charley horse

some people describe their depression like a veil that fogs their view. living in shadows and blurry lines, confused and dazed- everything unclear. or existing in a movie you can’t pause or fast-forward or leave the theatre for a better show.

for me depression has always been more like a hangnail, a headache or a charley horse. a pain invisible and not incapacitating but always present; nagging me and hungry for attention. i used to try and starve the beast. i thought if i ignored it, it would go away or at least fade… at so many parties in college i remember leaning against walls to hold me from collapse, gripping a plastic cup brimming with beer, my fingers so taut they often cramped from the tension of holding on… always holding on… i would smile and laugh but one hand or shoulder or elbow was always touching that wall. i couldn’t move. i remember feeling if i let go I would fall… down, down, down.

i was always a good actress. i could step out center stage and shake things up! people cheered and rushed to greet my arrival, but no one really knew how much i paid for each performance. each hour of stardom cost me many more in retreat, deep in the dark, silent and alone in my room, gently licking wounds i couldn’t see and didn’t know how i got them. sometimes my roommates thought i wasn't even home… so quiet i became in my recuperation.

i learned later on in college, if i gave in, gave myself a metered amount of time to wallow and then forced myself back in the game, i could more effortlessly turn on that light that glowed, attracting people to me like moths, warming hearts and charming, always charming. sadly, i never understood that people liked this person standing in front of them; i only thought of turning out a convincing performance. and so, i missed out on some real relationships, some real feelings and genuine experiences because i was always living behind the character. hiding the charley horse that pinched in my chest.

i can still play through the pain, though i want to less and less. it is a process learning how much you can reveal and still hold on to yourself, learning how to balance what is inside and what needs to be on display in a range of practical circumstances. but you eventually learn, like with everything, sometimes you succeed and sometimes you fail. funny enough, most people pay more attention to the victories than the defeats. small mercies, bless them…

in real life there are no medals awarded for vaulting with a broken foot. we soldier on because that is all we can do.