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Bereft of Rage

It's been a tough couple of weeks.  A man I've known for over thirty years, a musician, a comedian, a friend, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather; took his final breath - leaving my dearest friend and her family grieving a foundation piece of their hearts.  On hearing the news, I packed a bag, and made my way to them.  No other reaction possible.  They needed support. 

I listened to their stories, added to their tears, and said farewell to a man who defied death on many occasions.  He fought so many times over the years, that in my mind, he was 'The Incredible Living Man'.  Doctors, specialists, and surgeons; all had told him he wouldn't make it - but he kept on making it.  He refused to let go, to lie down, to give in.  During the ceremony, while his family wept, 'that' poem by Dylan Thomas was reverberating in my brain:

Where did he find the strength to fight, to rage, so valiantly?  What was he fighting for?  All I know is that I have no rage.  No desire to fight. 

This all reminded me of one of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, who died in 2015.  He'd been dealing with Alzheimer's for several years.  Though he died a natural death, he was a highly vocal advocate for assisted suicide.  He was so very angry about losing himself, his ability to write.  He didn't want to live as the shell of a person who 'once' was him.  He wanted to say goodbye as himself. 

What the two men have in common, one fighting Death, one welcoming it; is rage.  Neither prepared to "go quietly". 

My next thoughts were: what's wrong with me?  'well DUH, Depression lives here!'.

See, life is something you should be passionate about.  Depression takes away passion; as it takes away the ability to see joy.  Life has become something I do.  I've clawed my way past actively seeking an end; but if a gentle goodnight appeared, I'm pretty sure I'd go quietly.

I stayed with my friend and her family for several days.  Fighting the bungee of exhaustion that was pulling me back to bed.  I listened, gave hugs, wiped away tears, made cups of tea, and drank whisky.  When I could feel the bungee beginning to fray, threatening to snap;  I came home; and by golly that bungee snapped me back HARD. 


Not only do I feel tethered to the bed by that bungee, I'm so out of energy, cups of tea are the most complicated thing I've made for myself since.

I'm tired.  All the time.  I see people around me striving, reaching, driven, passionate; about all sorts of things - from the simple to the challenging; and continue to wonder 'why?'. 

Derri.
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