Spontaneous Musings

After watching the film The End of the Tour, I hunted information on David Foster Wallace , mainly because as I told a friend tonight over the phone, Foster Wallace had the life that I thought I wanted.

In 1997, Wallace received a MacArthur Fellowship, as well as the Aga Khan Prize for Fiction, awarded by editors of The Paris Review for one of the stories in Brief Interviews—"Brief Interviews with Hideous Men #6"—which had appeared in the magazine.

In 2002, he moved to Claremont, California, to become the first Roy E. Disney Professor of Creative Writing and Professor of English at Pomona College. He taught one or two undergraduate courses per semester and focused on writing.

But, as he states to Lipsky in End of the Tour, "you don't really want my life." And he's right.

For all the praise he got, he got criticism as well. And there's nothing worse than creating a critically acclaimed masterpiece and being expected to write the next one. The pressure is insane.

Here's a philosphical commencement address he gave in 2003:



The speech is basically about being mindful or present in our lives. To not sink into the default setting of unhappy consciousness, where I am the center of the world and everyone is in my way,
and life is tedium -- due in part to the egocentric focus.

What's so sad...is he was unable to live this way. Depression plagued him throughout his career, finally claiming his life at the age of 46.

Wallace committed suicide on September 12, 2008, at age 46. Wallace's father reported in an interview that his son had suffered from depression for more than 20 years and that antidepressant medication had allowed him to be productive. When Wallace experienced severe side effects from the medication, he attempted to wean himself from his primary antidepressant, phenelzine. On his doctor's advice, Wallace stopped taking the medication in June 2007, and the depression returned. Wallace received other treatments, including electroconvulsive therapy. When he returned to phenelzine, he found that it had lost its effectiveness. His wife kept a watchful eye on him in the following days, but on September 12, Wallace went into the garage, wrote a two-page note, and arranged part of the manuscript for The Pale King before hanging himself from a patio rafter.

I find it bewildering that he gave up when I pass homeless men and women on the streets of NYC daily who don't. And yet, at the same time, I understand it. For I too have fallen in and out of that well of despair.

And I wish I could say he was the only artist lost to us in this manner...so much has been written about depression, in condensed simplified form, as if it can be easily explained and easily cured. We do not live in a one size fits all world, I want to scream from the rafters. Depression has many causes and can take many forms. In mythology it is described as a dark night of the soul, where much like Eurydice or Orpheus, you are journeying through the underworld, wondering if you will ever see the light.

The worst and most dangerous type of depression is "physical depression" -- usually caused by biochemical imbalance in the body, mind and nervous system. Sometimes it is caused by diet, others medication, others food sensitivities, and others no one knows. Having experienced two types of physical depression, I can attest that it is by far the worst and it is the closest I've come to taking my own life - but the will to live is strong in me, apparently, because each time it hit me -- I sought help immediately. And unlike David Foster Wallace and Robin Williams and Warren Zevon, I was able to come out the other end.

The first time was due to an interaction between medications. I've learned that I cannot take Benadryl or Progesterone, without being thrust headlong into a scary physical depression. That time, my flist saved my life by suggesting I check the medication that I was on. I did, and felt much better.

The second was due to diet - I'd developed a leaky gut, and what I was eating was causing me to spiral between anxiety and depression...to the point that I thought I was having a nervous breakdown. I went to church one day, and just looked up and asked for help. One woman saw me, and gave me a name of a woman who could help me. I was taken off all sugars, grains, dairy, nightshades, starches, chocolate, alcohol, and given various exercises and assignments, also massage. She basically saved my life.

The third time? I fell off the diet a bit and accidentally ingested glutens, which sent me spiraling into another physical depression. Now, I'm back on the straight and narrow.

All caused by biochemical imbalances. Not that many people have experienced physical depression, although quite a few have. And it is the leading cause of suicide and drug abuse. It's also hard to diagnose correctly and treat. Also you can go from being perfectly fine, to clinically depressed without any explanation. That's physical depression. Forms of physical depression range from post-partum depression (a hormonal change occurring after pregnancy), bi-polar disorder, clinical depression, going through withdrawal from anti-depressants or another form of medication, interaction of meds, certain food sensitivities, or an injury or trauma to the body. Seasonal depression can also fall within the category of physical depression.

Symptoms of physical depression range from: crying jags or inability to stop crying, crying at the drop of a hat, lethargy, an inability to get out of bed, not caring about anything, loss of appetite,
overeating or binging on one food in an attempt to feel better, not changing clothes, or caring about personal hygiene, fantasizing about ways to kill yourself...

If you find yourself experiencing any of the above symptoms - call for help. Physical depression is no one's fault. Don't let anyone shame you about it.

Emotional depression is a bit less intense. But also dangerous. This is often caused by losing someone close to you, a job, homelessness, despair, injury, etc. And can sometimes lead to physical depression.

Mental...is the easiest to survive and get past, and pretty much what everyone on the planet has gone through at one time or another. The sense that one's life is futile and there's no point, but you deal, and let go of it after a bit.

I still struggle with mental and emotional depression, but I find it easier to overcome than physical depression. Each time I experienced physical depression...I managed somehow to find help. I've been lucky. Not everyone does or can.

Try as I might, the above feels somehow overly simplified. It's an individual thing; if it wasn't it would most likely be easier to treat. And people like David Foster Wallace would still be alive. He tried to stay alive..but his depression was an ongoing illness that turned out to be terminal. Just like Robin Williams, Sylvia Plath, and oh so many others.

One of the reasons I adored Buffy the Vampire Slayer, particularly the sixth season, was the writer seemed to grasp the dark night of the soul...and expresses it beautifully in the episodes Bargaining, Afterlife, Life Serial, and finally the Once More of Feeling song "Going Through the Motions".
In that series, the main character states that the world is hard and bright and bitter. That dying is easy, life is hard. But it doesn't have to be...and when she finally digs herself out of her grave and resurfaces...she finds herself in a beautiful forest, hand in hand with her sister, looking at the sun and bright blue sky. The world open with possibilities.