Γιὰ τὶς στιγμὲς τῆς ἀπομόνωσης.
A winter's day
in a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
gazing from my window to the streets below
on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I've built walls,
a fortress deep and mighty,
that none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
Its laughter and its loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Don't talk of love,
but I've heard the words before;
it's sleeping in my memory.
I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I have my books
and my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armour,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain;
and an island never cries.
A happy number is defined by the following process. Starting with any positive integer, replace the number by the sum of the squares of its digits, and repeat the process until the number equals 1 (where it will stay), or it loops endlessly in a cycle which does not include 1. Those numbers for which this process ends in 1 are happy numbers, while those that do not end in 1 are unhappy numbers.
I once read a phrase, by some poet I think, about how everything had turned gray and all the virtue seeped out of the world. That's exactly what it's like when you're depressed. Only it's not just the world -- ιt's you. You don't willfully look at the bad side of everything, it's just all you can see. Or I can see, when I'm having an off day. And I'd had a double-off day. As in off my meds as well.
But I do need to explain that she did straighten me out about one thing. I was feeling rotten about fucking up my meds and causing so much trouble. But she pointed out it's not that I'm immature, it's not that I'm irresponsible -- it's that, just like an ADHD child can't focus, sometimes I just don't notice my meds, especially during a manic cycle. It's my condition, fighting me. If anything, some blame goes to Mom and Scarlett, for getting complacent because I'd been good for a few months -- they need to CHECK my meds, not just remind me.
According to Catarina, Dana's therapist diagnosed him as having "the self-esteem of a cold pancake." And it's not just when he's depressive -- I'd gone through my memories of the week and found heaping platefuls of putting himself down in little ways, most of them disguised as jokes. So while yes, I had just thought about their relative social standing, I still whispered back, "You'd think she'd WANT to be seen with the best-liked boy in the school."
I must have shown my guilt, because Dana put hand on hip. "Do I have to give you a lecture about not taking the blame for things you can't help?"
"Ah, no -- Dr. Thea does that just fine. I can practically recite the speech from memory."
"Then do so."
As we dashed to our cars through the rain, I tried it. I think it helped.
"I'll THINK about it," he said. "I'm not supposed to make any decisions on off days."
He probably wasn't, though surely Dr. Thea was talking about anything suicidal. Though maybe he classed taking on a teacher or administration suicidal. Yet with his popularity and trust, you'd think he'd have enough clout. Then I mentally bopped myself in the forehead. Oh, right, that would mean VALUING himself. Stupid depression.
After we'd wiped our tears away, and stopped our third bought of renewed giggles, I finally managed to say, "I have to admit that was a remarkably painless puncturing of a crush -- not that I have much experience dealing with crushes ON me."
Dana snorted. "I don't see why not -- a guy like you must be fending off crushes left and right."
Which just brought back all the old empty feelings back. "Yeah, right," I said sarcastically.
"Okay, what the heck -- no, sorry, what the FUCK is that about?" She glared at me. For a moment -- ONLY a moment -- I kinda regretted the New Bullshitless Dana.
"You know," and I gestured helplessly at my chest, "a guy like me."
"Just because you're on an off day doesn't mean you can't face the truth. You are THE best-known kid in this school and while I won't say you're universally liked, because the creeps you help keep down don't like you, you're the least DISliked. Just because you're not part of the 'official' social structure doesn't mean you're not popular. You have your own authority. Just look at how kids do what you say, when you put yourself forward."
"Uh ... "
"And don't you say that it's just because they're afraid of you because of your condition, even if they don't know what it is. I think, Dana Smith, you've been using being bipolar as a shield to keep anyone from getting too close for far too long."
I don't know what it is -- I mean, Dr. Thea's been telling me this, in different permutations, for a while now. Maybe it was the bluntness. But for once, I believed that last statement.
