Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

Feist-Dog woke up early. I ate a peach and a tomato yesterday. He's probably hungry, but for what? I don't want coffee; root beer would be nice.

I've always excused my chronic depression on taking too many shots to the face, and never looking away. There might be some of that. I've always dared the world to tear me down. It's more than willing to do that. At this point, I’m not entirely sure what's damaged and what never worked properly to begin with.

When I was young, I was on a never-ending quest to become physically stronger. If I could achieve it, I'd be safe. So would everyone else. That didn't actually work.

"Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

and the child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, and good and gay."

Imagining myself Friday's child, I was always actually Wednesday's child. Although I'm sure the stuttering didn't help, I imagine it was the roots in my soup that later manifested as ADHD in me and schizophrenia in my brother.

I always listened intently for aural and visual hallucinations because my brother had them. They never came. Driving and smoking one night in the rain, my mercury hit a tremendous puddle and began spinning like a top. Sure that I was dead, I heard a voice say, "You'll be okay. I've got this," and then my car came to a stop.

Back at the fraternity house, I said, "The strangest thing happened.". Brother Weidie said, "You're so baked."

"There might be some of that."

I monitored my cannabis intake closely as I blamed it on my brother's psychotic break. Acid and mushrooms were okay, but they took you out of the universe for most of the day. For people with ADHD, cocaine isn't actually a recreational drug. I was miserable on it.

My father believed that writers had no choice but to become drunks. I found out you could accomplish it without publishing a goddamn thing. Not long after his death, I decided to quit entirely. My pendulum swings too far.

I married an alcoholic. I'll probably never admit that again. I've denied it before. She got angry that I wouldn't drink with her, so I showed her what I could do.

"I just wish you loved me instead of some imaginary vision of me."

It was all marriage counselors and the laying of blame after that. She picked the marriage counselor. A childhood friend. I don't think he ever heard a word I said.

"Why am I paying for this if nobody is listening to me?" That was the end of that.

It's hard to express what depression is. There's a leak in the boiler, and your energy is constantly venting out into the universe, keeping you from building a full head of steam.

There's a feeling that comes when lifting really heavy weight. For a moment, it's "if I fail, this is falling back on me killing everybody." But then comes the resolution to do it. There's usually three strokes: up, down, back up. It's that last back up that tells the tale. Then somebody helps you rack it.

There's a delay while your muscles fill with blood and other fluids, replenishing what you just spent and replacing what you just broke. It's curious, but the whole thing depends on tearing muscle fibers down so they grow back larger.

I've been taking some full-on shots to the face lately. Some of it I can't talk about. Some of it I write about incessantly because it involves us all. I keep my counsel and keep my secrets.

Wednesday's child is full of woe. It's inescapable. Some depressive people are suicide risks. I've never been. I write about it to destigmatize it. Nearly everyone is touched by it. The idea terrifies some people. Knowing that I have the same feelings but make different choices makes me not terrified. I can and have cut the rope to lower the body, sharing a moment of understanding with the dead.

Calling it a "choice" is probably the wrong word. They came up with a different solution to the same problem. I can't judge them for that.

"Woe" suggests regret. My only regret is for the things I did not do, although I probably couldn't change the future.

Feist-Dog knows where my heart is today. It's not here, but it's nearby. I might get fried chicken and three vegetables today. Watermelon is a vegetable, ain't it?

We all pull our wounded bits inside or cover them with bandages. Imaginary dogs are pretty good at seeing through that.