ACCOZZAGLIA

every time i slip and fall into depression, it ends up feeling more severe than the last time. it’s also getting harder to summon the strength to stand up to and recover from it each time.

i guess this means that if one is susceptible to this disease, a successful recovery becomes harder to reach each time a relapse occurs.

it’s cruel.

yesterday, it seems, was National Survivors of Suicide Day. this struck me personally as slightly perverse and ironic. it happens to be that the last two 23rd of Novembers i’ve lived through have contained the deciding moments that question the extent of my own inner strength.

i don’t know if i’m really as strong as people presume i am. while i have been able to endure so much from others who have tried to chip into my resolve, it may be that the only person that manages to poke right through to my fleshy, vulnerable soul is me.

apparently, i don’t cope well when every card is out of my hands. when i feel powerless to effect or sway my fate, i lose hope. i collapse. my heart cracks. and i break.

and there’s always a trigger behind it all, compounded by a heap of stressors, that brings me to the point where even i’m scared for me.

this time, it was that two-week contract that was never confirmed or secured to begin tomorrow.

see, i’m very broke. this has fueled a debt that i never, ever wanted to incur ever again, and despite my most diligent efforts to assuage that from ever facing me again, somehow i blew it. again.

it’s back with a vengeance.

since arriving in Everett, i’ve done everything i know how to pin down and locate contract or permanent-related gigs. under no circumstance, i told myself in september, would i allow myself to get into the dire situation of being without paying work. and retail isn’t below me, either.

then i realised that i’m thirty miles from the city centre, that i’m living in a place that isn’t conducive for ped travel (unlike Uptown) and that the buses here run erratically, with one appearing in front of this complex hourly.

if i were secured a contract in the city, the buses would do the job, since all of them operate during business rush hours. and once i’m in the city, i’m set.

but going anywhere locally — and getting to there before sundown — is tantamount to summoning Rainier to erupt on demand.

on Tuesday, my contact at the Creative Group, Kevin, phoned me about a two-week gig at The Seattle Times, doing graphic designy stuff. he apologetically noted that the assignment paid just $20 an hour.

this wasn’t a problem with me, since $20 an hour was typical in Minneapolis. anything to help me remove this debt from my shoulders — and my conscience — is extremely welcomed. and two weeks at $20 an hour would go a very long way to eliminating virtually all of that red ink. which would, unsurprisingly, return me to a promising disposition.

as an aside here, Kevin seems to really dig me. when i met with him in late October — the day before Paul Wellstone was killed, incidentally — and showed him my book, our meeting (officially, it was an interview, but it didn’t feel like such) went on a lot longer than was originally scheduled. he struck me as the kind of person I’d want to have in my circle of friends should we move past just the ethical capacity of a professional relationship.

besides, he loves Heaven 17.

in any event, Kevin was also informing me that he needed to verify with his client at the Times, Joni, whether i’d be going down there, or whether another Creative Group person was going instead. he assured me that i would know within week’s end, since the contract was to start on the 25th. he also felt confident that i’d be the candidate going down there. Kevin was letting me know this, because he was leaving on a two-week holiday back home to New York City and was handing over his work to his associate, Jessica.

she and i have yet to speak on the phone, on email or in the flesh.

beginning Thursday, i wrote Jessica to verify whether the contract was a go for next week. she didn’t write back. on Friday, i phoned her. the receptionist first said, “hold on a moment,” and put me on hold. then, he returned to say that “she is on another line. would you like me to direct you to her voice mail?”

i found this curious, because the delay while on hold was substantial enough to indicate that he probably spoke with her over the intercom. after all, if she was on the line, he would have been able to know this the moment i phoned, and he would have patched me to her voice mail then and there.

i responded, “absolutely, go ahead. thank you.”

so, i left her a message, following up on what i wrote her the day before. all i really wanted to know is whether this gig was squared away — with or without my help — allowing me to focus on other matters.

she never responded.

and this, compounded upon other residual stressors — like all the questions and insurmountable obstacles i faced beginning september 10th at Eastmoreland when Lauren went under anaesthesia; like signing off one entire social network in Minneapolis because i moved to Seattle; like wondering what i’m going to do about the 80% of my life that’s still holed up in storage (and remembering just yesterday that one very old, sealed bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola i’ve had since the 1980s has all but probably frozen and split open because of the onset of Minnesota winter); like trying to figure out how i’m going to study and pay for an SAT exam so that i may begin classes next fall at the U-Dub (and wondering if i’m even cut out for attending university); like wondering where my income was going to come from since my main clients aren’t going to be needing to do any new stuff until first quarter of next year; like wondering how i am going to pay for these bills; and like the simple question of “who’s gonna cut my hair next?” — was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

when i feel as if i’m at risk for drowning, i reach for anything that’ll keep me buoyant. this Creative Group assignment was that life raft. it couldn’t have come a moment too soon.

without it, what else is there?

i’ve disappointed myself. inherently. further, i’ve put lauren into a difficult situation. she’s never had to deal with a clinically depressed person like this before. she’s never dealt with someone so close to the precipice of wondering whether living any further is a pragmatic direction to pursue.

one paragraph from that Seattle Times article about “National Survivors of Suicide Day” virtually compelled me to simultaneously laugh and cry:

“Sue Eastgard, director of the Youth Suicide Prevention Program in Seattle, said most people who commit suicide suffer from clinical depression. Depression is often undiagnosed or undertreated, and widespread stigma and ignorance about the disease isolates people who might be suicidal, Eastgard said.”

Eastgard is right. and for those who want to do something about treating their own depression, many fall short. it’s because many cannot afford to, since the treatment options can only be reached by those who have money.

ummm, hi.

i can see the fear in lauren’s eyes. she’s frightened. she knows that i’m also scared and that i’ve been pondering lately how my heart will finally come to rest. she knows that i need help. she might not realise that i’m very aware of my selfish motivations of treading down that path of thought, and that in general, i don’t consider myself to be all that selfish. but she may not realise that my vigilant ethics on the matter may be the only thing that’s keeping me alive right now.

most of all, she may not know what to do next.

but when you’re the one in that situation, nothing makes much sense the way it did when you saw it with clear, depression-free eyes.

i’ve made this entry a very closed one. it isn’t private, but it is limited to nine of you, including lauren, who may not see this until she returns to the office tomorrow. she’ll probably be taken aback by how much i’ve said here, when i’ve uttered less than a tenth of these words to her in the last two days combined. i’m just too inward to do much talking to anyone.

finally, i never thought i’d ever hear myself saying this so long as i lived, but i miss my daddy. apparently, the September homecoming affected me deeper than i originally believed.

it’s back to one hour at a time.