TEN WAYS I KNOW I’M DEPRESSED

By Roberta Jean Bryant


1. It’s sunny outside
I know it’s sunny outside
I don’t care if it’s sunny outside

2. I hate myself
I hate everybody else
No exceptions

3. I see everything in shades of gray and black
even rainbows

4. I don’t feel like going to the library

5. I’d rather take a nap than play Scrabble

6. One of my children calls and I find a way to screw it up
I don’t even know what “it” refers to

7. I feel as if I’ve outlived my usefulness
and they’ll be sorry when I’m dead anyway
I don’t even know who “they” are

8. “Cheer up, things could be worse,” I tell myself.
So, I cheer up
and, sure enough, things get worse

9. I am not hungry
and I never stop eating

10. I’ve quit writing
even in my head






CAR TROUBLE

by Roberta Jean Bryant


My 1995 Toyota Corolla is important to me. It’s certainly my most valued possession--maybe more important to me than my small apartment. A recent visitor to my apartment asked me why I didn’t have a sofa even though I’ve lived there almost six years; I didn’t have a good answer for her; it had never occurred to me to question it. The previous twelve years I had lived in a small RV where I did not have running water. If I wanted hot water I heated it on the propane stove. Practically speaking I did not want to drive around with heavy gallons of water in the tank sloshing around. All these things represent choices—peculiar choices maybe, but choices nonetheless. I do love that my apartment has hot water on demand.

My car represents freedom, independence, and mobility. I am currently coping with decreased physical mobility, so being able to get around in my car is more significant than ever. I identify and over-identify with my car. Even though car insurance and maintenance takes a disproportionate amount of my social security income it’s worth it to me. More choices. I do not have any extra money for car repairs; I do budget for routine oil changes.

Several months ago my car was having problems; the heater didn’t work very well; the engine sounded like a 747 when I started it up; there was a funny smell inside. I thought maybe cold weather and old age were affecting the car the same way they did me. I talked to two of my sons about the problem. They agreed that fifteen years old is getting up there for a little car. I was feeling old myself and definitely had problems getting started on cold mornings.

I’d been wrestling with a seasonal depression--wondering if I’d outlived my usefulness. I began disasterizing. Maybe my car had outlived its usefulness. I worried about the car breaking down, getting stuck, or causing an accident. Not my usual frame of mind. Driving was anxiety producing; not fun. Despite all that, I did not take the car to my reliable mechanic, Dave. “I can’t afford it,” I told myself. My head was firmly stuck in the sands of denial. I kept putting off getting it checked out. Making no choice is a choice.

Weeks later when I finally took the car in for an oil change I mentioned the 747 factor. A short time later came the bad news. $800. worth of bad news; something about a water pump causing all the trouble, and them needing to keep my car overnight. And $800. “Maybe I could sell a kidney,” I said in a let’s-kill-the-messenger tone of voice. Not cool. Wrong choice of words, but I felt no choice about getting it repaired.

The good news was that I did trust my mechanic, and he gave me a loaner car. And I had a credit card that would handle the $800. It might take me the better part of a year to pay it off, but peace of mind was worth almost that much.

After ransoming my pride and joy, I tucked my credit card back in my wallet and prepared to drive away. “You know,” Dave remarked, “it’s a good little car; there’s a lot of life left in her.”

Dave’s words followed me as I drove home in the cold rain feeling better than I had for months. Maybe, I thought, there might be a lot of life left in me too. Suddenly I chose to feel better. $800. worth of instant therapy!