Wednesday, May 31, 2017


I've got limited time to get this out of my head and get it out there to You. I've temporarily been left alone by my captors and the coast looks clear. I'm left sitting in the back of a dark van and they've left the radio on to the hip hop station and Blue Scholars is like milk chocolate covered caramel for my starving ear drums. My hand cuffs are off and I can finally stretch out my legs. I don't know when they'll be back so I gotta work fast and get this out...

Here's the deal-yo.  
For the past ten months, I've been Depressed as Fuck. 

Morning-after-morning of stone cold paralytic anxiety. 
Afternoon-after-afternoon of hair pulling indecision. 
Night-after-night of numbed out TV time. 

One of the many ironic symptoms of depression is your mind tricks you to behave in ways that only make it worse. It makes you instinctually isolate and remain silent, like a lonesome salmon caught up stream during the off season. And so, I haven't been able to connect with other people when connection is what I have needed the most. I haven't been able to write, or take pictures, or even look at social media. Because social media only makes depression worse. It's like heroin. Seems like a good idea, but slowly kills you every time you turn back to try it again (I have not done heroin, but I've watched enough Law & Order to make this comparison).

During the past ten months, I've had only a handful (like, I can count on one hand) of times when the smog in my brain has lifted long enough for me to feel like "myself" and this is one of those times. It is no mystery as to what brought it on. Sleep deprivation is a classic remedy for people like me. When I say people like me, You know what I mean, so I'm not even going to say it. I've gotten off of my Let Freedom Ring Horse and instead long ago jumped onto the Stigma Bandwagon myself. It's like I was the President of Hair Club for Men and Also a Client then decided to shave my head and denounce hair all together (yes, that was a nod to my girl Britney).

Up until a few hours ago, I didn't even know if I'd ever make this blog public again, and now I'm doing my trademark move and airing out the laundry, the dirty dishes, and just shaking cobwebs loose to anyone who clicked on this link. Why do I do this.

Why do I publicly confess and let my frazzled neurons air out in plain sight? Because I need to. I need to do this. I need to be me. Be a writer. Be a creative person. I need to add to the collective, very-common-yet-often-concealed human experience that is unattractively referred to as "mental illness."

Why am I writing this? Because outing myself is my last fighting grasp at getting better. Every day is a fight and I don't want to fight alone anymore.

So, there it is. I'm restarting the conversation. I'm sure as shit I'll regret it after I fall asleep and wake up to what I've done. But, nothing is happening. Weeks, months, holidays, seasons and nothing is moving forward. Nothing is changing for me. Yet.  So I need to move the needle, even if that entails throwing myself on a social media grenade. 

There it is, folks. No baby pics. No quips about the cabin or excited plans for the upcoming weekend. Those are completely acceptable, but they do not encompass the entire story. This is me, this is real, this is now. This is human.

This is Depression.
Now. Let's get up and go get 'em.

Confession Complete,


  1. Thank you Susan for doing this healing work in a public way.

  2. We don't really know each other but I care about your recovery. I'm so glad you reached out to fight the fight. You have got this. It's a slow road sometimes but the journey is so worth it. Life is worth it. Your family is worth it. Don't stop doing what you are doing. Your village is out there.