The Blue Demon

It’s 7:44 in the morning, and an appointment with my therapist is impending, scheduled for 1:00am. Dressed and ready to go, and have been since just before 5:00am. It’s nerve-wracking, this therapy business. This will be my 20th (or so) session with her, and she is very good. No Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), which, in my experience, sucks. Her approach is different, which is why I still go to our appointments, and make more of them.

Drama. But depression is so boring. So let’s try something poetic.

It’s out there and it can hurt you badly if so inclined. If it finds you, you can’t hide, just forget about that, it won’t work. You can’t run from it, and you can’t out-think it. It’s smarter than you, faster than you, and can ruin your life, and possibly kill you. You may be able to fight it, but most of the weapons available to you are weak, probably too expensive, and may do absolutely nothing. A lucky few, perhaps 4 or 5 out of 100 will find the weapons to be efficacious.

An odd way to describe the effectiveness of a weapon against what sounds like some sort of monster…”efficacious.” Naturally, I’m writing about depression, mental illness in general, and therapy and pills as ammunition against it. I’ve given mental illness a monstrous, wicked personality. Oddly enough, that is the best way to think of depression and anxiety. To imagine it as a physical manifestation, out of the mind itself and a thing out in the world. If only it were true. I’m suffering from that awful affliction right now, and it’s much worst than a demon, devil, or fiend. Words fail me in describing depression. Some things are beyond words, something that writers hate to admit. I’m not even sure that it’s true. I’m simply disinclined to try…I lack the ability. But boring…that’s close.

Richard Burton calls it his, “Blue Devil, ” in Night of the Iguana.

I’m writing this because I’ve been dead-alive off and on for year. Some people who care about me are worried. I appreciate that more than they know, most likely. I’m feeling a bit better. Check out the interesting MRI below.

Thank you, friends and comrades.

Clinical depression, not “The Blues”

About Darren W. Lyle

I'm certifiably insane (I have the paperwork), collect old typewriters (got one?) and am 45 years old. I've 3 pets, of course, and have thoughts. Some aren't good, some are. some are funny, some are just there, but I'll post them when I'm of a mind to.
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