In the meantime, my nemesis, the Octopus, slithered up from the deep and grabbed me by the ankle. I've been battling it ever since the last post. I think I'm winning. I hope I'm winning. My therapist voiced concern the last time I slipped into serious depression that if I didn't do something to treat it, she was worried it might become a permanent state of mind. She suggested medications. I suggested she keep them.
I've been fighting the Octopus for nearly 60 years. In the last cycle of serious depression, almost two years ago, I thought Octopus was going to win. I almost gave up, so strong was its siren call. The winter of 2011-2012 was particularly hard financially. I couldn't heat my home properly, couldn't pay for medications or food and my worklife was beyond dismal - bordering on abusive.
But I didn't give in. I'm still here. But I was scared. That's when I remembered the Book of Five Rings, written by Japanese swordsman Miyamoto Musashi sometime in the mid-1600s. I read it about 20-25 years ago and was fascinated with it. I don't remember all the lessons, but enough of it stuck that I approached my battles with Octopus from the warrior's perspective. I studied the Octopus, learning its tells when it is about to attack. Having survived that winter, I paid attention to the survival lessons I'd learned. Last winter, I was prepared for deprivation. I was prepared for the Octopus and I defeated the rascal at every turn. Not saying it was easy, but every time I turned Octopus back, I grew stronger emotionally; more confident.
Then illness struck and I was knocked off balance. Octopus saw its opportunity and took advantage of my being distracted. We've been in an ongoing tug-of-war for my soul since this Spring. Thus far, it is a tie, but I am edging ahead.
My sub-conscious finally told be what to do with the blob above. This is Octopus, my nemesis.
11 comments:
Martha, the octopus is a scary creature with tentacles going every which way. Hard to escape. But you have painted him to look docile. Almost as if you could pet him if he weren't so slimy. Looks to me like you are winning the battle.
A wonderful tale, heartfelt and above all, real. Thank you for writing about this experience. I do wonder about the image that this experience generates; octopus. As you know from my post, "A Fantasy Desert Island", my octopus (among others) is a mother image. I just wondered. :)
Blobs and smudges, stains and scratches can open all sorts of doors. Your octopus from being an enemy has it seems become a friend. If not a friend you have certainly managed to gain control over it, which goes some way to explain its bemused expression. Do you know the story of The Octopus and the Crow? You must do because you have just written it. And a fine story it is.
That is a gorgeous octopus. Seriously gorgeous.
Have you come across Pema Chodron? She writes al lot about demons, particularly in When Things Fall Apart.
Wow! You are good: this octopus painting is amazing!
I actually like ocopuses, in real life: they seem to have a sense of humor.
But when I was in the grip of a difficult (bordering on abusive) relationship, I saw myself in the grips of an octopus that was trying to pull me in and under dark waters too.
Say, yesterday I mailed you a book that reminded me of you--a present, to keep or pass along. Sent it Media Mail, so no note & it might take 10 days to get there.
RE Shoen: I love Pema Chodron too!
Also Lynda Barry draws (and writes about) good too---
like in her awesome book "One Hundred Demons" (preview here:
http://books.google.com/books?id=P00cdRrzbfAC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false
Fresca,
Seconding the Lynda Barry book, Sofie you would appreciate it. Powerful stuff.
s/b *Z*hoen. Sorry!
And "draws.. good *monsters*" too.
Tsk, tsk, to think I was once a proofreader...
The Octopus has been alive and well over here too, especially during the last four months. However, that's not why I'm here. I have been missing you, and I wanted to thank you for your kind words on my blog and your wonderful posts here. You make my life better with them.
For personal reasons I didn't care to comment about this post. And besides which, I had nothing useful to say. But that's never stopped you in the past, you will point out. True, but would there be any benefit in 150 words of meaningless jocularity on why my father and I didn't get on? Or whatever.
Octopuses (I can't be fussed with the latinate plural) are said to be shy and have this fabulous ability to hide themselves in tiny holes. And yet they need to eat, so perhaps, every so often, they cease to be shy and go out and hunt. But if they are shy might they scuttle away if one said boo. As with geese.
Two or three years ago we passed several holidays on a primitive Greek island. Octopuses had a grim time there. I can remember sipping a beer and watching Niko de-toughening an octopus which I may later have eaten. Can't be sure.
He stood on the beach holding the creature by its legs and bashing its head over and over against the concrete quay. Imagine a canteloupe in a knee-sock. "How many times?" I asked him when he'd finished. "About fifty," he said, giving me his charming smile. Implying that famous, all-purpose US rejoinder, "But who's counting?"
It would have been hypocritical of me to have criticised Niko since, if I didn't eat this octopus, I did eat others. Even so it was a very public end which lacked dignity. Are you able to convey this sad scene to your octopus; if he's your nemesis, paint a picture of his. "Perhaps there's a reason why you're shy," you might say. "You hate the idea of becoming a spectator sport." Wouldn't work? Ah well.
Just touching base.
I love the painting of the octopus you made. I remember snorkeling in the West Indies and petting an octopus that flashed different colors. Very cool.
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