by Douglas Young
The thought of somehow struggling out of bed felt like a baby being expelled from a blissfully warm womb into a cold, merciless world. The twenty-five-year-old had battled depression since age thirteen, but had recently felt better dating her best beau since high school. That made his breaking up with her the evening before — without warning, over the phone, and for another girl — even more shattering. She had looked so forward to a lovely Friday night out and was all dressed up only to become a hit-and-run victim of an emotional Mack truck. As inevitable as a seashore’s incoming tide, she felt herself pulled down by a deep undertow.
After going to bed without supper, and hours of reviewing another failed romance, she at last succumbed to sleep, however haunted by disturbing dreams. This time she put up no resistance, resigned instead to be dragged along as a numb hostage.
To face a Saturday alone in her apartment instead of in the arms of the young man she had dared hope to love felt beyond what she could bear. I’d settle for a dog to cuddle. She sighed.
Still not hungry, but knowing she needed to get up to avoid sinking deeper into a dark hole, she at last slowly rose and recalled seeing her grandmother make a great effort to get out of bed. As soon as she stood up, an avalanche of old fears, disappointments, and deep regrets consumed her, followed by the inevitable sadness, as if corking her back into a bitter bottle of quiet despair. She sat back on the bed with her head in her hands. Flooded with thoughts too bleak for tears, how to get through another day was a profound mystery. All her therapist’s advice seemed trivial since she had no appetite to eat, energy to walk, desire to talk, or will to do anything.
Then she remembered the pill a friend gave her at a party the year before when sharing mutual woes. Her buddy’s chemist boyfriend made it in a lab for her to take if feeling super sad.
I think this qualifies, she concluded. Heretofore too afraid to use illegal drugs, yet disappointed with anti-depressants, she asked, why not? What else has worked? I just want a break from everything, and I know exactly where this dreadful day’s desolate path is headed.
Despite some hesitation, she went to the drawer with the small bag given at the party. Out of it tumbled a little purple pill which she held a long time. Exhausted from endlessly analyzing her life and meticulously weighing every risk, she walked to the kitchen, put the pill in her mouth, and drank some orange juice.
Too tired to think, she collapsed onto the sofa to watch the silliest TV sitcom she could find. Her senses too dulled to follow its absurd plot, she passively studied people’s faces and heard their words as if watching a foreign film with no subtitles. Becoming drowsy, she weighed returning to bed but lacked the energy. Some pill. So much for an escape. She rolled her eyes.
Soon she noticed the TV folks starting to bleed into each other, as if the borders of their bodies had become fluid. Squinting, she asked if this was the blurred vision signaling yet another migraine headache, but the usual flashing light was absent. Wondering if something was wrong with the TV, she picked up the remote control to be awed by the movement of her arm which resembled the opening of a hand fan.
Sitting up, she felt in slow motion, like when she tried marijuana in college, except now as if moving through water. Absorbed by her arm, she marveled at how brightly her skin beamed but was startled at how many hairs appeared to stare back at her like a forest of branchless, leaning palm trees.
The TV was now just part of the wall whose paintings, posters, and bookshelves were no longer content to remain still but instead gently blended into each other. The bookshelves were kaleidoscopes of vibrating colors, more pronounced than she could ever recall, and each book projected its own personality, imploring her to hold, caress, and commune with it.
Standing to survey the entire little apartment, she appreciated how three-dimensional each object was, and clean and vibrant. Turning to the window, the morning sunlight seemed more intense than ever, beckoning her not just to look outside, but to welcome all she saw.
Walking to the window was like wading through water, but from the ocean floor. She recalled the opening hypnotic sounds of a favorite Jimi Hendrix tune, “Are You Experienced?”
If you can just get your mind together,
Then come on across to me.
We’ll hold hands, and then we’ll watch the sunrise
From the bottom of the sea.
When passing a table, her hand gently went through it as if leisurely skimming lake water. Touching her oldest cushioned chair, she had an urge to hug it, grateful for all the times it had held her. Standing by the window, she was astonished at the brilliant pink and white dogwood trees, shrubs, parked cars, and every blade of grass. Each row of cars reminded her of a roll of Life Savers candy. When a car moved, it left a trail like a snail, but glowing and pulsating.
Admiring the tall, leafy oak trees in the distance, she was overcome by how bright yet dark emerald green they shone and how intricately detailed each individual leaf was with its unique veiny leaf print. Overcome with an urge to embrace each tree, she imagined climbing the biggest and then felt herself doing just that, rapidly moving up ever smaller limbs and utterly unafraid. Reaching the top, she scrutinized the lovely landscape, amazed by how beautiful everything was, and all in happy harmony. Spotting her apartment window, she smiled and imagined herself back home before realizing she was standing inside again.
The apartment was more inviting than ever, and everything in it struck her as not just alive but pregnant with energy. Each object shone as its own special being, yet everything was balanced and all items were completely content. She was reminded of her favorite class with everyone enjoying the same lively lecture and class discussion.
Recalling her best dreams when she knew she was dreaming and could affect their progress, she reveled in the freedom to follow her thoughts to whatever enchanting place she desired and she was there. But this seemed far more real than a dream, and she felt cradled in a cocoon of bliss that she had never known. No matter where her mind took her, in an instant she could return to where she stood by the window to admire her entirely enticing apartment.
Feeling sleepy again, she lay down on the sofa, not wanting to leave all her new-found friends in the living room. Surveying her surroundings, she saw herself as part of a living surrealist painting, and recalled Salvador Dali’s “Persistence of Memory” with its drooping pocket watches.
Wondering what time it was but not caring enough to check, a sensation electrified her whole radar screen: no fear. After a lifetime of scrupulously guarding against a million dreadful fates, she was seized with the realization that the dominant emotion driving her life had been fear: the fear of failure, hurting others’ feelings, disappointing them, and an endless procession of bogeymen.
Long-dormant memories bubbled to the surface. She recalled her exhilaration after finally jumping from the local public pool’s highest diving board, as well as when she stunned everyone, especially herself, by hitting a softball far over the heads of all the guys who had moved way up to just beyond the infield when she came to bat.
Depression seemed absurd. Instead, how infinitely inviting life appeared, and how urgent the impulse to dive into the deepest end of the pool and utterly without fear. Her mental landscape was awash with all kinds of desires previously thought unfeasible, but now bursting with promise. Nothing seemed insurmountable.
Liberated from even the slightest worry, she sensed a supremely satisfying sleep enveloping her. No longer needing to think, she closed her eyes. With arms crossed and lying completely still, she had but one thought: What was that little purple pill?