[stylist] Writers and depression

[EJ Kobek]

Ooh, Bridgit,

Very intense and full....There's so much there. Esp. "pink-handled
scissors" - very evocative of youth, innocence, vulnerability but
lethality....We tend to think that innocence will protect us from
despondency, as a culture...Thanks for passing those bits on.

I think this topic- writers and depression -  is a very special topic, and
that we "owe" a level of consciousness to each other, as part of this
writing community. A level of honesty, and dipping into these kinds of
things. I haven't been on the listserve very long, and I imagine this topic
has come up before, and I am glad it came up so I could see it and be part
of it.

Best wishes warmly to everyone.
Helen

On Tue, Jan 27, 2015 at 3:24 PM, Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter <
bkpollpeter at gmail.com> wrote:

> This doesn't directly relate to Helen's prompt, but as I lack time right
> now, I will share two exerps from an essay published last year in a
> publication titled 13th Floor. It addresses depression, bullying and
> suicide. The piece in its entirety is available in 13th Floor on Kindel or
> the Kindel app.
>
> The bell rang for recess, and Mrs. Petat's second-grade class came to
> attention. Each child sat still, but our pent-up energy raced around our
> features. A hushed frenzy waiting to explode.
> We rushed in lines of order as our teacher released the class. The barrel
> of
> balls and jump ropes emptied in a succinct fashion. Reaching the door to
> the
> playground, our line of whispered buzzing erupted into shouts and giggles
> as
> we stormed the yard.
> Sarah tossed me the end of a long red jump rope, and we started the ancient
> swing known to children world-round.
> Laurie jumped in first as the chant began. Soon I rolled into a well-oiled
> maneuver. The motion of the swing remained steady while Laurie and I jumped
> in unison.
> I jumped in and out never skipping a beat. We laughed and shouted as each
> girl took her turn, and our chant mingled through the noisy playground.
> Laurie and Chandra replaced Sarah and I as we kept the motion, never
> skipping a beat. Sarah and I danced to the back of the line, catching our
> breath through bursts of giggles.
> The rhythm of the chant reverberated through my body, tingling. My long
> ponytail whipped around my body as I spun on my heel, ready to enter the
> arching rope spinning round and round.
> Giddiness prickled my skin as an effortless leap slid my skinny body into
> the winding motion of the game. I smiled, but something had changed. The
> chant was different.
> "Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
> I glanced at Laurie and Chandra still whipping the rope around. Their faces
> concentrated on the task at hand, but their mouths wiggled with escaped
> laughter through the chant.
> "Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
> My feet scratched against the cement jumping backwards out of the motion.
> Facing the line of jumpers, their expressions seemed mocking. The chant
> halted as kids around the playground pointed. A laugh thundered through the
> yard. Tears nipped my eyes.
> A group of boys corralled nearby, snickered. "The DIE-abetic's gonna' cry."
> My mouth opened, but words seemed like the enemy at the moment. Holding my
> breath, trying not to cry, my feet trudged to the edge of the playground.
> Leaning against the red brick of the school, my body took on the stillness
> of the stone pricking my back.
> A stony isolation left me at the edge, unsure how to find my way back.
>
> Second exerp:
>
> Life it seems, will fade away
> Drifting further every day
> Getting lost within myself
> Nothing matters, no one else
> I have lost the will to live
> Simply nothing more to give
> There is nothing more for me
> I need the end to set me free
>
> Curled up in a corner on my bed, I sobbed, my head resting on my knees.
> Screams hovered in my throat. No one to talk to, to cleanse the poison from
> my soul.
> Swollen eyes searched my room for any remnant of hope. I wanted something
> to
> tie me to this world, an anchor that made me one of them.
> Happiness seemed easy for some. Inclusion was my goal, to be normal. Too
> much weighed me down; these jagged thoughts pierced me to the ground,
> unable
> to join the world.
> Cruel words piled up like dirt.  Slut, whore, tramp-- it did not matter
> that
> I was a virgin; the gospel of rumors is truth.
> Pink-handled scissors whispered tantalizing possibilities. Suffocating,
> unable to move, death was inviting. Escaping this enclosure was the relief
> I
> sought.
>
> Consumed by emptiness, you sought a final solitude. Unaware of the future,
> you saw only today. Unable to dry the flow of tears, you stopped the flow
> of
> blood. Your enemy's words were endless, but you deafened the sound with a
> blow.
>
>