April 11: Just Part of Life, Blue Funks, a Balm

Marvin the depressed robot experiences some guilt over bringing his companions down . . .

"No, don't worry about that," the lilt continued, "you just act as comes naturally and everything will  be just fine."

"You're sure you don't mind?" probed Marvin.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really . . . just part of life."

He turned hopelessly on his heel and lugged himself out of the cabin.  With a satisfied hum and a click the door closed behind him.

"I don't think I can stand that robot much longer, Zaphod," growled Trillian.

Dealing with mental illness is not easy for anyone.  Not for the person with the mental illness.  Not for the person's family or friends.  It's draining for everyone.  I speak as a person who has experienced this from both sides.  It can be all-consuming.

One of the common misconceptions about mental illness (like depression) is that it is easily remedied.  Old school advice:  "just snap out of it" and "pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" and "go exercise."  If those words have come out of your mouth when speaking to somebody suffering from depression, you clearly don't understand mental illness.  A person doesn't choose to be depressed.  Think about it.  That would be like choosing to be diabetic because of all the cool injections you get to take.

I say this tonight as an individual who is in the throes of depression right now.  For the last month or so, the weather in the Upper Peninsula has been spring-like.  The snowbanks have been dwindling, and sun has been in abundant supply.  That kind of weather helps combat some of the effects of my "blue funks"--a term I coined as a teenager for these periods in my life.  Tonight, however, winter has returned (sort of like Game of Thrones).  Big fat flakes outside my window, with the promise of strong winds later.  Just like that, I'm in deep again.

Last night, I did something that truly lifted my spirits.  I gave a poetry reading for National Poetry Month.  It was at one of my favorite places in my home town--the Joy Center, a yoga/art/writing retreat located in the woods.  In the audience were some of my favorite people in the whole world, as well.  Friends whom I dearly love.  They showed up.  We ate kumquats and guacamole and chocolate, and they listened to me tell stories and read poems.  It was a balm.

For the reading, I sort of went on a journey of how I became a poet, which was circuitous at best.  Started out as a computer science major as a undergraduate.  Then, through a series of fortunate events, ended up in a Master's program, studying fiction writing.  That immediately catapulted me into a PhD program in literature, which I found thrilling.  I left that program after three years (I was practically ABD), and returned to my home by Lake Superior, where I worked part time in a bookstore until school came calling again.  This time it was an MFA program in poetry.  Two years later, I had a terminal degree in an eminently competitive job market.  And I just kept writing, husbanding, fathering, teaching, and working.  Along the way, I was elected Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula.  Twice.  Like I said, it was a long and winding road, made easier by good friends and family.

So, I told this tale through a series of poems, a short story, and an essay.  It was a reading that I'd been shaping in my head for quite some time.  And the audience last night (as I said before, some of my best friends) seemed to really like it.

This morning, as I left for work, I was greeted by a brilliant sky of pink and orange and yellow.  As I stood on my front steps, I felt like everything was going to be okay.  Like my life, which has always been filled with detours and side roads, is simply finding another path to something wonderful.  I felt hope, which has been a term that I've been thinking about quite a bit recently.  Weighing its benefits and dangers.  I think that hope, for me, really rests in my ability to accept the present as a gift.  After all, in the Lord's Prayer, the line is NOT "my will be done" but "Thy will be done."  I get in trouble when I forget that little distinction.

My life is not turning out the way I anticipated right now.  I've gone through years of loss recently.  I'm not where I want to be professionally.  Yet, I have joy.  Moments of poetry each day.  Friends who will listen to me and applaud my accomplishments, hug me closely, and say, "You really are wonderful."

Saint Marty couldn't ask for much more.  Thy will be done.  Amen.

April 11: New Snow, Tired of Shoveling, "Spring Snow Storm"

I am looking out my front door right now, seeing my car disappear under a layer of new snow.  A spring snow storm.  Every Yooper expects and dreads this last big blast of winter.  

I'm heading out soon to attend a poetry open mic with a friend.  We might be crazy.  Well, we are crazy, for poetry's sake.

Saint Marty is tired of shoveling.

Spring Snow Storm

by:  Martin Achatz

The weather guy, in his ugly tie,

Predicts six to twelve inches tonight,

A spring storm out of Alaska, Canada,

Winds as strong as cattle trains.

Tomorrow, I will wake to this creature,

This force of different fronts from ocean,

Mountain, glacier, tundra.  I’ve heard

It said a butterfly’s wings, trembled

On African savannah, causes hurricanes

On the Gulf Coast, another flood

In the Big Easy, wipes out Mardi Gras

For good, an oil slick of jazz

On magnolia, pelican wing, bayou.

I wonder if the collective gasp in Japan

After earthquake and tsunami caused

This early spring snow, set into motion

Winds across the Pacific, bore

That shock and grief through salt,

Through supermoon, mixed it with cries

Of caribou and polar bear, brought

It to me, to my home, snow falling

On roof and car, snow on street, lawn,

Gas station, church steeple, snow

Everywhere, heavy as a thousand souls.

Tonight, when I press my lips to my son’s

Fingers, somewhere on this planet

Rain will start to fall in a desert place,

Filling the land with green life.

April 8: Getting You Down, Pig-Pen, Cloud of Darkness

How do you deal with a depressed robot? . . .

Zaphod leaped out of his seat.

"She's not asking you to enjoy it," he shouted, "just do it, will you?"

"All right," said Marvin, like the tolling of a great cracked bell, "I'll do it."

"Good . . ." snapped Zaphod, "great . . . thank you . . ."

Marvin turned and lifted his flat-topped triangular red eyes up toward him.

"I'm not getting you down at all, am I?" he said pathetically.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really . . ."

"I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down."

Again, I totally get Marvin here, worrying about how his attitude is affecting the people around him.  I think about this all the time, with my family and friends and disciples.  Yes, I realize that my blog posts have been less than uplifting recently.  They're sometimes not fun to write, so I'm sure they're not all that fun to read.  I sort of feel like Pig-Pen from Peanuts, walking around with my own little cloud of darkness.

First day of work at my new job.  Showed up at 6 a.m. and scanned medical reports for an hour-and-a-half.  Believe it or not, that was the best part of the day.  I was by myself.  It was quiet.  Didn't have to worry about anybody interrupting me.  I think I liked it because it sort of felt a lot like the job I just left where I functioned independently for a good portion of the time.

After that, I answered phones for the next seven hours.  And there were a lot of calls.  A lot.  By the time I punched the time clock to leave, I had a pounding headache and hated the entire world.  After teaching this afternoon, I can say that my attitude has NOT improved much at all.  And I still have my evening class to get through.

Each time I've changed jobs in the last five years, I've gone through this rough period of adjustment.  However, this time it's been a little rougher because of the permanence of it.  By the end of next week, I will have settled into a new routine, and my attitude will probably improve.  At the moment, though, I feel a little . . . trapped.

If you see me in the next week or so, pay no attention to the storm clouds swirling around my head.  They are just outward manifestations of my inner joy.  Yeah, that's it.  I'm trapped in joy.

If Saint Marty says that enough times, it might come true.

April 7: Low and Hopeless, Trying to Adjust, Shell Game

You are about to meet one of my favorite characters in Hitchhiker's--Marvin, the depressed robot:

"Look, Zaphod," she said, patting his arm, "don't worry about the aliens.  They're just a couple of guys, I expect.  I'll send the robot down to get them and bring them up here.  Hey, Marvin!"

In the corner, the robot's head swung up sharply, but then wobbled about imperceptibly.  It pulled itself up to its feet as if it was about five pounds heavier than it actually was, and made what an outside observer would have thought was a heroic effort to cross the room.  It stopped in front of Trillian and seemed to stare through her left shoulder.

"I think you ought to know I'm feeling very depressed," it said.  Its voice was low and hopeless.

"Oh God," muttered Zaphod, and slumped into a seat.

"Well," said Trillian in a bright compassionate tone, "here's something to occupy you and keep your mind off things."

"It won't work," droned Marvin, "I have an exceptionally large mind."

"Marvin!: warned Trillian.  

"All right," said Marvin, "what do you want me to do?"

"Go down to number two entry bay and bring the two aliens up here under surveillance."

With a microsecond pause, and a finely calculated micromodulation of pitch and timbre--nothing you could actually take offense at--Marvin managed to convey his utter contempt and horror of all things human.

"Just that?" he said.

"Yes," said Trillian firmly.

"I won't enjoy it," said Marvin.

There you go.  Marvin, a robot after mine own heart today.  I am trying to adjust to my new working hours today.  In my old position, I was independent.  Able to prioritize and get my jobs done in my own way during the day.  Not any more.  So, I have been lesson planning all afternoon for my entire teaching week.  Grading quizzes and papers.  Researching.  My mind is slowly turning to mush, and I haven't even clocked in for my first day of work.

Now, let me say that I am grateful that I have a job that provides health benefits for my family.  I am.  However, I'm having a difficult time summoning enthusiasm for this position, which I've held before.  I like my coworkers.  One or two are really, really good friends.  I think the thing that I'm having difficulty with is losing the sense of freedom I had at my old job.  I was sort of my own boss, which I really appreciated.

Now, I'm going to be working long hours for little compensation.  I've been at this whole healthcare job thing for over 20 years, and I have never made enough money to completely pay my bills every month.  It's always a struggle.  I was hoping to land some position which would alleviate this problem.  I didn't.

And now I'm trying to figure out how to pay for the replacement of the radiator in my wife's car.  That happened on Thursday night.  I'm just hoping that's all that's wrong with it.  We really can't afford an additional car payment if her engine is toast, as well.  That is why I'm a little discouraged heading into this new job tomorrow morning.  It seems as though I'm going to be working for the rest of my life, and that life is always going to be a shell game of money.

Stop reading this post now.  Please.  I'm whining again.  Feeling sorry for myself.  And I shouldn't.  I'm at my mother's home at the moment, and I'm watching her wander around, confused, talking to herself.  She's really confused today.  My sister who has Down syndrome has been wandering back-and-forth,too, from dining room to living room to bathroom.  Since my father died, I've watched them both decline pretty rapidly. 

So, my job worries and money worries really are nothing compared to what they're going through.  I am so lucky to be able to think and work and write and go to movies and correct papers and tell jokes and write blog posts. 

Yet, I find myself struggling.  This morning, I simply wanted to stay in bed rather than face the day.  I'm sure I will feel that doubly tomorrow morning.  I'm not sure if I can call this state I'm in depression, but it is certainly robbing me of motivation and energy.  I've been sleeping a lot more than usual.  Small tasks seem like Everest expeditions.  All I want to do is stay home, read, write, and take naps.  That's it.

Maybe Saint Marty should just call in sick for the next, say, five years.