The university I attended divided the undergrads into 12 residential colleges, where you lived and ate. The Master of my residential college--a senior prof who actually lived in the building--was a minister. It was NOT a religious university, and as a rebellious preacher's kid, I was convinced my dad had somehow conspired to get me into the one college with a MINISTER at its head!
At the welcome dinner for the new freshmen, The Rev. N. began his opening address solemnly. He launched into what he said was going to be an exegesis from an important text. In his best Sunday sermon voice, he then began the reading: from The Book of A. A. Milne! From which he of course drew delightful and important lessons from the lives of Christopher Robin, Pooh, Tigger, Piglet and Eeyore.
He was a beloved leader who treated me--a wide-eyed Hawaiian from 5000 miles away--like a daughter. He quickly saw that my veneer of confidence was often a shaky act. It would be great to write about him here some day, because he was also an important historical figure in his own right.
But today, I would like to do my own reading from the Book of A. A. Milne, on a topic close to my heart: friendship.
I apologize that after a year or more of being a spunky, silly Tigger here at dKos, lately I've morphed into droopy, mopey Eeyore. I just figured out that I've relapsed into depression. (Gee, ear, ya think?) I made it 19 years of a rough-and-tumble battle with chronic fatigue syndrome without depression--believe me, they test you all the time for it!
And then last year, I came down with honest-to-God depression as a side effect to, of all things, a motherfucking antihistamine, Singulair. I'm allergic to dust, and once the windows come down in the fall, the dust mites and I are locked in a cage match. When one antihistamine stops working, I have to switch to another.
CFS makes me hypersensitive to medication side effects, so I read prescribing info and package inserts with a microscope, grill my doctors and pharmacists, and usually do a test run with samples before committing to a script. But depression was NOT a listed possible side effect, because it was not "discovered" in the DEEPLY FLAWED drug testing process. Only after I figured out what was happening to me--hmm, crying for 30 minutes in the car before going into the gym for yoga...normal, or not normal?...did I go online and find recent news stories of teenagers hanging themselves from suicidal depression from taking this drug. Oops! Last time I checked, the FDA and the drug company were "looking into it."
Stopping the drug didn't stop the depression, so I did an extended treatment program, yadda yadda yadda. Intensifying my already-intense exercise regimen seemed to help the most. But now Mr. D the Grim Reaper lurks, waiting to pounce when I'm physically or emotionally vulnerable. I had some bizarre shit go down at work this spring, and a bit of a rollercoaster in my personal life. In retrospect, this began the process of retriggering the depression. And I started losing my Tigger stripes, turning grey like Eeyore, and began relying too heavily on friends to bolster my spirits. Rather than swinging back at Mr. Depression directly, scythe for motherfucking scythe.
Which brings me to today's lesson, from The House At Pooh Corner. Chapter X: In Which Christopher Robin and Pooh Come to an Enchanted Place, and We Leave Them There:
"Where are we going?" said Pooh, hurrying after him, and wondering whether it was to be an Explore or a What-shall-I-do-about-you-know-what.
"Nowhere," said Christopher Robin.
So they began going there, and after they had walked a little way Christopher Robin said:
"What do you like doing best in the world, Pooh?"
"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best--" and then he had to stop and think. [Pooh meditates on all the things he likes to do with his friends.]...
"I like that too," said Christopher Robin, "but what I like doing best is Nothing."
"How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh, after he had wondered for a long time.
"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh, nothing, and then you go and do it."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh.
"This is the sort of thing that we're doing now."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh again.
"It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."
"Oh!" said Pooh.
They walked on, thinking of This and That, and by-and-by they came to an enchanted place on the very top of the Forest called Galleons Lap...Sitting there they could see the whole world spread out until it reached the sky, and whatever there was all the world over was with them in Galleons Lap...
---
"Pooh, when I'm--you know--when I'm not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?"
"Just Me?"
"Yes, Pooh."
"Will you be here too?"
"Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh."
"That's good," said Pooh.
"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw.
"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I--if I'm not quite--" he stopped and tried again--"Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"
"Understand what?"
"Oh, nothing." He laughed and jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
"Where?" said Pooh.
"Anywhere," said Christopher Robin.
Doing Nothing, but doing it together, is the best part of being friends. As I unwittingly morphed into needy Eeyore, I forgot that, and demanded too much. And didn't leave enough time for just doing Nothing. So in a few days, I'm headed out of town--and away from the keyboard--to be with an old friend. Our plan: Doing Nothing. Together. When I get back, I'm gonna pick up that scythe, and hit back at Mr. Grim D with everything I got. So I can be a better friend. And regain my stripes.
The movie It's a Wonderful Life may have become a holiday cliché, but its message remains powerful. At the lowest point in George Bailey's life, his friends rally around him. The angel who has showed the suicidal man that his life really does matter leaves a copy of Tom Sawyer inscribed: "Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence."
In my 20-year struggle with CFS, I have battled a sense of failure--a label I put on myself as "the least successful graduate of The Class of 19XX." I resisted taking public assistance benefits...until after I became homeless. I have no financial assets of any kind.
My only asset? Friends. My only real achievement? Friendships going back so many decades I need a scientific calculator to add up the years. And new friendships, finally, that have felt as real and strong as the old ones.
There have been staggering losses, too. I have coped with them, grieved them, borne them. The only loss I cannot seem to bear: losing the only thing with any real, lasting meaning in my life.
A friend.
[Huge h/t to SlackwareGrrl for the initial idea of doing a Milne diary.]