Orange juice behind plastic and glass; June 07, 2007 – Photo by Me.

When the Truths being offered are complicated and frightening we tend to grasp on to what we believe to be true and never let go, no matter what evidence is offered. I stopped holding on to the lies and started gathering evidence a long time ago.

First Truths: Dealing With The Clinical Depression
When the Manic Depression has been treated, with it in remission, it becomes possible to finally deal with the Depressions which have been masked by the Disease. I’ve never been treated for my Clinical Depression. At least not properly. There are certain events, a lot of events, which I’ve ignored since I was a child. Certain abuses that were done to me, and certain abuses I’ve inflicted on others, that have never been dealt with… have never even been talked about. My doctor has suggested making a list we can work from. Here goes…

In 1978 my mother escaped, literally, from a completely devastated marriage with my brother and myself. It involved lies, subterfuge, a train ride and panicked phone calls. We moved from a relatively urban area to a very rural and depressing place. I had one friend in the old place. Having moved to and from more than ten homes in four cities over eight years that was all I was able to make.

One morning Larry and I were playing in his driveway, that afternoon I was 600 miles away. A few weeks later I was starting grade three in a new, huge school. My urban school had, maybe, 200 students. My rural school had over 800. And this school had bizarre rules about lines and walking in rows.

On my first day, or what I remember as being my first day, I was marching in a row with a hundred child strangers, when I saw Larry. I was absolutely convinced it was him walking towards me across the wide hallway. I was a stranger in a strange, strange land, and there was Larry, my best friend. He had followed me. So I broke the row, I walked across the hallway into incoming traffic. I smiled into his face and hesitantly said “Larry…” and the kid looked at me as if I was swinging a dead cat. It wasn’t him and I was crushed. I had to acknowledge that everything was different. I was eight and I had been defeated.

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