Lash Yourself to the Mast
or, Truman Burbank Had the Right Idea
3 months up! 3 months down. 3 months up! 3 months down. That’s how my mental health has unspooled for the last few years, with uncanny regularity.
The up months are glorious. The down months are grinding. Although Lexapro raised my baseline (by raising my serotonin level) so that I’m at least fully functional for all 12 months, ever since I bottomed out 2 years ago. That means the downswing grind is now manageable, for which I’m deeply grateful. God bless SSRIs.
But here’s the thing. I’m getting close to the end of my 3rd upswing month. I have a week left, maybe two. But I still feel good. Great, even. Very lucid. Very purposeful. Full of the humor and light that elude me when I’m down. So what does that mean? Is the clock ticking on my mental health? Is the “delicate fade” about to set in? Is this the dawn before the dark?
The short answer, and the only answer, is this: I don’t know.
I simply don’t know what July will bring, beyond time off work and some epic concerts that inflate my chest with helium (and even giddy, helium-induced laughter) when I think about them. Will the prospect of that joy-inducing live music in late July keep me afloat? Will the stockpiled vacation time I’ve been finally using keep me feeling buoyant? Will all these wonderful, wonder-filled day trips I’m taking with my kids prolong my upswing for an extra month?
Again, I simply don’t possess this information. My mental health has patterns, but it’s not clockwork. Nothing is clockwork except the working of clocks. The future is not mine to hold in my hand. But here is what I do know.
All that I can do is lean in to my own personal velocity. A velocity that feels smooth and unrestrained, even breakneck at times, when I am fully myself. A velocity that, during those 3-month upswings, helps me careen through the world with my foot confidently on the gas. A velocity that I would do anything to maintain for months on end.
All that I can do is keep waking up early. And writing. And day tripping. And nature exploring. And listening to the music that makes me feel alive. And doing good things for my body, mind, and soul. And connecting to the people who mean the most to me in the world. (And connecting to acquaintances and strangers too, since I’m an extrovert who feeds off all warm interaction.)
All that I can do is “go all the way,” as Charles Bukowski said and as my favorite band regularly quotes. To brace myself for a possible descent, but also to clench my muscles for a continued ascent.
But that still might not be enough. Only time will tell. Mental health is a slippery eel that can elude your grasp despite your best efforts to wrestle it under your control. And control itself can feel like an illusion. At times, you have to settle for damage control. Sometimes 3 vivid months fade into 3 faded months and all you can do is… the best you can do.
All you can do is lash yourself to the mast, like Truman Burbank, and stay the course. Come hell or (in his case) high water.
So that’s my game plan. Do your worst, July.
And I’ll keep doing my best.
