Reporting From the Den

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Instead of Depression

try calling it hibernation.
Imagine the darkness is a cave
in which you will be nurtured
by doing absolutely nothing.
Hibernating animals don’t even dream.
It’s okay if you can’t imagine
Spring. Sleep through the alarm
of the world. Name your hopelessness
a quiet hollow, a place you go
to heal, a den you dug,
Sweetheart, instead
of a grave.

-Andrea Gibson

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I know I’ve shared this poem before. I’m sharing it again because a.) it’s keeping me alive right now and b.) I’m currently hibernating in a quiet hollow of hopelessness, unable to imagine spring.

I’m reporting from the den I dug my sweet self instead of a grave.

Depressive episodes are nothing new. I am no stranger to crippling darkness. And yet, I am always surprised by the heaviness.

My only goal right now is to preserve my humanity. Since numbing is no longer my go-to coping mechanism, feeling it all is required. I don’t want to be hardened by the world or my circumstances. I want to remain soft and tender through it all.

The first two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy have kept me company as I nestle into a cave of nurturing nothingness. I’m surviving each day by anticipating an evening cry sesh with Meredith Grey. Creating a safe place to lose my shit keeps me from hardening. It’s my way of sleeping through the alarm of this calloused world.

---

When someone falls apart
don’t try to put them back
together in your image

In fact, don’t try and
put them together at all

that’s not your job

instead - lay on the ground with them
and scoop as many of their broken
pieces into your hands as you can

and every now and then whisper to
those pieces

“This is not forever.”

that’s your job

-John Roedel

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I woke up with a pounding headache. It’s a beautiful 70-degree late August day. Summer is fading into fall—my favorite time of year. Instead of savoring every ray of sunshine, I’m beating myself up for feeling blue, for craving Meredith Grey.

I wish I knew the duration of this hibernation.

I wish I knew how to pull myself together enough to enjoy the day.

I wish I knew how to put all of my broken pieces back together.

But that’s not my job right now.

My job is to snuggle up in my cozy den and fall apart.

My job is to lie on the ground with myself and scoop as many broken pieces into my hands as I can.

My job is to whisper to those pieces this is not forever.

Grey’s Anatomy theme song

It’s hard to say how long I will remain in this quiet hollow, the place I go to heal. I will do my best to keep reporting from the den. As Ernest Hemingway says, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Thanks for preserving my humanity by holding some of my blood.

This is not forever.

Progress.