A friend has been in distress. Overwhelmed by the darkness. I have called without his answering the phone. I understand the need to not need to speak with anyone as well as the darkness. Earlier this month I had mentioned to my therapist that I had been experiencing dark thoughts.
"Not overwhelming dark thoughts. Just recurrent. They come and they go. They don't stay and I'm free of them for extended periods of time."
To most mental aid worers 'dark thoughts' mean one of two things. Suicided or harming other. I was more of the former.
"Do you want to see a psychiatrist?"
I understood the question. Psychiatrist are doctors. They will interview patients and prescribed appropriate drugs to deal with the specific mental condition. I hadn't seen one since my admission to the hospital for cancer four years ago. Prior to my illness I had self-medicated myself with alcohol. It had been a near-fatal cure and no longer viable post-transplant.
"Sure, I'll see a psychiatrist," I sadi, resisting the urge to call them a shrink.
Two days later I had a Zoom meeting with a woman doctor. I prefer a women. Male doctors tend to think that no one is their equal. We spoke for an hour. We covered all the bases. Thoughts of hurting myself. Thought of hurting others. I spoke. She lsitened and asked questions. I answer as truthfully as possible. Her assessment was that I was not in neeed of drugs to to continue with my group meetings for my alcoholism and speakining with my therapist every two weeks. I was in accord with her suggestions and wished her the best.
Thedark thoughts. They are still there. Lurking. I am better armed with tools to fight off depression. I have weathered the storms of the last years. Recreating this me from the ashes of the previous mes knowing I'm not not and never will be a me to satisfy the others. That's okay. The Mes and me know how to deal with that now.
I wrote to my friend.
It's not easy to go it alone when you think you are all alone and the fears prevent you seeing a path out of the wilderness. Why fucking bother? Day by day by day and then fuck it I can't stay here in a room no matter where I go. I'm in a room in Brooklym overlooking the backyards of Clinton Hill. All bearing the scars of a long winter. In the small room most of the time. I don't even know the names of the walls. Escape, a breakout, caught in the wires, breaking not free, but dragging away the fears like the piano in Bunuel's Le Chien Andalou. Always good to have Bunuel as not a friend, but a guide not telling you where to go, but just that there is a path out just like there was a path in.






