They say if you don't like the weather, just wait. So it is with moods: if you're in a bad one just tuck in and pause 'cause it'll pass. But there are some moods that are different than such bright forcasts suggest. I write of the ones brought on by depression, that wet, dark creep that sucks it all out and hauls it straight down. I've had it bad, where I've looked in the mirror working to smile and walked off amazed that the face just wouldn't take it try as I might. That's depression, man. No amount of will or self help or exercise or Jesus can fix it. Over the summer the shrink observed that it had come back and it's a testament to what a furtive creep the misery is that I was shocked. Really? I said. Yeah, she said, and put me on a low dose of Lexapro. Two weeks later and paint me amazed, shocked at the difference -- no laying on the couch unable to move, for starters. How lucky was I, and every day I thanked the gods that I was fine again. So when that stiff-legged mongrel stalked me out from the forest edge this December I was genuinely hurt. No, no, no, don't give me this I said but Mr Lexapro just threw up his hands and said, can't help ya no more. I went a month like that, black, immobile, and doubly depress 'cause I thought I'd licked it once and for all. Then when I finally got in to the shrink and described my despair she said get off that Chantix, the drug I'd taken to get of the nicotine, I'll bet that's it. I stopped right off, figuring she was wrong or that it'd take a week, but in hours -- hours! -- the black funk had lifted and I was looking in the mirror at a face that smiled with ease and on its own. I will not be cocky about this 'cause it's a fragile brew those pharmaguys have bubbling in this head.
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