Phoning it in
I could definitely use a consultation with Dr Purr. Not only has my head decided to go off to circle the nearest drain, but my hip - oh Doctor, please can you sort it out?
DrP: When did this begin?
DG: August? No, July. I fell over. Twice. Once, hard, on a pavement, the other running downhill in the Cairngorms. Yes…I know.
DrP: -~-~-~
DG: Do you absolutely have to launder your bits right now?
DrP: It helps me think. Plus it demonstrates how supremely flexible my spine is. Talking of which, how’s yoga going?
DG: It’s the one hour in every week where I actually connect with something beyond the mince in my head.
DrP: Do more yoga, then.
DG: Yes but…the deadline, the lack of money, my hip still hurts. And my spiralling black thoughts…
DrP: Come back in two months if it’s no better and we’ll euthanise you. Okay?
DG: - - -~~!
DrP: You’re nothing like flexible enough to do that. Go on, shoo!
So. This short newsletter comes to you from the Pit. Been circling the drain for a while now, but I have to acknowledge that the past few weeks have gently sluiced me over the rim. This sounds way more dramatic than it actually is. There’s no drama, just a dropping, falling, downwards kind of letting go… into acceptance.
The text accompanying this image is laid out one word to each line and reads~
Night
skills:
the
ability
to
survive
inside
my
own
darkness.
Which sums it up. I can survive my own darkness. I have the ability. The girl is held in the grip of the dragon, deep in the charnel Pit. There are feathers, emblems of hope among the gnawed bones. All will be well after a period of…well, whatever this shit is.
Fret not, godawful as I am feeling inside my head, it’s not anything I haven’t felt before. I’ve got this, even if this feels like a handful of drain-slime. This landscape of darkness and gloom is bleakly familiar territory. Been there, done that, wrote a book about it. As a record of my own lived experience, Night Shift is the real deal. Judging by the many people who reached out post-publication from across the world, it’s an experience many of us humans share. However, I wrote the book without consciously intending to write a book.
To explain: many years ago, deep in a different yet similar Pit, I tried to draw what it felt like to come to the point where I realised that I was back in the deep darkness again. To come to the place where I knew without the faintest shadow of a doubt that I was going to have to do the hard grind (the Night Shift) to dig myself back out of depression and up towards the light. To come to a full acceptance of where I was, and am again. That place of acceptance is, if previous experience is anything to go by, a stage on a journey. The grind lies ahead. Sigh…
I drew the image above because frequently words fail us, or are misconstrued. My ‘I feel awful’ is not the same flavour as yours. But images speak to and of a different sensibility. I drew this image without a plan, a rough, a pencil underpinning. I drew it standing up at an easel. The completed image is nearly as tall as me. Which is glorious because the finished book in which it appears is tiny. Which means that this huge illustration has been reduced to its absolute essence, much in the same way as in cooking where we reduce a stock to make a really intense glaze.
I drew this and several others, straight from my heart. With no thought as to anything other than getting a signal out. It’s so hard to quantify what’s going on inside my head when I’m in the Pit. I can’t explain in words, but I could make an attempt with images. My literary agent phoned one day to ask how I was and what I was working on, so I sent her the girl in the Pit. The rest is herstory. I’ll go into more detail when I have the psychic bandwidth, but for now, enough.
One of the many tools at my disposal in previous episodes of depressive illness has been to go running, which I love but unfortunately don’t appear to be able to do right now, q.v hip. As of today, even walking appears to be occasionally problematic. And no clear diagnosis. Nothing where I can see a pathway forward, and believe me, I’ve tried. As has Dr Purr, two physios, a podiatrist and Dr Go Ogle.
So, strike that. Or those, if we count long morning walks. However, humans are nothing if not resourceful, and I’ll make a new route out of the Pits even if I have to gnaw it out one bite at time. Meanwhile - even if the day is sub-optimal, baking my own bread is akin to lighting a candle against the darkness. So behold, the first in a series of MH loaves.
As is knitting. Currently only managing about two rows a day because of the list of tasks, exercises, more exercises, deadline and Life Inc, but still. Inching down one leg, one stitch at a time. Behold, the Pants of Equanimity.
And finally - our yoga teacher is a being of light and grace. Yesterday, she gathered the threads of the practise together with this quote from Jalaluddin Rumi.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honourably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame,
the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Aw it really is dark and cold and hard right now. Sending you all the glimmers! I hope the superhero knotted pants make all the difference. And hey, when I can't get out of the house, I often run without just my arms, in my chair. Weird looking but strangely comforting.
Sending a warm hug from the sun to you, in the hopes that the straggles of day glow help to light up your room a wee bit more :)
Absolutely loooove the pants, they look amazing, and I can smell the bread from here (reminding me to make my sourdough this weekend, along with the 50 other things that are waiting to be accomplished or finished).
You have reassured me with Rumi's words to be a bit more lighthearted with myself, thank you! 😘