Gorgons
Lately, each time the creeping black sludge of depression rises and starts tugging at my pantleg, the gorgons are not far behind. First, the infant gorgon within me wakes. I become irritable and easily angered. I can fairly hear my hair rustle and hiss, its snaky coils rising to meet a threat. My lips, so accustomed to their smile of docility, curl into a snarl as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My eyes, usually open in a naive gaze of wonderment and awe, narrow and dart suspiciously. I know who my friends are. Those who are not had best keep a wise distance.
Gorgons. Gorgons peer at me, around corners, in doorways, down the hall and in the cabinets. Gorgons trail fingers along my textbooks, cackle behind my computer monitor. Gorgons stretch and purr on my bed while I dress, stroking their snaky tresses and reveling in their power. They leer as I, yet again, try to justify my actions, my choices, my life and existence to a finger-wagging disapprover. And when I walk away dejected or demoralized, they shriek their fury at my cowardice. Gorgons. Gorgons fat and gorgons lithe, gorgons young and gorgons wearing the faces of crones.
Meanwhile, the black depression sludge is slowing my feet, causing me to stumble and struggle to keep my forward motion. It’s time to adjust my medication. But if I do, the gorgons will go.
I want to engage the gorgons. I want to spend some long hours with Medusa, learning her secrets and stories. I want to look inside that dark well of anger, so carefully hidden except for when the gorgons haul it to the surface, laughing at the futility of the hiding. I want to descend with them into the darkness, and feel what is there. I want the gorgon within me, the gorgon who would be, to stretch and find her height and power. She needn’t devour those around me or turn them to stone, but she is here and should be honored, not drugged into a submissive stupor. Besides, perhaps if she were acknowledged, rather than outcast, she wouldn’t be so hungry for flesh.
I can’t afford to let the depression swallow me right now. I have children, college, and jobs to keep up with. I can’t spend days and weeks inside my head, battling demons and falling into forgotten recesses of pain, barely able to emerge long enough to prepare meals for the children. I have to keep walking, keep moving, even when I can’t quite remember what it is I’m trying to reach.
Yet, I’d give a lot for a week alone with the gorgons. We have much to discuss.
-- February 25, 2001
Elusive Gorgons: my writings