Don't you know that there's no devil? That's just God when he's drunk

Things are going pretty well for me, emotionally speaking, considering all the crap going on that I posted about last time.

I think back to the time when I was seriously depressed when I lived in LA - serious enough to be medicated and in group therapy three days a week plus one-on-one therapy twice a week - and look at what was going on in my life at that point. And the answer is: absolutely nothing. I had a good job that I liked okay and paid me well, I had my own apartment that I could afford, I lived in a place of (almost) perpetual sun, I had plenty of friends and was not lacking for dates*, et cetera. And I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. I lost 30 pounds because I wasn't eating. What was the problem? I have no idea.

*This, of course, was before I met the fabulous KB.

Now, with all this stuff going on, I feel pissed (at my father) and sad (for my grandfather and our family), but I don't have that awful, bleak what-is-the-point-of-it-all feeling that I did back then.

They say depression is a genetic disorder, a chemical imbalance just like diabetes or high blood pressure. That's true, but I also think part of it is this: my brain likes a crisis. Car accident? No problem. Once the initial "Oh shit this isn't happening" moment is over, I am cool as a cucumber; I'm all about calmly exchanging insurance information. Sick family member? I got it covered. I can Florence Nightengale with the best of them. I do well in emergency situations. I thrive under pressure. It's when things are hunky-dory that I fall apart.

But even that simplistic explanation isn't enough for what going on with me right now.

You know what I think it is? I think it's Nolan. Not just in the sense of "Oh, I have a baby, I'm too busy to be sad" way, although that's certainly part of it. It's hard to be depressed when you have a 9-month old who wakes up happy every morning, a giant smile on his face. I try to get up before him in the morning to have some coffee and a few minutes to myself before he gets up. When I hear him talking to Grover and Purple Bunny (his two crib buddies) over the monitor, I go up to get him, and when I walk in the room, he's so excited he starts kicking and yelling like crazy. He loves being awake. He loves being. He fights sleep because he doesn't want to miss anything that might be going on while he's asleep. It's pretty difficult to be a cynical crank in the face of that.


Look at that. How can I stay sad, or mad, or depressed when he looks like that?

Thanks for reading.