Excerpt from my novel in progress about depression, tentatively called "All the King's Men"

As I made my way deeper into The Noonday Demon, I came to a place where the learned Andrew Solomon and I had a slightly different perspective. It’s his belief that “the opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality.” It’s easy to see why he arrives at his conclusion when sitting up in bed is tantamount to climbing Everest. What’s lost to depression is gone forever. You don’t get to double down in hopes of regaining it. The loss of vitality, especially over a long period of time, frequently leads to the loss of hope. With the will to live right on its heels. This is especially true when major depression is Treatment Resistant and repels everything you throw at it in effort to slow it down, if not eviscerate it.   

For me, nothing was more depleting, defeating,  deadening and heartbreaking  than the loss of my Emotional Arc. That 180 degree span that runs from the mountaintops of joy to the dark dungeon of despair is forever eradicated and replaced with an arc that runs from 3 degrees to, if you’re truly lucky, 45.  Four seasons become One. They are not compressed into One, because that would suggest there are vestiges of all the seasons in lesser amounts.  Never again will you embrace  the soothing warmth of a Summer sun, the smile that seems to come as if by request, with a gentle Spring rain, or the stunning poetry found in the changing colors of Fall leaves. For you, one season lives on INSIDE your heart and mind. You won’t be needing skis, sled, boots or mittens as you live minute to minute enduring the killing cold and endless brutality of the one season that remains. The Siberian Winter that is now your life.      

End of year message from Lori and Jeff

(written by Jeff, so don’t blame Lori, aka Lady Sweetness)

I have strong feelings about everything. Yes, that includes tofu, email, and having my 1-ply toilet paper roll over, not under. For the record, 52% of Americans now use some form of Wet Ones. Much as I have great affection and even LOVE for some of those folks reading this, the truth is I hate getting these Novellas at year end telling me what went on during the year… when the people sending them have stayed out of touch for a year. It’s akin to watching Episode 43 of Game of Thrones with no insight into what came before it. Anaxamander just turned three and is wearing clothes for a boy age 5. Great. Who the hell is Anaxamander? We didn’t know you had another child, especially one named after a Greek tile pattern. And the dog, named Ficus got so excited seeing the new pony we got for Bridget (who is THAT?) peed on the pony and now they are enemies. Okay, that makes me sad, but I will get over it. Fletch got a promotion and is now the Head of Lettuce at our local market. He is happy but resents the Head of Cabbage who makes 33 cents an hour more. Speak up Fletch! Then we read that a couple having a new child battled for months over the new name and the child is now 2 years old and called Baby Flossensteiner. I like it. Moving on and I’m sure you can’t wait, these tales from out of nowhere appear in our mailbox without stopping. My response upon opening them and seeing the length and depth of info communicated is to feel my AFIB racing and the need to reach for another Xanax and search for a bookmark. Hemingway wrote shorter books than this. I wish I were kidding but my sense of humor has vanished over night along with my false teeth. Okay—chord change. Most importantly, Lori was diagnosed with melanoma, had surgery in June and Thank God (I do pray nightly) is now free of Cancer. Frequent check-ups needed for a year plus ongoing observation at home. She still works at Primo and loves it and loves them—her other family. Our 42 year old daughter Zoe gave birth to a boy, Sydney, who is as beautiful as his mom.  His dad, Rupert, looks like young Omar Sharif so this is one good looking kid. It seems he has my big eyes and full bottom lip, but I plan to ask for them back. Igby our dog who is 13 or 14 just marches on despite being deaf, almost blind and has no sense of smell, but still signals to me when I need a shower. My Uber Dark Depression is now 41 years old—nuff said.  Lori has great affection for everyone receiving this and a Big Love for so many of you. I like a handful of you and Love 5 or 6 of you but sincerely pray for All of you every night. Focus on your health and try to tap into your spiritual side (I had to rent one). My Biggest Gripe from a list of 94 is that we communicate with one another as if it were the 12^th century. Texting and email is one step removed from writing a message on a piece of paper, putting it in the talon of a bird and sending it on its way. The human voice is a unique instrument. Not hearing a person’s voice or looking them in the eye is bad for the brain and the soul. More than my opinion, it’s neurologic fact. You don’t have to talk to Me, but give it a try with those you care about. Make the most of every day and accept that Life is a continuous series of gains and losses.  When it comes to Loss, what I say to Lori is this:

IF IT ISN’T ALIVE, IT DOESN’T MATTER. 

(IT DOESN'T)