An Open Letter

Dote – Robin Callaway

Yesterday I cramped I think, and I remember thinking so vividly of the pain. And more importantly I thought of how I let it pass, and sit and endure it. That’s it. Nothing else but to stop pushing it and let it happen. I don’t fear about it never passing or the muscle tearing or it being some big massive problem that I need to fix, but rather just something transient. I don’t push myself or freak out much but rather just do whatever I can to minimize the pain as much as I can to let it settle. Then after a bit of enduring it if it’s bad, once it gets quieter to the point where I’m just afraid to see if it rears back up, I gently begin to test. I still vividly remember the pain but still know that eventually the pain goes away and I just need to test to see if I’ve hit that point yet. And if I do I can softly push a bit more and more all while being gentle, small massages on pain points to acknowledge them and to hear it out. But I don’t need to obey the signals of pain, and often after being heard and getting to speak the cramp fades out, and I can tenderly resume life.

One of the ruthlessly efficient things depression does is convince me it is all there is. If I do not change something, it will permanently reside. It swears by it so violently that it pushes my hand for desperation, to which I try to massage it and fix my life in ways I think it needs. And when I do the things I see in my control, I press the buttons and flip the levers I see and nothing changes, that is when the last trigger I can click floats back into my head, and sits as a comfortable option. It’s something I feel at least in control of, because otherwise I’m trapped to an infinite hell with no escape.

But this could just be a lie it tells me, overplayed, and swearing by its residency. It is more like a cramp than it wants me to believe. Maybe I just need to be gentle to myself and not try to convince myself I’m not in incredible pain, and it’s more just a bleeding out or suffocation that I need to endure. And I can endure it because I know it will end. Funnily enough I won’t even remember it after it ends. So I need to just be a bit kind to myself and not do things that will make it worse, the same way I shouldn’t try to walk or flex the muscle while it needs to be heard. I can almost feed it empathy by acknowledging the sweet moments in life I give it, similar to how grief needs to be fed before it subsides. And so I’m here in a beautiful view on the stairwell listening to the new album I found that is incredible, and I’m not really happy. I feel tired, fogged, exhausted, drained and empty. And it’s ok because this will be part of the meal I feed depression for it to subside. And I will be kind to it since I do owe it for a lot of the blessings I do have now. Adversity causes growth and so I am grateful for that. And I will endure this.