tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post1222429472939099869..comments2023-08-20T04:55:39.436-07:00Comments on Ars Psychiatrica: Yer BluesNovalishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10501890494890617030noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-82612324871391531082009-05-08T20:20:00.000-07:002009-05-08T20:20:00.000-07:00Happiness (or a rough estimation from the perspect...Happiness (or a rough estimation from the perspective of the perennially unhappy):<br /><br />That micromoment upon awakening from sleep and realising you've actually had 8 hours rest and feel replenished instead of being prematurely and brutally dragged out of oblivion by that savage beast of urgent impatience - time and its evil minion, the alarm. <br /><br />The first bite.<br /><br />The first sip.<br /><br />That flash of insight.<br /><br />The absence of pain.<br /><br />The realisation that existence is finite, and so is suffering.<br /><br />Everything else is a lie.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-9023005539415367482009-05-08T19:38:00.000-07:002009-05-08T19:38:00.000-07:00Agree that Styron does an outstanding job of "repr...Agree that Styron does an outstanding job of "representing" but my favorite narrative is Jane Kenyon's wonderful poem "Having it out with Melancholy". I simply must share...(I'd track it back to my blog but I think I've disabled such things, good solipsist that I am ;) <br /><br /><EM>If many remedies are prescribed for an illness, you may be certain that the illness has no cure.-- A. P. Chekov, "The Cherry Orchard"<br /><br />1 FROM THE NURSERY<br /><br />When I was born, you waited <br />behind a pile of linen in the nursery, <br />and when we were alone, you lay down <br />on top of me, pressing<br />the bile of desolation into every pore.<br /><br />And from that day on <br />everything under the sun and moon <br />made me sad -- even the yellow <br />wooden beads that slid and spun <br />along a spindle on my crib.<br /><br />You taught me to exist without gratitude. <br />You ruined my manners toward God:<br />"We're here simply to wait for death; <br />the pleasures of earth are overrated."<br /><br />I only appeared to belong to my mother, <br />to live among blocks and cotton undershirts <br />with snaps; among red tin lunch boxes<br />and report cards in ugly brown slipcases. <br />I was already yours -- the anti-urge, <br />the mutilator of souls.<br /><br />2 BOTTLES<br /><br />Elavil, Ludiomil, Doxepin, <br />Norpramin, Prozac, Lithium, Xanax, <br />Wellbutrin, Parnate, Nardil, Zoloft. <br />The coated ones smell sweet or have <br />no smell; the powdery ones smell <br />like the chemistry lab at school <br />that made me hold my breath.<br /><br />3 SUGGESTION FROM A FRIEND<br /><br />You wouldn't be so depressed<br />if you really believed in God.<br /><br />4 OFTEN<br /><br />Often I go to bed as soon after dinner <br />as seems adult<br />(I mean I try to wait for dark)<br />in order to push away <br />from the massive pain in sleep's <br />frail wicker coracle.<br /><br />5 ONCE THERE WAS LIGHT<br /><br />Once, in my early thirties, I saw <br />that I was a speck of light in the great <br />river of light that undulates through time.<br /><br />I was floating with the whole <br />human family. We were all colors -- those <br />who are living now, those who have died, <br />those who are not yet born. For a few<br /><br />moments I floated, completely calm, <br />and I no longer hated having to exist.<br /><br />Like a crow who smells hot blood <br />you came flying to pull me out <br />of the glowing stream.<br />"I'll hold you up. I never let my dear <br />ones drown!" After that, I wept for days.<br /><br />6 IN AND OUT<br /><br />The dog searches until he finds me <br />upstairs, lies down with a clatter <br />of elbows, puts his head on my foot.<br /><br />Sometimes the sound of his breathing <br />saves my life -- in and out, in <br />and out; a pause, a long sigh. . . . <br /><br />7 PARDON<br /><br />A piece of burned meat <br />wears my clothes, speaks <br />in my voice, dispatches obligations <br />haltingly, or not at all.<br />It is tired of trying <br />to be stouthearted, tired <br />beyond measure.<br /><br />We move on to the monoamine <br />oxidase inhibitors. Day and night <br />I feel as if I had drunk six cups <br />of coffee, but the pain stops<br />abruptly. With the wonder <br />and bitterness of someone pardoned <br />for a crime she did not commit <br />I come back to marriage and friends, <br />to pink fringed hollyhocks; come back <br />to my desk, books, and chair.<br /><br />8 CREDO<br /><br />Pharmaceutical wonders are at work <br />but I believe only in this moment <br />of well-being. Unholy ghost, <br />you are certain to come again.<br /><br />Coarse, mean, you'll put your feet <br />on the coffee table, lean back, <br />and turn me into someone who can't <br />take the trouble to speak; someone <br />who can't sleep, or who does nothing <br />but sleep; can't read, or call <br />for an appointment for help.<br /><br />There is nothing I can do <br />against your coming. <br />When I awake, I am still with thee.<br /><br />9 WOOD THRUSH<br /><br />High on Nardil and June light <br />I wake at four, <br />waiting greedily for the first<br />note of the wood thrush. Easeful air <br />presses through the screen <br />with the wild, complex song <br />of the bird, and I am overcome<br /><br />by ordinary contentment. <br />What hurt me so terribly <br />all my life until this moment? <br />How I love the small, swiftly <br />beating heart of the bird <br />singing in the great maples; <br />its bright, unequivocal eye.</EM>________________________<br /><br />I recall attending a seminar on suicide a few years ago and being astounded at the rates for middle-aged white women, among the highest. Made perfect sense to me...still does.<br /><br />Regarding CBT, I laughed aloud when reading not-so-distant-research that "CBT clinicians" did not seek out similar therapeutic means when they found themselves in need of individual therapy. No duh. Please.<br /><br />Thanks for the article link. I'll have to get back to it this weekend.Leon's current assignmenthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10241933206820579199noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-60468519672025209732009-05-08T08:49:00.000-07:002009-05-08T08:49:00.000-07:00These comments show that you just have to look on ...These comments show that you just have to look on the bright side--unless you can't. Simple, right?Novalishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10501890494890617030noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-45375141445328952672009-05-08T06:46:00.000-07:002009-05-08T06:46:00.000-07:00Anonymous, over the past 20 plus years I've strugg...Anonymous, over the past 20 plus years I've struggled with depression, I've searched for ways to somewhat adequately describe it--I like "what it feels like to be dead and still be forced to breathe". It reminds me of something I saw awhile back--"The opposite of depression isn't happiness--it's vitality."Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-43258633443442603702009-05-08T03:33:00.000-07:002009-05-08T03:33:00.000-07:00Sorry, Anon. For a corrective: Life looks 200% b...Sorry, Anon. For a corrective: Life looks 200% better in the morning with extremely strong fresh coffee and a sweet dog nuzzling one. Who cares about feeling old and busted or fame and fortune when the sun is out after a week of rain and theire are amorous squirrels in the back yard to stalk with my Nikon.....Personally, I preferreading Jamison to poor Malkin. Cheerier.Retrieverhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09036341287285545932noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-91113721838631528772009-05-07T22:51:00.000-07:002009-05-07T22:51:00.000-07:00The opening Hamlet quote very nearly drained me of...The opening Hamlet quote very nearly drained me of the will to go on...and read the rest of the post (not to mention your comment Retriever - the list! what a list...). And finally that article. I think the terminally happy should read it so that they may die with an inkling of understanding of what it feels like to be dead and still be forced to breathe.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4425732352511468694.post-66946946415692861942009-05-07T16:38:00.000-07:002009-05-07T16:38:00.000-07:00Interesting article. Poor woman.
It's a good ar...Interesting article. Poor woman. <br /><br />It's a good article to put the lie to ideas that depresssion can be cured with prozac and six sessions of CBT. I personally believe that the analytic therapy is enormously valuable, even if it can't cure. For those of us in it for life, depression is easier to manage and work around with more rather than less understanding. Suicidal impulses come and go, but they are in some sense like John Nash's description of his voices. Always there, but over time (and with meds too obviously) he learned how to function despite them. This work is the stuff of therapy and cookbook varieties do not help many except the easily bullied or the stupid. <br /><br />On psychiatric wards, it's just as well they aren't too luxurious. They are havens when one is truly ill, if half-way decent, but they aren't supposed to be spas or hotels. I think the fluorescent lights, like the mandatory infantilizing activities, serve the valuable purpose of helping one concentrate without distraction on the reasons why one is there. Sort of like the harsh light revealing wrinkles and excess pounds, the barren surroundings keep one from escaping oneself. This is unpleasant, embarassing and sobering of course, but necessary. Retreat houses for the religious do the same thing. Depression afflicts body and spirit, and ascetism to a degree can help. <br /><br />As far as depression in middle age versus youth? That's easy. It sucks to be middle aged. I personally can't think of a single thing that is anything but worse about my life in middle age as versus in my youth. If one is depressed in middle age it is related to the following real life experiences (as well as the hardwired brain stuff in one's genes): <br />loss of good looks<br />developing health problems even so trivial as an old runner's knee preventing one running.<br />marital problems or boredom or divorce<br />obnoxious teen or young adult children<br />NO children<br />age discrimination preventing one doing anything good job-wise<br />years of psych meds making one stupid<br />menopause (or male "difficulties" at the same age)<br />aging parents to take care of (or lost forever to death)<br />mindless job (people with chronic depression are generally underemployed)<br />too little energy to decorate or tidy a nice home, yet negatively affected by messy surroundings<br />reading about one's college peers who are now nationally famous when one is a nonentity<br />fears about money<br />exhausted by years of faking good cheer so's not to alienate people with one's depression.<br /><br />Whereas the young can realistically hope for:<br /><br />--better medicine, treatments, and the possibility of cure or at least real remission<br />--the prospect of romantic love<br />--interesting work<br />--the pleasures of good physical health<br />--looking good and being admired<br />--still being young enough to change<br /><br /><br />Just call me Eeyore...Have to go off and find something funny to watchRetrieverhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09036341287285545932noreply@blogger.com