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by PNN staff
When I am at my best I make people laugh until they cry. I am the
first up to dance and I drag all the rest of my friends out onto
the floor with me. I decide in an instant where we will go next,
and pick the perfect place. I am the one who calls all my friends
and spills interesting stories into their ears. At these times I
live with a winning smile on my face. At these times I'm all my
friends' best friend.
But some days I have to drag myself out of bed in order to get up.
These are times when nothing I put on looks good. I'm even
embarrassed to go dancing because I'm afraid of awkward dance
movements that look as though I'm trying to get the music off my
body instead of dance to it. These are times when I don't call
anyone and feel alienated when no one calls me. This is when I
feel that I don't have anything to say to anybody, when looking at
the paintings on my walls becomes oppressive because they seem to
be caving in on me to prevent me from leaving my room. At these
times the only thing I have the courage to do is lie on the
Bishop's Bed in my living room and watch the movie Woman On The
Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown over and over again. These times
welcome Bessie Smith's scratchy voice as she sings, "It's mighty
strange that nobody knows you when you're down and out."
It does seem that many friends are only around when there is fun to
be had, but once their help is needed, they stay away so as not to
be sucked into my depression. However in my case, my extended
family, whether they are related to me or not are the ones that act
as my friends when I feel that I have none.
When I'm depressed, I can always depend on my editor Dee's voice
leaving ten minute messages on my voicemail telling me to get it
together and get my next story started. I can depend on my
mother, my roomate and their friends converging after their days at
work. Even though I sulk and say I don‚t feel like talking they
refuse to close their mouths and continue probing me with questions
and trying to make me laugh. They fill the house with warm smells
of lamb curry or lemon and garlic salmon. They pass out the wine
and pile on top of the bishop's bed, with me squeezed in the
middle, to drown out the movie with their talk about men, Turkey,
museums, Cuba, politics, pending trips, food and on and on and on
until my bad mood finally gives up. |
