred to being a baby left alone, and that such an experience is traumatizing for a baby.
November 22
Driving home, I saw that I was wounded, damaged, and trying to pretend I was normal, trying to live a “normal life.” That seemed a mistake, false somehow, like making carob “brownies,” an inferior substitute, instead of just making carob cookies that were true to the nature of carob. So instead of trying to live a “normal life,” what I need to do is find a way of managing my life better so I’m not so debilitated by depression.
So I’m back to working on noticing and appreciating little things, hoping that enjoyment will return in its time. I remind myself that I love Dana, Lynelle, Shenanigan, Beverly, theater and this house, that I love trees and rocks and streams and mountains, the sun and the moon and the stars. That knowledge helps me hold on when everything is so bleak. I need to work at accepting my lower level of functioning, and not being so judgmental and angry at myself. I need to find ways to make it safe and easy to express my creativity. I’d like to find a way to channel my angry energy into creativity so it doesn’t turn back on me and cause depression. This is my work for the rest of my life. And I need to find ways to structure my life so that the airplanes don’t drive me crazy next summer.
When I finally started seeing Dr. Rankin, a specialist in depression, she told me that the chemistry of depression makes it impossible to enjoy. This was revelatory.
November 24
Ah yes, “trying to pretend I’m normal.” I’m reading over this notebook and came to the place, after seeing the shrink, where I see that I’m trying to deny being wounded. It’s out of that attitude that I’m angry with myself, the expectation that I should act like a normal adult instead of a frightened child.
I have been working on not being angry at myself for a long, long time. A long time ago, I realized that I’m the person I’ve treated worse than anybody else. It’s just in the past couple of years, almost thirty years since this was written, that it has become automatic to offer compassion to myself when I’m feeling bad.