Thanks for continuing to read

When a poster on a blog like this stops posting, usually one of two things has happened: either they’ve hit a significant remission and have somewhat lost interest in all things mental-health-related, or they have taken ill in a way that keeps them from writing, usually either a severe depression, hospitalization, apathy, or the black hole, in which there is nothing to say. And, I guess, sometimes they die.

Usually they come back to writing sooner or later, good for the second group, not so good for the first. As far as I know, there are no reports from anyone from the third group hasn’t returning to blogging.

I, unfortunately, belong to the second group, have had a tremendous crash-and-burn. I’m not sure why I’m writing now, and I apologize for the quality; it is written through a haze of legal psychiatric drugs that makes it difficult to stay conscious, let alone coherent or eloquent.

I just wanted to say that the other night, I went outside in a miserable state, where there was no peace to be found – not in drugs, not in music or poetry or adventure novels, not in trashy magazines, and not in sleep, which, anymore, is haunted by nightmares. I sat under the stars and smoked a cigarette. The moon was half full; soon, it will be full, and then, after that, the next time it will be full, it will be Passover.

And I thought: I really would have liked to see another Passover, that holiday I love so much, when I really do feel the holiness in the air, the meanings, the social and the mystical. The elision of time, when it is that same night as it was so long ago, in which we start out bound and by the end, hopefully, will be freed. And the merging of the physical and spiritual – the tastes of the bitter and the sweet.

I always loved Passover, the one time when my skepticism and atheism faded into a sentimental belief in magic. I would have liked to see this one. One more. One more full Nisan moon, one more race to bed before midnight. One more hope for Eliyahu to come and save us from this sorry world. To save me, on the wings of the Shechinah.

But I just know that it isn’t going to happen. That I won’t have one more Spring. I think it’s too late now. I’m too far lost, beyond a way back, beyond where I can even want one.

And finally, after all this time of numbness and dead souls, I sobbed. I could imagine something, anything, that I did want to see, would have liked to see, to be there for. Knowing that, I could sob. Not for missing the rest of my life and not for the gruesomeness of death or hopelessness or suffering, but for the simple, plain, yet cosmically significant idea that  I really would have liked to make it to Passover. One more time, I would have liked to feel that. And I most likely won’t.

Just that. I am beyond missing future adventures, past beauty, beloved books and books to come, future love, past love, present people and the spectacular world around me. I’m far beyond mourning any of that. Those things all have lost the hold they once had on me. I don’t love the things that I used to love anymore.

But I would have liked to see the Seder table, one more time, the poetry and ritual of it, the full moon, the sense of blurring of boundaries between present and past, the individual and the symbol, the present reality and the hope for a better day. I would have liked…to just be there this Passover. And oddly enough, when nothing else could, that was enough to make me cry. I was sort of surprised I still could.



  1. I am sorry.

  2. I understand that nothing that is said will make any difference. However, having been there I hope that you are able to find your way past all this pain.

  3. I am not sure what to say, but I wanted to leave a comment.

  4. Things could turn around. You could be sitting at a Passover seder in a month. I’ll be thinking about you.

  5. Sara, why are you sorry?
    just say this: it’s gonna pass, it’s gonna pass, it’s gonna pass
    and i love you.
    from Milo

  6. Hi Sara,
    You will see another passover. This feeling you are engulfed in is one so familiar to me. It will get better. I promise. I am going to e-mail you my pdoc’s blog address because he just wrote about hoplessness and chronic depression. I was feeling like you when I read it and it helped me.
    P.S. Your writing, as always is beautiful, haunting and eloquent. It is your gift.

  7. I thank you for making the effort (considerable, I’m sure) to write & let us know how things are, even when they’re Not Good. Your words are as beautiful as ever.

    The depressive mind is a conniving and convincing liar. It will try everything possible to trick you, but somewhere inside I bet you still know that your mood disorder is cyclical and episodic. It’s cyclical and so you will not always be so convinced that love and life are impossible for ever more. I can’t tell you when the change will come or that you’ll be capable of joy in time for Passover. But do take heart in withstanding the moment, one moment at a time.

  8. Good on you sara for discovering that you still have the ability to cry!

    I still think someone should turn on the lights in this blog so I don’t need my night vision glasses when I come a callin’


  9. Oh…. I was afraid this was happening and it breaks my heart.

    I know you can’t feel any hope about that next Seder, but I believe you will sit at the Seder table and feel that magic again. I will be thinking of you as we sit at ours.

  10. I keep coming back, trying to figure out what to say, what to write. I don’t know… One day at a time.
    Email me anytime, even just to bitch.

  11. Infinite love sister

  12. You said

    “I’m not sure why I’m writing now, and I apologize for the quality; it is written through a haze of legal psychiatric drugs that makes it difficult to stay conscious, let alone coherent or eloquent.”

    Even with all the expressed sadness, it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve read. It is because you wrote from your heart. Only a person like you can have such deep feeling and perspective. You know it is your strength and your weakness at the same time so that should bring some joy even if it’s a conjured thought.

    I am Bi-Polar I. I’ve had three manic episodes in my life. I had two when I was younger at the age of 19. I thought I out grew it, now at the age of 44 I just had another one about 9 months ago. I’m on lithium now.

    I read some of your other blog entries, they are wonderful. I understand the feeling of awareness and unity with the world. Sound emotion and color come alive as if we were standing right at the viel that separates us from G-d. It all comes with the “gift” just as you say. I came to the same conclusion that it’s a gift too, albeit while I was manic. Once stabilized on drugs then it became a curse. After 9 months now since my episode I can use the wound and become stronger for it. The religious people of the world speak of a creator and his creation with words while we actually feel and live or think we are in touch with the untouchable.

    Cautious of my own illusion, I too await a new dawn in time when the day will never set. I look for a new day when my Yeshua will come for me as a burst of light wiping away all sadness and tears. It will be a wonderful day when all the barriers of the flesh, mind and sin are done away with. The things of darkness that separate us from G-d’s presence will be gone. And I won’t have to take lithium any more! Yippee!

    On a side note, for the past four days I’ve been experimenting by not taking my one pill 300mg ER. I’ve continued to take my night dose 600 mg. Today the fourth day was the first time I felt moments of real joy. Then at other times it’s almost as if I can feel the lithium carbonate, like a mild headache or suppression wave in certain parts of the brain. I get those a little stronger when on a full dose.

    I don’t know if you write back but what do you think.

    Thanks for this blog, keep up the good work even if you can’t “feel” it. See you at the next Passover.


  13. Thank you to everyone who commented. Usually I do write back to everyone individually, but things like that are just falling between the cracks lately. But every word is appreciated deeply.

    Tony: if I changed the colors, then I wouldn’t have the stereotypical depression blog.

  14. Hey Sara–

    I read this a few days ago [I always keep up, even if I’m not commenting], and I’ve thought about you a lot since then. I didn’t comment then because I didn’t know, exactly, what to say [I still don’t, I suppose]. Maybe because I know how often words seemed insufficient when I was in that black place. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about how stunning the writing of this one is, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about Passover and how much I hope [and believe] you’ll make it there.

  15. Hi Sara
    I’ve just started to read your blog and it really knocked me for six. I can identify with some of what you write and I also am overwhelmed by that big old black wave of sadness and desperation that hits. I’m always surprised to find that I’ve managed to keep my head above water again, although I do take a good dunking.
    All I can say to you is what I say to myself. ‘This too shall pass’, it’s the only truth there is to hold on to. Thank you for making a difference to my day and I wish you well.


  16. Oh, dear Sara…i don’t know what to say…what ever words of comfort i could bring to mind i have probably already said, in one poor effort or another. But i am sorry. So v e r y sorry.
    Today i came home from yet another hospital stay to find my husband had covered our wedding portrait with an old t-shirt…after days of tears, i felt almost nothing….save a rather numb feeling.

    My love goes out to you Sara…as you know, i know about the darkness…and the pain…….

  17. I’ve been reading some of your blog today as I like to find out how other people cope with their forms of depression and lives compared with my own. I have no idea how you are able to manage such a high pressure life along with your mental disorder. I believe you are an incredibly strong person even in the face of your disorder and I for one really want you to be here next passover.

  18. Hello.

    I just wanted to add to the small chorus of voices.
    I found your blog a few months ago.
    I’m 28.
    I suffer from some kind of fast-cycling bipolar due ot a sleep disorder, that between the both of them have created chaos in my life, lots of moving house, changing careers, relationships starting and stopping, thwarted dreams, aching nostalgia, you name it.
    So that’s just to tell you i’ve been through a couple of hoops so far in my life and am not writing from a position of ignorance.
    I’m not into the whole poor-me mental health thing either.

    But anyway, despite all your problems i’ve been checking back to see what you might write next. And been dissapointed to miss out on your insights when there’s a gap.
    So yes.. .i’m sorry you’re sick at the moment. And I can’t help you, no-one that comments probably can. But have never in my net-addicted life commented on a blog. And for some reason I wanted you to know that I like what you write and I miss it when it’s gone!

    It’s a little thing, but it’s there.

    Don’t give up. 🙂

  19. Hang in there.

    Passover will be here soon.

  20. Please come back to us. Can you feel how we are reaching out to you to remind you of your value to us? Your pain has not been for nothing. You have brought us all so much hope and comfort and we will not let you down in your time of need. Share your horrible thoughts but do not switch off. You are needed so much
    Love to you
    Angela xxxxx

  21. Popped by again.
    I really am hoping that you are hanging in there.

    Iwas thinking about something today which I maybe think is appropraite here.

    I think we can be really self aware individuals, yet so unaware about the impact we have on others.

    I wonder if you are aware of the positive impact your blogging has on others.


  22. Dear Sara
    Has anything good happened today? Did you perhaps get to step outdoors for a while and feel the air on your face? I like to be outside and part of nature. I look up at trees and up to the sky and the cloud formations coloured differently by sunlight at different times of the day. I find if I am dressed according to the weather I can go out any time of the year. Did you see a cat or dog wander by? Watching animals and being outdoors has been very healing to me when I can’t cope with anything too intellectual. Can you go somewhere where people are kind to you and not judgmental or threatening? A trip to the cafe to read a newspaper or do a crossword – just to be out for a while. Use your inner voice to communicate with yourself. Let it tell you that you are all right, that you are safe and that all will be well. If you feel a panic attack coming on tell yourself it will soon pass and that as each moment passes you will be feeling a little bit better again. Be kind to yourself. You have been so kind and wonderful to others and you so very mcuh deserve it. When you feel ready, talk to someone kind about why you feel so sad. You can email me anytime – I will be there for you.
    Angela xx

  23. Sara, hope you are not gripped by too solid an alternate reality. Indeed I decided today that my husband and kids are better off without me in their lives so I’m leaving. When the colors blend together like this and I have nothing safe to turn to and my words are twisted and misconstrued because the now is so tenative…I guess I am not doing a good job of making sense. I can cut to the chase with you: I hope you aren’t dead.

  24. I’m glad you stopped by my blog this morning … why do we keep going to therapy? I don’t know. it’s sick and twisted, and for me, it’s because I keep punishing myself for already being punished in so many ways, and yet at the same time, try as I might, i look for the glimmer of hope, or love, or something that might come from somewhere deep inside the stuffing of the couch.

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