Jul/090
Break It Down Again
I have been obsessively listening to Tears for Fears Break It Down Again, the way I obsessively listen to anything when I am troubled. And right now, I am deeply troubled. But, when have I not been? Chronic depression means more wasted time than normal, more paralysis, more fear. I thought all my setbacks were making me stronger, but instead they are just doing the opposite: they're making me cower and all the what-ifs that go through my head are becoming more and more elaborate.
Junot Diaz wrote a story in his first collection called Aguantando, which means putting up with it, which is a Dominican way of life if I've ever seen one. That's what we do in my house: you put up with it, you live with it. In my family, this means hoarding medicines until you really "need" them and never expressing any displeasure because don't you know how lucky you have it?
You, with your college education, lo aguanta in your own way: you repeat all the self-help maxims, follow all the new-age tricks: cut out sugar, cut out alcohol, relax, take a deep breath, make your fucking gratitude list, act like the chemical imbalance in your brain is something you can help and something you can fix. Pain is life, la vida es dura, life is full of suffering, in any language, in any religion, all this equals: put up or shut up.
And shut up I do, until it rises and curdles, like spoiled milk in coffee, till I can't ignore it, till it's all I can think about. At these moments, I think about my depression like someone I have to run off the road, knowing that at any point, it's just going to re-start and chase me back down until it catches me again. It's my lurker, ready to strike at any time.