There Is Happiness in Cleveland

The Sunday rundown. Remixing Depression. Bosch. Are you Okay? Bill Knott. Pema.

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Feelin like Affleck

Our family vacation was derailed last Sunday when I, along with what appears to be half the population of America, tested positive for Covid. We were supposed to spend the second half of the vacation visiting my family in the Poconos, but we spent another week in Cleveland instead. A true bummer, but life is nothing but unexpected derailments, so much so that we should never be surprised by bad news. Besides, there is still happiness and love inside this house. The physical discomfort was fine—soreness, coldness, coughing. (There were also lots of mid-day naps, which are always fun.) And considering there are more dangerous consequences for many other people with Covid, we’re totally okay.

But I know I’m having a depressive episode as well and that’s dragging it along longer than usual. I’m trying to figure out what’s real, what’s my brain, and all that.

I brought three books with me on vacation. All Fours by Miranda July, A Pirate Looks at Fifty by Jimmy Buffett and my underlined and folded-up copy of The Pocket Pema Chödrön. Despite all my downtime, I can’t get through the other two books, which is always a tell-tale sign I’m wobbling. Instead, I struggle through two paragraphs and then reenter into the comforting darkness of the scroll. I’ve stopped by Twitter-X more than I have in years. Do I need to see what someone named Aaron Rupar posts about all the political shit-fighting? How did I even find him?

But once I get bored of that, I suddenly wander over to Instagram to cool off, only to get caught in one of those engagement bear traps full of reels that seduce me with the most insane prompts.

It goes like this: I’ll be shown an ominous highlight of a giant wave taking apart a fishing boat, and the text over top of it will say something like, “Wouldn’t it be great if there was a page dedicated to only watching the ocean destroy things?” And my brittle, gray brain will wake up and be all, “Yes, please!”

After I watch all the footage of the ocean swallowing fishing boats, surfers, and beachfront property, I need more of this chaos filth, and it’s served to me almost instantly before I can even blink twice.

“Wouldn’t it be great if there was a page dedicated to

… animals mauling humans? … car accidents on icy roads? … terrifying Japanese amusement park rides? … armed robberies gone wrong?

Then, when I finally blink twice, it’s always 3:47 AM.

But how are you?

Our September Check-Ins run next Tuesday—so we need your help. Tell us what’s up with your recovery—share your triumphs, setbacks, or wherever you are. Wanna help?

The perfect length is 150-300 words.

Here's a GREAT example of what we're looking for.

“I feel like an asshole–like I'm regressing. I met a friend for an outdoor lunch, and it was full of awkward pauses and talking over each other, like a fucking Zoom meeting. She drank pink wine, ate half of a $27 salad, and told me about her air fryer. I'm sweating all the time.”

EMAIL ME HERE: ajd@thesmallbow.com subject SEPTEMBER CHECK-IN

It will be published NEXT TUESDAY.

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(We also donate $25 to the Katal Center each month on behalf of TSB.)

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As a bonus, here’s a remixed essay about finding the right medication mix after a major depressive episode surrounded from 2020. After that, you’ll find the usual recovery rundowns and readings. Race you to the bottom.

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The Brotherhood of Depression

May 10th-June 13th, 2020

I spent most of May recuperating from a major depressive episode, one which my psychiatrist recently categorized as a “good setback.”

For the past several months, I took 5 mg of Abilify per day and 100 mg of Lamictal. Abilify messed me up, but it made me scarily productive. I’d wake up intermittently throughout the night raring to go write, but I’d make myself wait until 4:15 a.m., although by 3:45 a.m. I'd had more than enough sleep. 

My creativity was peaking and expansive. I was full of ideas, and, most importantly, I could execute them even with three children (all under three) occupying many hours of my day.

Here was the downside of Abilify: Every morning before breakfast and every night before dinner, I’d have panic attacks. They vacillated between minor (“my chest feels tight”) and psychotic (“I must get to the ER because two fish oil capsules are caught in my throat, and I am about to die”). The former was annoying, and the latter disturbing.

I’d also self-diagnosed esophageal cancer, testicular cancer, and a mysterious deteriorating bone disease. One time I thought I’d accidentally poisoned my whole family with carbon monoxide because I left the car running in the garage for approximately 30 seconds. I was nervous about driving, flying, and even gardening because of rattlesnakes. I only ended up in the ER once—there were no fish oil capsules stuck in my throat. 

Still, my writing output had never been better. Who needs sleep when the fires of creation are burning bright? My psychiatrist wisely switched me from Abilify to 50mg of Gabapentin to better regulate my sleep. She also upped the Lamictal to 250 mg. 

After the switch, I cratered. I became overtired during the day and restless at night. I reverted back to a terrible sleeping habit where I’d lay facedown on the couch all night with the television on at a very low volume. I sleep-watched hours of Bosch, which is to say I didn’t sleep very well at all. Everything is familiar…