The Hollow Woman: or, the way the World ends —

Depression is a funny creature. Just when you think you are in the clear, She sneaks up behind you and pulls you back in.

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot

My friends, I thought I was Better.  Until one day – one unexceptional, indistinguishable, average, imperfect day.  I move forward – thoughtless – keeping myself just busy enough to not realize, not to see, not to feel what is going on just beneath my skin.  But as soon as I slow down – as soon as I stop – like a gas lamp going out in the Night, so does my false facade of contentment spark against the darkness only to fizzle out into Nothing.

It truly is queer, though, how She corrupts each of us so differently, consuming us, demoralizing us, devouring our souls – imbibing our very Life blood.  Some of us become paranoid, fraught with anxiety and worry, not knowing whom to trust or otherwise; others become enraged, our anger striking down the very ones to whom we proclaim our great Love; still others seek sanctum in substance.

I, however, just shut down.  Like a factory that mindlessly works to churn out this product or that and gets suddenly closed for business, my gates are shut and padlocked, my machines – until recently productive – sit still gathering dust in the Quiet, and my ideas, my unsold product, remain strewn about the disquieting space to decay.  I suppose you could say that, for me, it is all or nothing.  And maybe this goes back to what I said about not being able to enforce boundaries and about not being able to insist that my needs – and, yes, even frivolous fancies – are respected, but once I have given away too much of myself, I need to take the Time to step back inside myself.

Wouldn’t it be just so superbly easy to make myself understood to my friends and family?  One would think that it should be simple in the face of one’s own gratuity to say, “Hey, this is what I need” – or even, “What you are asking of me is just not okay.”  Unfortunately, it’s just not that easy.  I’ve heard that this is a characteristic of people similar to me: We feel that, at least by those close to us, our needs at any given moment should just be understood.  As irrational as it sounds, I feel neglected, abused, hurt when I am not understood without words.  Maybe it’s because I spend so much time thinking about others and understanding their needs that I can’t understand why not everyone is like me.  But…

they’re better off that way –

not being 

anything at all

like me

Anyway, I think I’m feeling better now.  You should be hearing more from me.  I just felt as though I owed the World, the Internet, my readers an explanation.  Thank you for being there, it makes a girl feel like She has purpose.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune

Clair de Lune, Paul Verlaine


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