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September 17, 2004 ~ Death, Disasters, and Depression
Friday.
"So, will you put up an entry soon?" he asked.
"Well, I actually was writing one before you called, before the power started to flicker. But it's long. And not easy to write."
"You're trying to write about everything that has happened?"
"Yes."
"Well, you could just start in with a story instead. Just something that has happened recently, and not bother explaining all that has happened in the last month."
I grinned, thinking, Easy for you to say. You know what has happened in the interim. "That's like tearing out a few chapters in the middle of a novel. I think my readers would want to lynch me if I just started in with an everyday sort of story about the wolves or Morgan with no explanation of the huge missing chunk."
He chuckled. "True enough."
The following is what I wrote last night before the power went out.
September 16, 2004. Thursday.
First of all, I want to say: I am sorry. I'm sorry for making everyone worried due to my lack of updates and my failure to answer all of your concerned messages. I know that there are several friends and family members who keep up with me via this journal, and apparently I've caused some significant worry in those quarters. Not to mention, all of you readers, even you anonymous individuals who have never said a word to me--I know that many of you have come to care quite a lot about me, and I really appreciate that. I shouldn't squander so much good will.
So, I'm sorry.
In the time since I last wrote, Western North Carolina, where we live, has been declared a National Disaster Area, death has touched my family, I have become the Vice President of a non-profit agency, and I've been fighting an old enemy. Not in that order. But that's not even the beginning of it; I'll get to those happenings in a minute. I should start at the beginning.
Work has been extremely busy and stressful. My supervisor and I are running the office in the absence of the Director of our program, so we've both taken on quite a bit of extra work. And with the deadlines that came up in the last few weeks, I've been buried in paperwork, only recently digging my way out. (Thankfully, though, the paperwork for the program is at least very interesting paperwork.)
Meanwhile, various people-related issues at the wolf rescue exploded, which brought with them a great deal of upheaval and change. I'm great with the animals and understand wolf politics, but I don't like and have never felt very comfortable with people-politics. Ironically, however, I was soon thereafter voted in as the Vice President during a board meeting in which we redefined goals, made new plans, and had some people quit and others recommit. In all honestly, though, I'm happy with my new executive position on the board. I'm committed to the well being of those animals, and the health of the non-profit is integral to their well being, of course.
As a result, I've been extremely busy spending extra time at the rescue working as well as spending extra time at home researching some of the work that needs to be done and the programs that have to be enacted to make the place a true sanctuary, in every sense of the word. At the same time some very generous donations came in (some of them through this site), and we've been pouring a ton of work hours into building some new pens. Much of my time has been spent doing a lot of this:
And more of this:
...to make some bigger, better pens. Here's one in progress:
It has been extremely hard work, but it will all be worth it when we see those wolves running in their new, bigger pens, see the volunteer program take off, and see the animals getting the sort of care and attention that they deserve.
I got the news that my great-aunt Janice, my paternal grandmother's twin sister, probably wasn't going to make it in her fight against the tumors on her liver. She died last week, and I can't quite put into words how hard it is to lose someone whom I love when I am all the way across the country and away from everyone who knew her. I wanted to attend the memorial service, I wanted to be with my family, but tickets across the country are too expensive. No one I know here can share this grief, and no one near me knew the face that my grief is attached to. No one here shared in the childhood games of ally ally oxen free in her woods, no one sat and had a poetry writing or painting session with her at the picnic table in her front yard.
That Morgan knows so little of my family really hurts sometimes. I wish we could afford more frequent visits. His family has been so very accepting and kind to me, and I wish that he could have the same sort of experience, in the flesh, as I have.
On top of Janice's death, that same week another sister in that family had a heart attack and was in the hospital for a quadruple bypass surgery (she's fine now, thankfully), and there were a few days of worry when I had heard vague word that grandma had taken a bad fall. But I couldn't learn anything specific and there was no answer at her place when I tried to call. Finally, I found out that she'd broken both of her wrists in the fall. She's on some heavy pain medication and the healing is going to take some time, but at least she's taking it well, and one of her sisters is helping her take care of herself. I can't even begin to imagine how frustrating it must be, however, to be unable to use both arms. Old bones take so long to heal.
Oh Grandma. I've been hoping and praying for your healing to go well, and I hope the changes that you're having to make in your lifestyle won't be too hard. I wish I could be there to help, and to keep you company. Do let me know if there is anything that I can do from here. I have your picture (the one with your "head in the clouds") sitting here on my desk, and you've never been far from my thoughts this week.
And then came Hurricane Frances. Normally, hurricanes do not reach the mountains. They break up, and all we see of them this far inland is a little rain and a few cloudy days. Maybe a little wind, but usually nothing too serious. When Frances moved inland and up through North Carolina, they predicted about 4-7 inches of rain and "possible minor flooding." No problem.
Instead, however, many local places, mostly upstream from the two major rivers that run through town, got 15 to 25 inches of rain (in two days, when Asheville's average annual rainfall is 39 inches), and the entire area was hit with severe flooding. The twenty-inch rain gage at the wolf rescue overflowed partway through the storm. Huge parts of Asheville and the college were badly flooded, and entire towns and cities downstream on the rivers were completely destroyed.
I've watched my community turn into what has now been declared a National Disaster Area, hundreds of suddenly homeless people, familiar places wrecked and unfamiliar, the glut of heartbreaking stories everywhere you look, a week with unstable power and an entire region with no water (or once it was back, without usable water due to contamination and backed up sewers) and all of the inconveniences and discomforts that come with such outages and malfunctions.
The flood started the night of Tuesday the seventh. Water service was gone by Wednesday. Asheville did not have usable water until the next Tuesday, the fourteenth. A week can be a long, long time, in that context.
Thankfully, though, Morgan and I are fine (just very cranky about the lack of drinking water and showers and a flushing toilet). We were lucky. Our house went untouched when entire neighborhoods were wiped out. We spent a ton of time up at the wolf rescue afterwards repairing what had broken and shoveling five tons of mud out of pens.
If it was this bad here, I can't even imagine what it must have been like in Florida the last few weeks.
And now, Hurricane Ivan is headed right toward us. The heavy rains started this morning. They are saying that because the ground is still saturated and the rivers are still high, the flooding may be worse, and we could be out of power and water again for quite some time. Today's radar looked ominous (Asheville is the light blue dot):
Not much we can do, though, but stock up on bottled water and hope. I'm thankful for the past two days of usable water, so that we can prepare for the next bout.
Later evening:
Okay, Ivan is here, and he's moving much more quickly than expected. Which is actually a good thing, because that means we won't get as much rain, and may not have as bad of flooding this time around as expected. I'm amazed I still have power. Here's the current radar image (the light blue dot is us):
It's raining buckets and buckets, and the wind has really picked up. I may have to shut down soon.
So yes, I've been busy and stressed and saddened and in the middle of a National Disaster Area. On top of all that, a few personal betrayals which really hurt and put me quite out of sorts. To be honest, though, I had time to write, despite how busy I was, despite the flood, despite everything. Why didn't I?
I think a large part of it had to do with a familiar form of apathy that had lowered itself over me like a fog over the last few weeks. An apathy that left me with no desire to reach out, no desire to create, no desire to express myself. That apathy was... no, is... a symptom of a pretty deep depression. It has been a long time, so it took quite a while for me to recognize it, but, now that I have, it has become terribly obvious. I had stopped writing, everywhere, not just here. I am alternating between sleeping way too much and bouts of insomnia. Horrible nightmares. I hadn't hiked in weeks. I haven't been taking pictures. I've not been answering mail, and I've not been calling friends and family to keep in touch as I normally do. I am apathetic about the state of the house (it is a mess), and I have not been eating well at all. Bursting into tears for no reason at all, sitting and staring, feeling all the time weary and tired and emotionally drained.
In other words, I've been in a very dark place.
Now that I have recognized it, however, I'm trying to find its source, and trying to take care of myself to pull out of it. A passing storm, I hope, and one that will break.
the sky the morning Frances broke
September 17, 2004. Friday.
I had to shut down last night before finishing this, as the power started flickering and the storm really hit. We lost power entirely for most of the night, but around 9:30 this morning it came back on.
Though Ivan was much stronger, with higher winds and a lot more wind damage, it has moved through fast enough that it didn't dump quite as much rain on us, so the flooding shouldn't be as bad. (And we haven't lost water service yet, so that's a big relief).
"No. I just feel off center. Unstable. Emotionally unpredictable. Fragile... I've been very self-absorbed and selfish..." I said, trying to find the words.
"Okay, look. You've been through a flood and many of your familiar places have been damaged, you've had a lot of stress at work, you've got a ton of new work and responsibilities at the wolf rescue and things there have been stressful anyway, someone you love has died, your grandmother has been badly hurt, your normal routine and lifestyle has been completely off track what with the power and water outages, you've lost a trusted friend and been betrayed in the process, you've been having some very difficult discussions with [family member], you've had to say goodbye to thirteen loved wolves and wolf dogs as they left for their new homes, and yet another potentially disastrous storm is now upon you. In other words, you've had an exceptionally hard and stressful month... And you're wondering why you're depressed?" Grouse asked incredulously.
I was quiet for a moment. "Well. When you put it that way..."
He laughed. "You know, it's perfectly human to vent some emotions under stress. And normal people aren't completely composed and centered. They aren't focused on the needs of those around them at all times. It's okay to be a little selfish, to lose your composure and cry, to wallow in some self-pity occasionally. You've had a rough month. You're in some emotional turmoil. Don't be so hard on yourself when you express it."
"My calm and composure..." I was silent a moment, thinking. "Hm. Years ago, when I was going through a different extremely depressed period, and several aspects of my life were falling apart, someone who knew me pretty well described me as 'a rock at the edge of the sea that stays still, strong, and steady despite the constant cold and relentless waves.' And I always loved that description--I always thought it fit. I was going to say that, no, I can and have stayed calm and composed through depression much worse than this. I did then. But no. The woman who described me like that only saw my public face. I may have looked calm and composed, but on the inside all was turmoil. I was suicidal, I was purposefully injuring myself, cutting and burning myself... Well. It was bad." I paused. He waited, and seemed about to say something, but I continued. "But now, that public face isn't so steady, calm, and composed. I'm slipping some, I'm letting my weak sides show. Venting a bit. To be honest, though, I think that's far more healthy than the alternative."
He let out his breath. "Yes. Thank you; you said it for me. I think you're reacting in a much more healthy way now."
We talked for a long time last night, as the electric lights failed, as the wind howled around my house, as the rain beat the windows. We reminisced and laughed, as we always do, and I eventually hung up with the most genuinely happy smile on my face that I'd had in weeks.
That rock by the ocean that I tried to be for so long--that rock has learned how to cry, how to be soft and pliant. How to show the world a weaker, but more human side. And she will no longer sabotage herself, hurting from the inside out, which is, in the end, far more harsh than the waves. And would you know? I think I'll last a lot longer like this, for, while the world may not see such a strong and stable woman, at least I am kind to myself.
Morgan caught this picture of me this afternoon
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