Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

The Perfect Storm

with 16 comments

Is there someone out there for whom everything is going right? If so, raise your hand – someone will be along to take back that which is rightfully mine, and slay you in single-handed combat.
A couple of weeks ago, I thought, ‘I should write more about Good Things – also know as Positive Stuff – also referred to as Happiness!’ And so I waited. And waited. (I’m still waiting.)

Words? I have no words. Well, that’s not exactly true. I have no desire to formulate words, string them together, and write them down – and even if I could pluck the juiciest ones right off the word vine, I’d probably pass. I don’t want to blog, I don’t want to write, and only under sheer force of will am I writing this poor excuse for a blog post. I knew I had to write something – I couldn’t just disappear indefinitely.

What I’m working on:ย  finding a job, rehabilitating my leg, cleaning/organizing our apartment, being around people without stabbing them. What I should be working on: the overwhelming depression that threatens to consume me, and my Bread Loaf submission.

People go, ‘Oh, I’ve been there’ or ‘My mom was depressed a lot,’ but they don’t really understand – or if they do, it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m not so self-centered that I’d say MY depression is so much more tragic and interesting than YOUR depression – but I still feel pretty alone, even though I know it’s really common.

I don’t feel bad. I just feel something between ‘even’ and ’empty.’ This will go on for long stretches of time where I react to nothing, I love and hate nothing. Nothing is the point. This binds me to an anti-reality so real, so desperately neutral and beautiful and intoxicating, that I want nothing else. I only want to stay protected from the real-life things that threaten my false sense of security:ย  eviction, isolation from friends and family, overdue taxes, weight gain, parenting, injuries, unpaid bills, uncertain future, LIFE.

Sure, I’ve tried killing myself before – not in a long time (years upon years) – but it wasn’t with conviction. It was more for the attention, or for the people who’d hurt me that were going! to! pay! Moreover, it was stupid, though it felt deliciously righteous at the time; so many unhealthy experiences do. I only bring it up because I can’t see myself doing that again. I’d prefer a three-year nap in a warm corner somewhere, waking up when the storm has passed and my life has figured shit out. As though that were my life’s responsibility. Right.

If I focus on how I feel, I start to worry. I worry so much that my face gets frozen that way; I worry so hard that I wake up in the morning with a sore, scrunched-up face. I drift off in conversations because I remember getting rejected for a job, or a bill I received in the mail, or the look on my boyfriend’s face when I tell him I’m starving – and that worries me. I worry about my writing, and how it’s suffering from my robotic heart, but I don’t know how to turn the worry faucet off and the heart faucet on. When the heart engages, what I do is cry – about everything – and once I start, I cannot stop. Crying for days at a time isn’t healthy, nor does it help anything at all; at the end of the weepfest, I’m still in dire straits. I’m still going to worry. I’m still me. I tell myself it’s easier this way –ย feeling nothing, losing nothing. I know that I’m lying to myself. I worry about that, too.

Never do I wonder, ‘Where is my power going? How can I pull myself out of this funk? Who will I ask for help?’ because the answers aren’t exactly helpful.ย  1) My power is currently fueling the wall that’s been erected between Me and The World, Fantasy and Reality, What’s Happened (CRAP!) and What’s To Come (MORE CRAP?!). 2) I can pull myself out through any number of ways. So far, “wait for Spring” is my favorite option. 3) I consider asking others for help a sign of strength and emotional intelligence, but I will ask no one. I know that much about myself.

There are future scenarios – real ones – where I find myself without a home, and I’m fairly comfortable with that, though my brain shuts down a little more, every time I think about it. Having been technically homeless in the past, I know how to float, but that doesn’t mean I want to. I’ve got my absolutes – my Will-Nevers and my May-Nevers – but it’s amazing how quickly, in times of desperation, a Will-Never becomes a Reluctantly-Did. Therapy generally follows.

The times I allow myself to feel with a capital F are labeled under “safe”: a hilarious movie, a loud breakfast with friends, volunteering at 826 Seattle, being around kids, going to a party, helping a friend with her wedding. Little things that bring me whole minutes of joy. Minutes. I remember when it used to be hours or days. I remember when it used to be seconds, and then nanoseconds, and then nothing. There’s been better, but there’s also been worse.

I don’t enjoy being around family. I don’t enjoy writing. I don’t enjoy my boyfriend like I used to. Sex, baking, sleep, friends – it’s just a big pile of blah. Can you imagine? Because those are my favorite things ON EARTH, and yet when I attempt to do any of these things, I fail. I fail at connecting with the people I love the most, I fail at sitting down and writing about the really hard stuff, I fail at poking my body and going, ‘Remember when you did more than just gain weight?’ Or maybe ‘fail’ is the wrong word, or too strong a word – but that’s what it feels like, what it smells like. I have a hard time looking my partner in the face anymore because it hurts so much – it’s excruciating. He’s just a mirror for me, and I’m reminded of the mire we’ve walked through, and the battles ahead; I remember a hundred ways he’s tried and failed, I’ve tried and failed, we’ve tried and failed; I wonder if people are supposed to suffer this much, or if we’ve actually suffered at all. I see him depressed, and I don’t know how to help him; I don’t think anyone else sees it, and if they did, I doubt they’d do anything. So I feel as if I should do something – and say what to whom, I wonder? – but I can’t even help myself.

My mom would say, “Is that true?” And I would say no. I know I can help myself because I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Maybe I’m just lazy, or maybe I feel like my nine lives are up. More specifically, maybe PMS, giant life challenges, and seasonal depression have intersected like The Perfect Storm, and I’m being tossed around on a Sea of Crazy. That seems more like it.

What I know is this: I love the Esq more than anyone in the solar system has loved anyone else in the history of ever (I have proof!) – and being together, no matter what happens, is the most important thing. I also know that I can only do what’s in front of me, and that staying in the moment – this shitty, horrifying moment – will do wonders for keeping me here in reality. Uh, yay.

Tomorrow, I’ll write again – not because I want to, but because it will be good for me. I really hate writing these un-funny blog posts, but they keep me honest. Besides, tomorrow’s another day filled with potential for humor and tragedy, two of my very favorite things.


Written by sn0tteh

November 10, 2009 at 9:19 PM

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged with ,

16 Responses

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  1. Your depression is way more interesting than mine. Or at least more productive – you are writing after all. Might I suggest a mushroom-MDMA cocktail? Sometimes the love just needs a jumpstart. I’ll join you.


    November 10, 2009 at 9:44 PM

  2. @Glossolaliac It’s true, I did write. How about a Molotov cocktail? We could split it.


    November 10, 2009 at 9:54 PM

  3. You’re right – these unfunny posts keep us grounded. Life sucks sometimes, and it’s okay to talk about it.

    Badass Geek

    November 11, 2009 at 8:41 AM

  4. I hear you, M. My cat and I send our love. Pearl’s love is especially good because it’s sweet and furry and restorative. Yoga has been getting me through some bullshit. For me, strengthening the body to be a good first step to strengthening the will…to go on. Let me know if you ever want to come to a yoga class. This place is the most healing, accepting place ever, even if all you do is splat yourself into child’s pose for an hour, and is sliding scale. Seriously, it’s been getting me high for weeks now. Hang in.


    November 11, 2009 at 9:13 AM

  5. There’s not a damned thing wrong with un-funny. It keeps everybody honest.

    Not Afraid To Use It

    November 11, 2009 at 11:29 AM

  6. @Badass Geek Amen! Oh shit, now I’m becoming religious.


    November 11, 2009 at 11:35 AM

  7. @Jenny That’s awesome – maybe when I’m able to do yoga (I’m still working on smaller stuff, like walking without my boot), I’ll join you. I actually LOVE yoga, and miss it terribly. Glad I’ll have someone to do it with!


    November 11, 2009 at 11:37 AM

  8. @Not Afraid To Use It Glad we agree. I’m going to have to pop over to your blog – I’m very curious.


    November 11, 2009 at 11:38 AM

  9. I think you should read/listen to Pema Chodron. She is helping me open my old crusty heart after many years of being in lock down. I love you, Marika and I can’t WAIT to hang out with you this weekend. xo


    November 11, 2009 at 3:11 PM

  10. @Sangster I love Pema! Haven’t read her in ages, though. Good call. Can’t wait to see you, too!


    November 11, 2009 at 6:24 PM

  11. @BadAssGeek: I think it’s more that life sucks all the time, but it’s only okay to talk about it some of the times. ๐Ÿ˜‰

    my dear sn…. i hardly know you, and yet, i feel so bound to you after reading this post. if you only knew how much we were alike; we’re so much alike that i know it will annoy you that i just said that. so there!

    the most important thing is that you get out bed every single day. if you’re doing that, then Hoo-rah. once you’ve done that, if writing, singing or cursing someone’s ass out feels like it’s working, then by Golly…do it. i’ve also heard that shameless marketing of blogs you’re writing for does wonders for depression!!!!!

    lee lee

    November 11, 2009 at 7:42 PM

  12. @lee lee Awww, you’re so right about annoying me. ๐Ÿ™‚ But I also really appreciate having online kin.


    November 11, 2009 at 10:41 PM

  13. CHILD, tuhRUST in jayZUS. *Raises hands in the air.* He weel cuhLENSE yore SOUL.


    Keep truckin’.


    November 13, 2009 at 1:19 PM

  14. @nICKI *raises hands in the air*


    November 16, 2009 at 11:42 AM

  15. Holy fuckshit, Girl!

    That SUCKS.

    Sorry you have to go through this.

    I was once at my therapist and he asked me if I had felt as bad as I felt that moment before.

    I said yes.

    He asked me if I had got through it.

    I said yes.

    “Well then,” he said, “you know that you can get through this too. You can come back from this.”

    And that annoying little fact made me feel a nanofloob better.

    On days when I feel like you did when you wrote this post, I shut out the world and hit the couch. Well, that’s not true, first I drag my ass out of the door, with a coat hiding my pajamas, and head to two places. First, the grocery store, where I buy fattening things, most probably Ben and Jerrys. Then I go to the video store and get at least two crybaby movies.

    Then I go home and make the TV make me sob.

    I call it the Chick Flick Crying Trick.

    If you cant get out of the house for these provisions, email me and I’ll bring them to you. For reals.

    For more on the Chick Flick Crying Trick:


    November 18, 2009 at 7:00 PM

  16. Thanks @ittybittycrazy ๐Ÿ™‚ Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.


    November 24, 2009 at 5:58 AM

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