Day 1

Today I almost made it outside.  I came closer than I have in a long time.  I dressed, a battle won right there, and walked to the door.  I reached out one hand towards the door, but the hand was heavy.  It just couldn’t reach far enough to touch the doorknob.  My hand was heavy, my arm was heavy, even my hair was weighing me down.  I sighed as the darkness crept in closer.  I could feel the waves of smoke tickling my eyelids.  If I wasn’t careful I would soon be overcome, and the darkness would win, again.  I walked away from the door, and stood in front of the window.  The sky was blue, and the trees a bright green in contrast.  It was a perfect and sunny day, and the dark was not yet out there.  I could go out, I could sit on the porch, I could drive to the University and talk to someone.  I could do a lot of things, but what I did, what I chose to do was return to bed.  Under the covers, the smoke couldn’t find me, although in reality the smoke had driven me there.  It was another day in which the smoke had won.

Day 2

I woke up feeling slightly better.  I dressed, and nearly ran to the car.  I had to leave the house before something changed.  I had to seek help.  This smoky depression was keeping me from work, from teaching my classes or attending my lectures.  I loved graduate school, I had a great life, and I wanted it back.  Now.  I drove all the way to the University, walked in to the counselor’s office, and spoke rapidly.

“I have to see someone, and it has to be today.”

The receptionist looked over the calendar, shaking her head, and I tried again.

“You don’t understand, my name is Cassie Simpson and I have to see someone, and if it isn’t today, I may not be able to come back.”

The doctor must have been listening, and heard the truth in my voice, the smoke hovering over me and perhaps she could sense it as well.  I walked into her office.

Later same day

I am writing in the kitchen with the light on, the bare bulb over the little table, because my roommates are watching a movie and they like it dark, makes the movie pop and feel like a theater experience.  Everything has to be an experience.  I have three roommates, two of which have boyfriends and they are all in the living room watching this loud, violent movie while I start this diary thing in my kitchen.

I guess the whole idea is to improve my mood, to figure out what is wrong, and to help get myself back.  The counselor suggested the journal, and walking.  For the first year of my grad school I lived on campus and I walked everywhere.  I was excited about school, about teaching, and I enjoyed it all, even the walking. 

I’m not sure when things changed.  Boy, that movie is loud, girls screaming, maniacal killers laughing, is that really what they think is fun?

Day 3

Today is Saturday, and I woke up depressed.  After coffee, and a little tweaking of a paper that is due, I decided to walk.  Where?  Just out there, just start and see where I ended up.  When we first rented this house I walked the neighborhood a couple of times.  That was a boring and short walk.  Instead I decided to leave the neighborhood and just see where I ended up.  The goal was to walk faster than the smoke.  I walked down a semi busy street, turned at the drug store and found another busy street lined with a sidewalk.   I followed this road for quite a long while.  First I passed homes, then a few restaurants and nice little shops, and then I passed a series of gas stations and a few bare lots.  I passed another gas station with several young men hanging out.  I pretended to study my phone but I could feel them watching me.  Even with traffic, fumes and radios it felt good to walk.  Then I noticed people staring at me as they drove by.  I guess I looked a little strange.  No shopping bags, no gas cans, why was I walking along this busy road?   I realized I hadn’t passed another single person out walking.  I guess I’m supposed to only stroll in neighborhoods along with my suburban sisters, or in parks with a dog on a leash.  I felt a little exposed, odd.  A car blew its horn just as it passed me, and I jumped, giving everyone in the car a laugh.  I came to a stoplight.  My road, and the sidewalk dead-ended into a 4-lane road with no sidewalk.  It had a wide grassy bank sloping down to woods.   I hesitated, I wanted to keep walking and now I knew where I had been heading the whole time.  At the end of the 4-lane was an entrance to a nature park that I had enjoyed in the past.  A car beside me had stopped for the red light, and the driver rolled down his window.

            “Hey honey, need a lift?”

            I shook my head at him,  “No, I’m fine.”

            “You sure?  Is your car broken down somewhere?”

            “No, no, I’m just walking.  For fun.”

He stared at me for a minute, rolled up his window and drove on.  I turned to the left and walked along the bank, cars whizzing by. 

I could feel all of them, those drivers, looking at me.  Looking at this crazy woman, walking alone on the side of the road.  I dodged fast food wrappers, blackened banana peels and ant piles.  The grass was high and the dirt uneven.  I had to pay attention to each step, and paying attention helped me forget the cars.  This road went on, longer than I remembered. I guess driving a road and walking it are different experiences, especially in time measurement.

I looked up at the road and saw a driver staring so hard at me he almost ran into the grass.  I felt naked.  I wanted to hide, but I had to keep going.  Finally I reached the entrance to the nature park.  Walking in, turning down the dirt path, the car sounds fell away.  Trees enveloped me, and I felt protected and safe.  Able to relax, I finally enjoyed my walk. 

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Later I sat on a bench, and realized how tired and thirsty I was.  I had woken up depressed, and on impulse just took off walking. I had no ID, no money, no water bottle.  I could walk back home, hungry and thirsty, but I didn’t think I could face those cars, those faces.  I didn’t want to leave the security of the trees.

Finally I used my phone, called Katie, one of my roommates, and had her pick me up.

Well, you can’t say I didn’t walk today, or journal today.

Day 4

After yesterday’s walk I did feel better, even though it was weird, unplanned and I had to be rescued.   Katie and I had lunch together today and I tried to explain.

She said, “We all get tired at times.  Grad school is pretty demanding, you know.”

I tried to answer but it is hard when you’re not sure either. After a moments thought I tried to explain.

“I think there should be more to life than work, bills, TV, day after day after day.”

“Well sure.  Friendship, the meaning in your work, that kind of stuff.” She shrugged.

I am writing a thesis on 19th Century Women Authors, neither very original nor interesting. I love my friends but we mostly watch TV and gripe about school and our students.

“Well,” she said, “No TV tonight.  Let’s have a party.  Let’s enjoy each other, visit and laugh.  We will all feel better.”

She and I bought groceries, invited our friends, and even cleaned up, a little.  It was nice; everyone enjoyed the food and the beer.  We built a fire in our never used fire pit, and we burned marshmallows.  The party is now over, everyone is gone.  I just came in to write.  It was a good night.  I loved the fire, the wood smell, and the company.  I guess things aren’t so bad.

Day 5

            Two more papers, grading all those awful exams for freshmen, and the semester will be over, and summer break starts.  I want to walk every day, maybe even drive to the mountains.  I stepped out into our backyard and saw trash.  Beer cans, papers, junk everywhere.  I picked up half a bag of soggy marshmallows, all the cans, and went back to bed. The smoke I could smell did not remind me of our campfire.

Later

Back at the kitchen table, under my bare bulb, writing while everyone watches the baseball game on TV.  One night of honest visiting, littering and all is back to normal.  Is this what I’m working for, my own house and TV, a job to pay for that house and TV, a car to commute back and forth and TV to relax when I am tired of that job?  There has to be more.

Day 6

I worked all week finishing my papers and grading exams.  I used to get a laugh out of all the crazy answers some students give, now I just think it is sad.  My roommates all have summer plans.   Katie is going with her boyfriend to England, and the other two found jobs back home.  I’ll be here in the house, alone, for three months.  They are still paying rent, so no problem, but I’ll be alone, all alone, for the first time ever.  I’m kind of nervous, but on the bright side, no TV.  Ha!  I must remember to walk, but I am so tired of this neighborhood.  It seems stupid to drive somewhere just to walk somewhere else.

Day 7

The roommates are all gone.  Katie was last, she left this morning, excited about her trip.  The house was quiet.  I cleaned some, wandered from room to room and then decided to walk.  I circled the neighborhood twice and came home, hot and sweaty.  The day passed slowly.  I applied for several jobs, fixed a supper of all the leftovers and then read a while.  When I looked up from my book it was dark outside.  The house was quiet.  Our house has lots of windows, which we never covered because we like seeing the trees and yard.  Now I see dark.  I made sure all the doors were locked.  I had never thought about how large the house was before, or how dark the backyard was.  I looked through the trees.  Sometimes I could see the porch light of the back yard neighbor, but now the leaves were full, or maybe his light was off.  I looked out the front window; all the houses were dark, the streetlight casting shadows.  Where was everyone!

I went to bed but I couldn’t sleep.  I kept hearing noises.  I turned the hall light on.  I made plans.  If someone broke into the house I would call 911, block the bedroom door with a chair and hide under the bed.  Maybe I should block the door then call 911. 

Finally I got up, and here I am in my kitchen writing.  This is ridiculous. I am an adult.  I refuse to be afraid.  I took a Tylenol PM and now I’ll stop writing and go to bed.  I am such a girl.

Day 8

No calls back on the jobs plus three nights in a row of very little sleep.  Tonight I will embrace the night, build a fire and enjoy the evening.  Why not?  I can’t sleep anyway. I am a girl, power to the girls!

Day 9

Well, I embraced the night, maybe too much.  Yesterday before dark I collected twigs, wood, paper and matches.  Just as the sun went down I built my first fire.  I copied what Jack, Katie’s boyfriend, had done.  I built a tee pee of twigs over newspaper rolls.  I added larger twigs all around that.  I caught the papers on fire, added sticks as needed, then added bigger pieces of wood.  It was so much fun, I forgot my nerves and the dark.  I sat on my chair, looked at the stars and enjoyed the fire.  I could hear cars off in the distance, but I was surrounded by dark, my dark and I sat in my cocoon of firelight.  Twigs popped, tree frogs sang and a nice breeze kept the bugs away.  From my well-lit house the dark is scary, but in the middle of it, the dark is just a thing.  There is nothing scary about a dark peaceful evening.  I finally ran out of wood and I just let the fire die down.  I nearly dozed off watching the embers glow.  I didn’t want to go inside and have another fearful night.

We have a couple of cots stored in the laundry room.  I grabbed the mattress of one of them, and drug it out onto the porch.  Wrapped in a blanket, I slept outside, beside the dying fire.  Slowly the night settled into a deep quiet, and slowly the air cooled as I drifted off.  What would my friends think, me sleeping outside on the porch?

I woke up early, it was barely light outside.  I heard a car start nearby, dogs were barking, the day was starting.  My hip was sore, but I was rested.  Now I am writing, guess where, from my kitchen, sipping coffee and feeling good.

Day 10

This morning I woke up ready to walk again.  First I dressed, put on my shoes, and stepped out of the house. Standing on the porch, almost about to walk, I started thinking about the laundry I needed to do.  Then I remembered I had a book to read for school.  I didn’t want to do either of those things, but the walk seemed a little less attractive.  Here I am, an adult, with adult chores and work to do, and all I want to do is walk.  Then I started thinking about walking in the neighborhood, passing all the houses I had seen a million times.  I felt the smoke collecting, the knotting up of my chest and the weighing down of my bones.  A tiny voice spoke up, “I could just walk a little bit, maybe out of the neighborhood, and in the direction of the woods, away from town?”

Of course not, why do that.  Why bother, why walk.  Why read, or clean or do anything.  The smoke grew, gathered strength, and inside I went.  I turned on the tv, and I don’t even know what I watched all day, numbing my brain and bathing in the dark smoke of depression.  It was a day.  Finally around suppertime hunger drove me off the couch, and my mind cleared.  I had wasted an entire day due to the sadness.  It would not happen again!

I placed my tennis shoes at the front door.  I filled a backpack with snacks, a water bottle, and other useful items beside the shoes.  I wrote a note, “Go Outside and Walk” in dark ink and taped it to the door.  Tomorrow will be better!