the corona

why is the sun good for me? because it gives light to my day, which makes me less likely to stumble about from here to there wondering where i am going. when does the sun stop being good for me in this venue? when there is a solar eclipse: when something comes in between me and the sun. if you are interested (or if you aren't for that matter), i will tell you what is good about a solar eclipse: the corona.

about a month ago, my life started feeling like an indie movie. or at least, i felt like a typical character in one of said movies: depressed, lonely, detatched, sad, wanting more but not seeing a way to get it. this is called depression. i couldn't tell you why it started; there are a number of possible causes: the days getting shorter, the cloudiness of the sky this time of year, the chill of the northern hemisphere at large, winter break. anything could have started it, but no matter the cause, i know for sure what had been consistently making it worse: the holidays. i can say it's the holidays that have been making it worse. but not just the holidays; the essence of what is contained in the holidays: community.

everywhere i go nowadays, i am reminded that i am mostly alone. when i go to the store, i am forced to acknowledge that i am at the store alone when i see people my age laughing with eachother and see people with their families at the store doing the disney family things (picking out lights for the tree, having a cup of tea at starbucks, picking out new phones for their family members, having a beer with their brother at the steakhouse, shopping for and with eachother, smiling at eachother). i am also forced to acknowledge my solitude when in every store-front window there is a poster of a smiling group of people that are a unit (family, friends, co-workers, choirs). everything looks so harmonious from the outside. the juxtaposition (contrastive comparison) of their lives to mine is unnerving sometimes, and there is no doubt that this is depression. i have never been more depressed in my life. but you know what makes it worth it? knowing that it is not something that will last forever. knowing that it will end. it has no choice to. the nature of depression is juxtaposition: knowing that there is more that you don't have that you want and not being able to reconcile the two ideas...quite yet. the 'quite yet' part makes the difference between suicidal depression and regular type.

this afternoon, i got in a bit of a disagreement with someone i love very much. and we parted ways on a weird note. not bad, just weird. i got out of the car after we appologized and agreed that we do not understand anything, and then i went inside, put my fish oil and herbal tea in my bookbag and went back out to see my dear friend heather. i honestly was dreading being with her, but not at all because i disliked her or because there is anything wrong with her, but because i knew that communication is an issue for me and i do not possess the capacity to tell her things like i used to. but i got to her house, and we hugged, and i felt her chin on my shoulder and the warmth of her embrace, the feel of her clothes on my neck, and the love, and i was immediately accosted by memories. really effing good memories. memories of a horrible time in my life battling alcoholism, anorexia, panic attacks, depression, and the unbearable lightness of being. things that she was there for that few others were...even if she didn't know what was happening or even that some of it was happening (because even i didn't at the time).

we went to best buy, the mall, target, the pet store, and wal mart. and we talked about the most senseless things: hegelian dialecticism, boxes and whether they exist, dogs, fish, crazy fish ladies, why self-important people exist, her roommate's engagment, marriage, our butts, whether the wayans brothers presuppose the existence of white people in their movies, italian/catholic/jersey kids, and whether Faulkner can be considered civil war era lit (i say 'no,' and she says 'no' too but on different grounds), and senselessness in general. then we went back to her house where her mom was washing dishes after a long day at the hospital, and we watched t.v. and i lit a cigarette and had my herbal tea in hand, and we were sitting on the floor as she wrapped her mom's gifts, and i said, 'do you ever miss smoking?' she affirmed. i replied, 'do you ever feel bad that you miss it?' affirmation again. and that's when it happened: i started crying.

'what's wrong?' she asked.
'i'm so happy,' i said with snot dripping out of my nose and tears running down my face. i did not look at her face, but knowing how facailly emotive she tends to be, i am laughing now at the prospect of what that look might have been. i cried, and she literally (as opposed to metaphorically) went out of the room and got me a napkin and a glass of water, and i cried there not because i was so happy in her presence, but because i was happy but knew she and kenny would leave after christmas and i would be miserable again.

it tends to put a surreal yellow-green hazy light on the situation: happiness, but to simultaneously realize that you will not always be happy.

i compared how i felt to a bright eyes song; don't judge me. it was 'june on the west coast.' the song isn't really about anything specific. it's just about life. it's one of my favorite songs ever, even thought i don't really listen to it anymore. one of the lines from the song had been playing over and over in my brain since we got to wal mart: 'i spent a week drinking the sunlight of annecca california, where they understand the weight of human hearts. because sorrow gets too heavy, and joy tends to hold you for the fear that it eventually departs.' it was the most true thing i had ever heard, next to 'life is like a fine wine. it will not appeal to children.'...and 'it goes well with cheese.'

to recognize a juxtaposition is to acknowledge that at least the idea of juxtaposition exists. i assert that depression has helped me in a weird holistic way. i almost asked for it. i asked God for wisdom two weeks ago, and all i could think to do was read psalm 42, and i was like, 'what the eff, i can't praise God when he's not talking to me,' but the funny thing is that i did. i didn't stop praying and acknowledging God in all that i did (even the less than savory things i did)...even though it felt totally fake, even though i imagined my words to Him coming out of my mouth and falling to the floor, shattering as they landed. even when i felt like my life was a bunch of shattered prayers, strewn about a postmodern ballet studio where life and reality are dancing on my grave asking me, 'are you sure you made the right choice by following God...no matter what?'.

i couldn't stop praying and reading. i had nowhere to go, really. even if i had my old happiness back but did not have God, i would shatter just as easily as i had last october, just as miserably as i had in high school (anorexia, suicide, meth), as miserably as i had in round 1 of college (suicide), round 2 of college (alcoholism), round 3 of college (anorexia, designer drugs, alcoholism), and the workforce (anorexia, panic attacks, solitude). but i did not shatter this time. instead, i hit rock bottom and could look up, because i now recognize that the corona of the sun is only hazardous if my vision is what i'm concerned about losing. otherwise, it is a testament to juxtaposition, a testament to a clash of essences...the reality that sometimes i will feel like my conversations with God are completely one-sided, no matter how much i praise Him and how much i want Him to make me feel loved and happy and He doesn't coupled with knowing how loved i felt before. it's harsh. it's been eating away at me, but i now have a sort of proof that i will still know God even when i don't feel loved and when i felt like most of me died when God stopped talking back.

it is a good thing to feel like most of me died when God stopped talking. it means that i knew Him for at least a season, and it also kind of means that He is with me still...and even if He's not, 'better is one day in His courts than a million elsewhere.' there is nothing that can make me go back to wanting to be who i was before, not even God's perceived absence. to know anything, much less God (outside of whether He can exist) is enough for me. i am content in that i knew Him for a moment. i can die happy now. but i won't die unless He pulls the plug. i'm not even sure if there is a plug that i can pull anymore. i'm not sure i'm even capable of thinking of suicide as an option anymore. to have known God for a hawt minute and experienced His love for 5 months equals the tantamount of a good time.

but the magic is not necessarily that idea, but rather a right hegelian homage to this idea: the magic lies in that i didn't stop sensing the beauty of life, despite my emptiness and crying all the time, random moments of hating life and hating that i was at a boring school with a bunch of people who don't actually know me. 'reality is like a fine wine. it will not appeal to children.' i can dig it. i'm not opposed to depression or even rock bottom any more. i won't go out of my way to get here, but i will not despair when i'm here. in philosophy, reality is a problem to be solved. in Theology(!)*, it is a problem that won't stop answering the question of Theology(!).

THEMES:
Bright Eyes: June on the West Coast.
Tegan and Sara: Where Does the Good Go.
Ke$ha: Your Love is my Drug.
Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit.
Kierkegaard's Anxiety


THE SOUNDTRACK:
Explosions in the Sky: The Rescue.

*! denotes actuality.