Depression colors everything. It affects what someone eats, how they view life, what they are able to accomplish.
I had planned to write today on my blindman book. Today I found out that my youngest son, who has been overseas for almost a year is probably not coming home after all. If that’s all I can think about, how can I write my blindman chapter?
I walked the dog, which usually lifts me from my doldrums. It did briefly. Then I came back in the house that my son is not coming into soon, like he said he would.
Do people intentionally lie to me or don’t they know what the hell they’re doing from one day to the next?
One son came in a couple years ago. He had been living with me for awhile. He announced that he’d had a job interview, was moving across the state, and oh, by the way, he was moving day after tomorrow. Then he wondered why I was upset?
In my day, which doesn’t seem like so long ago, we made things called “plans”. We shared these plans with anyone who might be affected by them. We tried to stick to our plans.
My oldest son is moving soon. He will be farther away from me. I wonder if he’s sincere?
Can anyone be trusted, if you can’t trust your own family . . . your own offspring . . . not to blindside you with a change in plans and act like it’s no big deal.
Here’s an idea. Don’t act like my feelings don’t matter, because eventually I might quit having feelings about you one way or the other. If I am so unnecessary to your plans or change of plans, I guess I don’t need to care so damned much about you.
There. That got written. Probably will only be seen by my eyes, but damnit, I wrote something.
Let’s see if I can find anything to write about the Blindman.
There is a place in Durham where you can enter into drug trials. They’ll pay you to take a certain drug while they monitor the effect it has on your body. This place seeks fairly healthy individuals who are about the same age range as the people who will take the drug – the people that actually have the illness and who might take the drug they are testing, once the testing is completed on healthy human individuals. By the time the healthy humans have taken the drug and are being monitored for side effects, the drug has already passed testing on animals. Or that’s what they told me.
I saw an ad for a drug trial on the bulletin board at work. I wrote down the information about it and discussed it with some other employees. At that time I worked for Measurement Incorporated in Durham. A couple of the guys said they had participated in one of the drug trials. The money was good and it was no big deal.
I called the number. The lady who answered asked if I had time to answer some questions to see if I might qualify. Yes, I did.
When she finished with her questions, she asked when I could come in for a physical.
Well, when did she want me to come in?
We agreed on a date and time and I showed up at the big, imposing building where they would decide if I was healthy enough for their drug trial. A woman doctor came in and did an examination and asked me personal questions. She had someone else come in and do an EKG. She said it looked like I qualified, but they were examining other applicants and she’d have to let me know later if I was chosen.
I hoped to be chosen. The payout for that particular drug trial was $2500. I badly needed the money for the Blindman’s demands.
(This is not a great bit of writing. Dialogue needs to be written in. Settings need to be described. The tags on the EKG comes to mind. They did EKGs frequently during the drug trial. I should remember what they’re like. The reason for the blindman causing me to need the money should be explained and I think it is in a previous chapter.)
This is how I write. This particular book is a memoir. I write the scenes as I remember them. I am hampered here by not wanting to divulge too much info in a blog. Yet I wanted to prove to myself that I could work on my book, even when so depressed I feel like just lying down and crying. I’ve been through worse things than my son not coming home after I had been told he was. I’ll get through this. I’ll make a million dollars off this book and then won’t LET him come home to my new fancy house. Ha, ha. I made myself laugh.
Whatever I write, I print out and punch holes in the side of the page and stick it in a binder. I will do that now with the short narrative I wrote. It is really more of an outline, isn’t it? I see from the wordpad word tool that it is 322 words I actually wrote. There are many more words to be written about that drug trial. I was accepted. It meant I had to spend 3 weeks in that big, imposing building. Some days they did blood draws every 15 minutes. Those were the hard days. Some days I sat and mostly just watched TV. Some days I worked with another participant putting puzzles together. They told us we would get a little crazy before the three weeks were over and we did. We also had to go back a time or two after the study for one more blood draw. I guess they were seeing how long it took for the stuff to get out of our system.
So here I’ve written 435 words total to add to my book about the Blindman. I’ve written over 1000 words total in this blog.
Yes, I can write when depressed. I just have to drag myself to the computer chair and start typing. This crazy condition I have that they say is nerve damage makes it hard to write with a pen, but I can still type. That’s strange, but I’m grateful.