A Fish Named Depression
By M Wolfe
Call me Jonah. I have been in the belly of a fish for 3 months. Not days, but months. The fish is Depression -- a metaphor that I believe has a lineage back to the Biblical Jonah. Stray from your path and depression strikes. Pretty basic stuff really.
Not that that makes it any easier –- either to deal with depression or to stay on your path.
Let’s face it: simple things are rarely simple to do. Our human desires and cleverness stomp on simplicity for pass-time. Our need for drama drives us to illusions of reality which then blind us to the truth: There is no reality.
Our mind & body connection becomes so entrenched as a way of life – or life itself – that we forget we are, at our core, a flicker of energy connected to the stars and planets throughout the universe.
I forgot this simple fact – again. And Depression sucked me into its throat like the little squid I am.
Last fall, just about the time I launched this site, I got sucked so far into the belly of the whale, I thought I would finally become whale shit (“suicide victim” if you want to toy with the full metaphor). It was tempting. Last fall was the second worst bout of clinical depression I have ever suffered – and it was the longest period of time I had been so far down in the whale intestines. The metaphorical three days of Jonah became three months for M. Wolfe. But it has passed. It is over. I have lived to love another day.
If you’ve never read Jonah (and I urge you to – even you atheists can mull this story over for the “symbolism” of life’s funk and meh and anti-climatic endings where the fireworks never come), let me point out that when his punishment is up, Jonah doesn’t just pop out of the blow-hole and take off running. No. He is spit out, covered in digestive juice, onto a lonely beach. He dries out on the sand for a few days.
That’s a fitting image for the last few weeks of my life, a hermitage in my house. The nomadic me went almost four weeks without having to buy gasoline. (That’s why the prices went down LOL). I’ve been repairing, healing, meditating, and generally getting ready to walk away from this solitudinous existence and find the path I am supposed to be walking.
And now, I find I am there. Almost. I’m giving myself a few more days. The creator will understand. Monday will mark the 24th anniversary of the loss of a child. Lost before he even took a breath. Nicholas. I still think of that loss nearly every day. It seemed to mark a long line of losses. His energy is still here or there – somewhere. We’ll meet up soon enough. Eternity is the only true thing regarding time – all else is man-made. But I keep counting the years, it’s so hard to give up our illusions. (And I am so fortunate to have a beautiful daughter. She is the main reason I am still in this world.)
And so, after Monday, it will be time to stand up and begin walking again.
And, I’ve given up the Prozac. That wasn’t the plan. It just happened. Two weeks ago. Fare thee well. (I “blame” meditation primarily). I had been on it for nearly 8 years –- this time. I won’t say I’ll never take it again . . . I never know.
As a result of dumping the anti-depressant, the dreams are back. Most people have more vivid dreams when they take Prozac. I’m the opposite. I have mystical, even prophetic, dreams when I am NOT on Prozac. Three nights ago, they began again. It was startling at first. I had forgotten what my natural, nocturnal wanderings were like. But now I see them for what they are: part of the genuine me. And I am thankful for them.
Thus, I sincerely believe I am ready to pack a few things, the minimum of ideas, and head for that path I see in the sea oats, just at the top of that dune over there. That’s where I’m headed. I have no idea what happens after that. I only have a vague notion of where the path is going to take me. But this time, THIS VERY TIME, I will try to follow it as closely as can, lest I should wind up in the belly of yet another fish.
--- Matthew Wolfe, Copyright 2015
By M Wolfe
Call me Jonah. I have been in the belly of a fish for 3 months. Not days, but months. The fish is Depression -- a metaphor that I believe has a lineage back to the Biblical Jonah. Stray from your path and depression strikes. Pretty basic stuff really.
Not that that makes it any easier –- either to deal with depression or to stay on your path.
Let’s face it: simple things are rarely simple to do. Our human desires and cleverness stomp on simplicity for pass-time. Our need for drama drives us to illusions of reality which then blind us to the truth: There is no reality.
Our mind & body connection becomes so entrenched as a way of life – or life itself – that we forget we are, at our core, a flicker of energy connected to the stars and planets throughout the universe.
I forgot this simple fact – again. And Depression sucked me into its throat like the little squid I am.
Last fall, just about the time I launched this site, I got sucked so far into the belly of the whale, I thought I would finally become whale shit (“suicide victim” if you want to toy with the full metaphor). It was tempting. Last fall was the second worst bout of clinical depression I have ever suffered – and it was the longest period of time I had been so far down in the whale intestines. The metaphorical three days of Jonah became three months for M. Wolfe. But it has passed. It is over. I have lived to love another day.
If you’ve never read Jonah (and I urge you to – even you atheists can mull this story over for the “symbolism” of life’s funk and meh and anti-climatic endings where the fireworks never come), let me point out that when his punishment is up, Jonah doesn’t just pop out of the blow-hole and take off running. No. He is spit out, covered in digestive juice, onto a lonely beach. He dries out on the sand for a few days.
That’s a fitting image for the last few weeks of my life, a hermitage in my house. The nomadic me went almost four weeks without having to buy gasoline. (That’s why the prices went down LOL). I’ve been repairing, healing, meditating, and generally getting ready to walk away from this solitudinous existence and find the path I am supposed to be walking.
And now, I find I am there. Almost. I’m giving myself a few more days. The creator will understand. Monday will mark the 24th anniversary of the loss of a child. Lost before he even took a breath. Nicholas. I still think of that loss nearly every day. It seemed to mark a long line of losses. His energy is still here or there – somewhere. We’ll meet up soon enough. Eternity is the only true thing regarding time – all else is man-made. But I keep counting the years, it’s so hard to give up our illusions. (And I am so fortunate to have a beautiful daughter. She is the main reason I am still in this world.)
And so, after Monday, it will be time to stand up and begin walking again.
And, I’ve given up the Prozac. That wasn’t the plan. It just happened. Two weeks ago. Fare thee well. (I “blame” meditation primarily). I had been on it for nearly 8 years –- this time. I won’t say I’ll never take it again . . . I never know.
As a result of dumping the anti-depressant, the dreams are back. Most people have more vivid dreams when they take Prozac. I’m the opposite. I have mystical, even prophetic, dreams when I am NOT on Prozac. Three nights ago, they began again. It was startling at first. I had forgotten what my natural, nocturnal wanderings were like. But now I see them for what they are: part of the genuine me. And I am thankful for them.
Thus, I sincerely believe I am ready to pack a few things, the minimum of ideas, and head for that path I see in the sea oats, just at the top of that dune over there. That’s where I’m headed. I have no idea what happens after that. I only have a vague notion of where the path is going to take me. But this time, THIS VERY TIME, I will try to follow it as closely as can, lest I should wind up in the belly of yet another fish.
--- Matthew Wolfe, Copyright 2015