There's a great moment on the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young live "Four Way Street" album where they introduce a song with this gem:
"Here's a song guaranteed to bring you right down. It's called Don't Let it Bring You Down."
The problem with a blog that is, at least sometimes, autobiographical, is that you can worry people.
I've mentioned before that my mom shies away from reading this blog for fear of running across a depression post.
On Monday, a dear friend (who reads but does not post here) noted the awkwardness of the fact that he'd read my most recent post on depression, but without that, he wouldn't know. I seemed pretty level-headed and engaging. So should he ask how I'm feeling or trust the bleakness was passing and not call attention to it?
And then there's the outpouring of warm fuzzies (both posted and privately delivered) that follow such a post. You guys are awesome. Thank you.
But I don't mean to trigger a comfort mechanism or make anyone feel awkward or sad. Sometimes getting it all out on paper (or in electrons) just helps.
And another friend who reads but doesn't comment tells me the blog can be a boost for others struggling with depression a little less publically (narcissistically?) than me. She comes to mind sometimes when I post about this stuff.
As does R., Mistress of Evil. We've never met, but if anything I write here is helpful to her or evil-e, so much the better.
For me, until they do, love, friendship, Tofranil, Klonopin, tutoring, worship and poker with the guys will get me through.