As perhaps you already know, things tend to come in bursts here. The good and the bad. You may get several posts one week, none the next.
If I were talking too much about my own personal ups and downs here, that would limit the value and scope of this blog. Instead I keep trying to share things that I feel might be relevant or interesting to many of us.
But once in a while I want to tell you something, and am searching for words, only to find that my depression stands like a wall between me and the words that I need. This is such a time.
In short, yes, I just feel terrible at the moment. A bit like this:
And I know that when I feel this hopeless or even cynical, my words are not likely to help you one bit. I am sorry, but right now I cannot help it.
Well. Let’s honor someone else who, while tormented by deep depression, still was strong enough to find the words and a voice to leave something of value to us all. Jazz singer Susannah McCorkle, who with her unique ultra-simple, honest, direct, unadorned style never failed to touch some nerve. If we would call most singing something like dressed-up singing, then what she did with her voice was more like naked singing.
In May 2001, having fought serious depressions for many years, Susannah McCorkle jumped off the balcony of her 16th-floor Manhattan apartment. She had kept the full depth of her depressions so well hidden that for most people, her suicide came as a shock.
I don’t think we should follow her example, but I do think I can understand. I also think she deserves to be remembered – and remembered with respect.
Here she is with Waters of March, a kind of spring song that is half in English and half in Brazilian Portuguese, but I guess the English part is clear enough. The song’s last four lines are the same as the first. Translated:
a stick, a stone,
it’s the end of the road,
it’s the rest of a stump,
it’s a little alone.