A Sunrise Over Boston Creates an Echo Chamber

It’s marvelous when I can get up in the morning and depression doesn’t stand in the way of my appreciating a rosy-fingered dawn. This morning, I was out smoking my pipe and feeding, watering, and providing some catnip to a stray cat when I looked eastward and saw such amazing colors cast against a neighbor’s windows, and then in the sky against a low cloud cover that I actually said to myself, “holy shit is that beautiful.” It’s just the bee’s knees to be able to witness such beauty and appreciate it. It looked a bit like this…


One can look so calm, serene even, when suffering through the unspeakable torment of depression and anxiety. You can throw withdrawal in there when talking about me. But who cares? These are my problems, aren’t they? We all have our afflictions, tender parts that make us wince when touched. So we all lump it. The human race, collectively, is made up of billions of people who are smiling and laughing past their particular afflictions. It’s admirable, because they usually aren’t doing it for themselves. They are doing it in order to comfort the people around them. Even the people who bitch and moan probably hold back so that loved ones won’t worry so much. Why wallow in self-pity if it can be avoided. Misery spreads like a plague. But this morning the moment was my own. Nobody was around. So I must be feeling better, right? And that enjoyment of a simple thing will spread in my mind, and transfer through action, in one fashion or another, to my wife. She worries about me as I worry about her. And if I feel a little better,that echo chamber of emotion will reverberate back and forth. Hopefully, she’ll notice and feel it. Hell, I might even brighten someone else’s day, while travelling on the subway, waiting in my psychologist’s waiting room, and to my psychologist herself. She’s a, “pain psychologist,” and her expertise will be part of my treatment for chronic pain. I’m curious.

That said, the fear of depression re-emerging is still there. I despise it, and that fear will also resound. It casts a shadow that will also fall on others. So I’m a bit of a mixed-bag of positive emotion and heart-rending glare. Hopefully the positive part of me, the part that appreciated that amazing sunrise, will cast a greater light than the darkness of fear.

On the subway. I’ll be on it later today, after a short but cold walk to the station. With any luck, I won’t stumble on the ice and “biff it,” as Nancy says. I did the other day, fall that is, on a sidewalk strip of ice. We’ve gotten use to ice this year, and the dangers it provides. When I fell I did it like a professional. Like a training ice dancer, used to falling again and again and again. First to my knee, then over like a top. An expletive later and I was up and walking again.

They are talking about temperatures rising to 50 degrees later in the week, and it will be welcomed with glee. Adieu, ice! I’ll watch you melt, and be pleased. Nancy worries, as I do, about her falling. Her bones are, “low density” according to tests she has taken to find out that sort of thing. My memory turns back to an event when I was younger. While I stood at the bottom of the stairs in my flat, and my mother fell down the stairs that go from our living room up to the bathroom and upstairs bedrooms. I heard her hit the bottom foyer (if you can call it that) and her right hip snapped audibly. One of those things that I’ll never forget. This wasn’t long, perhaps a year or two, before she died of cancer. Her broken hip was just one more event that robbed her of her will to live. She would later say to me, “Why did that have to happen?” It didn’t, but it did. She complained, but not as much as I would. It was a last straw for her, and I sense she looked forward to death after that. How’s that for dark.

We’re expecting two to three inches of snow today. Not much, but enough to hide the ice underfoot. Very tricky. And we wait for those warm temperatures. I know I am. I generally enjoy the snow, but not ice. It scares me. It doesn’t take much and it happens often that someone gets badly hurt by a fall. My fat ass will provide ample padding if I fall. It’s Nancy who I worry about. A lot. And she has two appointments to today to my one.

A painting my Joseph Turner that also reminds me of this mornings dawn. Indulge me. Look at those colors.


And he moved in there and found everything he needed, or thought he needed, to slap together a productive and enjoyable day.


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.
Gallery | This entry was posted in Autobiography, cats, depression, ice, love, Mental Illness, movies, sex and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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