Summer Lightning

It seems that summer here in Minnesota goes faster than it does elsewhere, maybe because everybody is dreading the return of the nasty winter that is guaranteed to follow. And this year, the late arrival of spring is contributing to this seeming rapid passing of summer. In any case, I'm certainly not looking forward to another bleak 6 months that are a trademark of of life near the Canadian border.

My last post was far too long ago, back in the latter part of June. It was a remembrance of an old friend from Los Angeles, and my depressions, coupled with the sorrow of losing him, have made it difficult for me to write, to even believe I have anything worth saying, or even if I do, to even believe I can do it well. Which brings me to this day's musings. Isn't it strange how one "aw shit" can wipe out at least one hundred "attaboys?" How difficult it is for so many of us to believe anything good about ourselves, and when we finally struggle our way to some positive feeling, just one little negative or hurtful moment or situation can wipe it all out.

After I turned in my M. A. thesis lo these 24 years ago, one of my thesis readers, a former Chair of the English Department, telephoned my house and left the message with my wife that it was probably the best thesis he had read in 25 years in the Department. You'd think that such praise would be enough to convince me that I was a decent writer, but no, not me. People such as I are so used to self-loathing that it's nearly impossible to get us to feel positive about ourselves, accept to good in us. Let me present a recent situation that might illustrate.

I am now attending a Senior Outpatient Program, which is group therapy 3 times per week for people who suffer from mental problems, mine being clinical depression. One of the group members is a retired corporate executive who earned an MFA in Creative Writing while he was serving in his capacity in the corporate world. When he asked me what my thesis topic was, I told him that it was E. E. Cummings, a groundbreaking poet of the first half of the 20th Century. His eyes lit up, and he quoted a Cummings poem verbatim, finishing with a big smile. He said he'd like to read my thesis, so I brought it to him.

Then I couldn't believe the praise he later gave, such "strong" and "muscular prose," an "excellent writer." How I enjoyed hearing that! But two days later I was in the emotional dumps again, having nothing to do with writing, poetry, creativity, or anything I could put my finger on, just in the emotional dumps. What in the world happened to us that we have such a difficult time just accepting ourselves, not to mention feeling the least bit good about ourselves? I wish I could pinpoint what happened; then maybe I could finally erase it all. But probably not. There are some candidates for the events I'm looking for, but I doubt if it's any one of them, probably all of them in combination, mixed with whatever chemical imbalance contributes to depression.

This near life-long depression, which has ebbed and flowed, will probably never completely disappear. At this point, I'll be grateful if the depression can just be corralled and I can feel some happiness, however small, however brief. Maybe when our bankruptcy is over we can feel some relief, if not happiness. For the time being, we can just put one foot in front of the other and move slowly forward. I hope.