Welcome to a late-night edition of Wise Madness. The reason it’s late is part of what I’m going to write about. The other part, and the reason I’m not just waiting until tomorrow, is that today Dave Carter’s birthday.
My Gentle Readers might have picked up that all has not been well in my psyche. Looking back, I see it goes back at least to the beginning of July. I always have anxiety and trouble initiating action, but it’s been getting progressively worse. I have not been able to do things that are important to me, things that should be fun. Depression has been coming back. That is the one symptom the Zoloft has been the most effective against. I started falling down rabbit holes. My sleep has been disturbed. My normal state is I go to bed and either fall asleep when my head hits the pillow or after a few minutes of meditation. Then came Falcon Ridge, usually the best medicine. I had a meltdown on Saturday. Not only did I get anxiety, but the depression skyrocketed, enough to scare me. I suspected that my medication needed to be adjusted. I discussed everything that happened with my therapist and she not only agreed but said that I shouldn’t wait but see my psychiatrist ASAP. She has walk-in hours on Mondays, so I made the trek up there. In keeping with everything else I couldn’t get out of the house when I wanted to. Instead of arriving at 1:15 I didn’t get there until 2:30. I had to take a cab from the train station as the bus comes only once an hour and I didn’t want to wait another 45 minutes. I was happy that my cabbie was Danny. He has driven me before and we’ve gotten friendly. I’m happy to see him and he’s happy to see me. I like relationships of that sort. It’s just two people treating each other like people in a situation where people often don’t.
As I was a walk in I had to wait quite some time to see the shrink but once in she didn’t rush me. She saw I was having trouble. One of the best things about talking to mental health professionals is that you can tell them everything that’s bothering you and not be afraid they will think you are whining. Both the psychiatrist and the therapist showed distress when I told them what triggered my meltdown. I wasn’t being melodramatic. Sure, my reaction wasn’t healthy, but it was legitimately stressful.
She told me that I had three options and gave the benefits and risks of all of them. The best option is Prozac. I discussed with her one of my pet peeves. There is this movement that patients should take control of their treatment. I pointed out something I’ve talked about here. I’m very knowledgeable about many things including medicine. I know more than 99% of layman. The thing is I know enough to know that I know only 1% of what my doctor knows. Her opinion is worth much more than mine. I’m going to take my doctor’s advice.
My train home was delayed by half an hour because someone was struck by a train ahead of us near the Botanical Gardens. When we passed the Gardens’ station I saw an ambulance. I hope that means the person survived. I searched the news but all I could find was a commuter report on how the accident caused delays.
I picked up my prescription but haven’t taken it yet. That’s why I haven’t written till now; I was out much of the day and slowed by anxiety the rest of it. It’s midnight, I missed writing on Dave’s birthday, but I have an out; he was born in Oxnard CA and it’s still his birthday there.
This morning Google reminded me that it was Dave Carter’s birthday. Google knew this was important to me. Some people find that frightening. I find it wonderful. Thinking about Dave Carter made me happier. I always remember the date he died, it was my birthday, one of the best birthday’s I’ve ever had, I spent the long weekend celebrating with Carey, but even with that we made sure to drive down to Maryland on Sunday by the route that would keep us in the WFUV listening area as long as possible so we could hear Dave and Tracy’s last interview with John Platt. It was recorded two days before he died.
I think of Dave’s death every year on my birthday but that’s not the way to remember him. I want to remember his life. He was the greatest songwriter of his generation and had a special bond with the universe. That made people, or maybe just me, think of him as a saint, a prophet, a holy man. He wasn’t. He was spiritual, but he was also a helluva lot of fun, people don’t remember that enough. He could be funny. He could be silly. He could start singing Crimson and Clover out of nowhere at a gig they Dave and Tracy did with Pete and Maura. God knows why I wasn’t there, but I know the story. Think of a Dave Carter song that isn’t Gentle Arms of Eden. You thought of one of his sad ones didn’t you. When I Go perhaps? Go Like the Raven? People need to remember his weird funny songs too. Know the song that won me over as a fan? Crocodile Man. I heard them do that at a Fast Folk show at the Bottom Line in the 90s. You’re never going to forget Dave’s mystical and spiritual sides but remember that he was more. He was a vibrant human being, not an angel. Here’s a few songs to help you remember that.
In a civilized country Dave’s birthday would be a national holiday. As a civilized person I put it in my Google Calendar, so I never miss it again. You’re probably reading this the next day but still take the time to listen to one more Dave song of your choice.
It might seem that I wrote about two totally different things, Prozac and Dave Carter but they are related; they are both good for my mental health. Well at least I hope the Prozac proves to me. I started writing a song about it on my walk from the hospital to the train station. I wish I had remembered to record it. The lyrics weren’t any good, but I liked the melody. If I were a real songwriter I’d have recorded what I had on my phone, worked on it when I had a chance, and finished the song. I strongly suspect that the word’s Prozac and nation would not survive the revisions. They’d go the way of Paul McCartney’s “Scrambled Eggs.”
Wise Madness 