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03.10.03 - 1:28 p.m. lets talk about zoloftt. Well, maybe not zoloftt yet. By all outward signs and checklists im "depressed." yikes. irrational desire to sleep, prone to loss of appetite, intense sad periods, loss of interest in things that once interested me (writing, namely, friends,) loss of self. of course these things: I keep thinking of this interview i once saw with denzel washington and he said "When i was a kid there was no such thing as depression, there was no time, you didnt have time to be depressed because you were always working your ass off." i was raised the same way. No room for depression. But. In some ways i think i might be better medicated. Maybe i wouldnt wake up in the middle of the night terrified and sweating, and maybe the weight in the middle of my chest above my lungs would lift itself, or dissipate at least so that i could take in a full breath. But. What if i never wanted to write. If i felt so good that i didnt need to race to paper in order to reclaim my spot on the ground. In order to breathe a breath that doesnt leave me concerned that the next one wont be big enough to keep me, that the next one will leave my inside black and that i wont be able to see. Zoloftt would keep me from that wouldnt it? But without that one terrible gift wouldnt i be like her and him and her and him and the rest of everyone? Maybe Zoloftt would give me answers to questions that rip me out of sleep, sitting up in bed trying to find myself, to pull myself back in from wherever i was. Maybe zoloftt would enable me to maintain friendships. I dont know. And maybe its not depression, maybe its something else. "Have you ever been diagnosed with any combination of bipolar disorder, alcoholism, or the skin diseases such as eczema or psoriasus? Do you snap at people who ask how your work is going? Whats it to them?Do you fear that someday you will wonder where the years went? If you can relate to the above, you certainly have to obsessive qualities- along with the self aggrandizement and concurrent feelings of worthlessness- that are part of a writers basic makeup. You have something to say, something you may feel desparate to relate, but you have no idea how to go about it. "You are volatile and vulnerable, but the energy it takes to quiet the voices leaves you depressed and listless." And all of a sudden i am everyone. Not even my depression is original. Its impossible to be valid. Im not depressed, im a writer. damn. This means that i have to start writing. Again. Instead of sleeping, or not eating, or ignoring the phone all the time. Im every other person. I hate that. Why do i feel as if the air around me is a different color than everyone elses air, and NOTHING in the world is more crucial than describing that air down to the most transparent atom. Illustrating it, perfectly, so that the world wont end. Its my responsibility. In equal parts crippiling in its demand and empty. If i die tomorrow, nothing will happen. But i will go somewhere that people who dont fulfill their calling go. And nothing could be worse. "First, try to be something, anything else." -- "How to Become a Writer" Lorrie Moore � 
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