I was diagnosed with chronic depression in the early 90′s prior to the pharmaceutical tsunami of antidepressants unleashed on the world by big Pharma. The mere stigma of my melancholy caused me to resist both the diagnosis and the treatment prescribed by my psychiatrist. To this very day I remain defensive about the necessity and efficacy of taking my daily dose of Zoloft, a chemical cousin of Prozac. I defy anyone, Scientologists especially, to convince me it’s all in my head. On second thought, they are more accurate than they realize. It is indeed all IN my head, IN my brain to be precise. Basically, I don’t have enough of  the neurotransmitter serotonin in my brain and this chemical imbalance manifests itself, I would tirelessly argue, with symptoms more painful and debilitating than the physical trauma of passing a kidney stone. The latter experience being more acute but at least finite without the insidious, seemingly permanent and utterly pervasive pain of a bout of depression. As a lover of words I find no noun more apropos than ’bout’ when referring to an episode of depression. Boxing and bout go hand and hand and I imagine a sort of cerebral combat on a cellular level. My medication works and I take it daily with more faith and trust than I ever gave to the bread and wine I used to swallow during church communion. My medication works well while allowing me to still feel human. I know it works because it’s quite unlikely I’m enjoying an 18 year placebo effect due to wishful thinking. Finally, I know it works because I’m still here. I’m still fighting, I’m still crying, I’m still striving, I’m still dreaming, I’m still laughing and, most importantly, I’m still breathing.

My depression is sometimes brutal and seemingly never-ending and tonight I believe the fever of my current episode has finally and thankfully broken. I missed no hours of work and cried no tears these past few weeks but I know absolutely that I was deeply depressed. Chalk it up to Seasonal Affective Disorder or S.A.D. (a most accurate acronym) and/or my having moved to a new city three months ago where I am somewhat isolated and very lonely. I’m not complaining or crying but merely stating the facts. You might also attribute my mental malaise to the fact that I’ve kicked two more men to the curb after meeting them online and dating each ever so briefly. More on these ‘winners’ in future posts but for now let’s just leave it at my faith in Darwin and his theories of evolution have been further validated. It’s a blessing to the human race that these two men are gay and we are in no danger of them procreating and leaving behind any bad apples that could spoil our global barrel. Good heavens! Once again I’ve veered off the subject and started prattling on about men. Well perhaps not, referring to these guys as men would be overly generous. The point of all the preceding words was really to simply say I’m back and you can expect more frequent and regular dispatches from this Tin Man in exile.

I’d like to close this entry by giving thanks and love to my dear sister Donna and to “DM” my fantasy fiancé. The latter earns exponentially more respect and thanks from me the longer I have the honor of calling her my friend. The former is ‘my blood’ and my only sibling and she is my hero and I don’t tell her so often enough. Both of these ladies, separately and unknowingly, extended a metaphorical hand or shoulder at just the right time.  Hugs and kisses to you both!

The following quote is a recent discovery for me and has become my new mantra:

“There is genius in persistence. It conquers all opposers. It gives confidence. It annihilates obstacles. Everybody believes in a determined man. People know that when he undertakes a thing, the battle is half won, for his rule is to accomplish whatever he sets out to do.”

Orison Swett Marden

(a posthumous ‘Thank U’ to  Mr. Marden)

© Copyright by James Luther 2009, All Rights Reserved

The flakes disappeared in short order and my mind focused on a baker’s dozen of anxieties for the next 48 hours. Then I read today’s forecast which called for a wintery mix of snow and rain and my heart sank lower than I thought possible. So the flurries of 2 days past were no fluke, and while one may pin the blame on global warming, climate change, and even President Obama if you’re a Republican, that doesn’t make them any less real or any less disconcerting to a guy ill-prepared and increasingly ill-tempered.  Happily, the wintery mix was a no-show this morning and we Wisconsinites were treated with a great big helping of gray dreariness. As an aside, you’ll note the second occurence of the word “Wisconsinite” in this posting. I do love this word. It sounds like a brand name for extra-terrestrial luggage. In preparation for what is sure to be the mother of all Wisconsin winters, I’ll be spending my next two days off from work as well as a major portion of my paycheck on warm-weather gear. For the love of God, why is goose down so expensive and why can’t we with all our space shuttle technology and front-loading washing machines make an effective, affordable, and physically flattering synthetic alternative?

I really have no desire to look like the Michelin Tire Man or a quilted marshmallow. I mean really, if we can make milk out of soy beans then someone somewhere just isn’t trying hard enough. I am galled and appalled by what surely will be a small fortune I’ll have to shell out for a warm coat, effective gloves, and waterproof boots. I shudder to think how many cafe lattes and hot apple ciders I’ll have to make just to recoup those wages. Thank God I’m not an addict any longer or I’d most certainly die from exposure and a lack of insulating fat. One thing is certain, I refuse to fall as a victim of the elements. I mean, that’s so pedestrian and lame as personal demise goes.

I’m more likely to code-out and flat-line my way into the grave tomorrow night when I go to audition for the lead role in “The SantaLand Diaries” by my contemporary literary hero David Sedaris. Best case scenario is that I may literally break a leg because the casting call specifically states that “all those auditioning should come prepared to move.” Move, as in learn a few steps and move around the stage together. I am laden with much grace and a fair amount of poise when stationary but add movement and all bets are off. I am flat-footed and have been a toe-walker as long as I can remember. Just imagine a 6’2″, toe-walking, bald-headed train wreck and it’s like you’re there with me at my audition tomorrow night. I’ve already planned my defensive strategy, the one thing that’s gotten me out of many a messy situation and saved my gay ass from getting kicked: self-deprecation. Thankfully, I am a master of self-loathing and personal parody. If I feel I’m about to crash and burn while “dancing” I’ll simply channel Lucille Ball or Jerry Lewis, smile endearingly, and pray that my flawless run-through while reading the script will carry me, so to speak.  So I’m off, for now, to rehearse my lines a bit more and to make a deal with the devil so as to avoid breaking said leg(s) and pray that tomorrow I am granted focus, inspiration and bladder control.

© Copyright by James Luther 2009, All Rights Reserved

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you,  thank you silence

My thanks to Ms. Morissette for her fabulous, poetic, wise, and encouraging lyrics. They, and she, have helped me get through some very tough and challenging days of my post-drug-addicted life. Every time I play “Thank U” she reminds me that pain, sorrow, disappointment, and loss, all the less-than-attractive emotions and life experiences really, are just points of gratitude and opportunities for growth and maturity. I simplify it further as a personal internal mantra that I meditate on and visualize as the yin-yang symbol.

But this is not a post on Chinese philosophy and my personal armchair psychoanalysis, it’s about ME! Let’s be honest, the reason you’ve come to lap at the trough of James Luther is to be entertained and, bless you, inspired. Before I get into all that, I find it necessary to set the stage. It was a dark and stormy night. No really, it really IS a dark and stormy night and I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write that sentence à la Snoopy. As I clickety-clack on my laptop lightning is flashing in the sky and hail of an indeterminate size is falling outside my window in the courtyard of my apartment building. I absolutely LOVE a good thunderstorm! My roommate’s cats, on the other hand, are less than thrilled to be so rudely roused from their slumbers.

So back to my need for and appreciation of the song “Thank U” by Alanis Morissette. Had this evening gone as planned I wouldn’t have had the opportunity nor the honor of sharing my thoughts with you. However, it didn’t go as planned and I, James Luther, got stood up. This has never happened to me in the traditional sense. Sure I’ve arranged an NSA hookup online and the doorbell never rang but that’s completely different and a lot less tragic. That was just sex, a few grunts and moans and an awkward postcoital chat and they’re on their way. Tonight was to have been Romance with a capital ‘R’. I had already managed his expectations with regard to sex by flat-out stating that there would be none, zippo, zilch. I’m no prude mind you, I’ve had my share of men. Truth be told I’ve probably had your share, your neighbor’s share and possibly everyone’s share in every place I’ve ever lived. What’s that Alanis? Oh yes indeed, Thank U Frailty.

So back to this evening. I have been corresponding with a man, a suitor, a prospective partner, a guy on Craigslist.com for several weeks. Tonight was to be a blind date of sorts for us, more accurately a blind, deaf, and dumb date. We have been voraciously text messaging and emailing one another daily since I initially responded to his post on Craigslist. First he said he lived here in Madison and when I quizzed him as to why it was so difficult for us to get together since he’s unemployed and lives locally he fessed up and admitted he actually lives 45 minutes away. Don’t bother, let me do it for you, I’m now tossing the brightest and largest red flag I can find. Trust me, looking back there were many red flags, too numerous and obvious to detail here, during the course of several weeks. But hope and naivete spring eternal don’t they. Luckily, I prepared for his no-call/no-show well before it happened. You know what they say, if he sounds too good to be true, he’s a serial killer or he’s a she. The former being a very real concern for the new gay about town, a town that’s mere miles away from Milwaukee home of Laverne & Shirley & Jeffrey, as in Dahmer. Yes I know the chances of my demise at the lips of a serial killer are infinitesimal but I met a girl here in Madison recently who claimed to have had a friend whose brother had fallen victim to Dahmer. Listening to her tell the story gave me the creeps and they’ve never really gone away.

So back to Mr. Not-So-Wonderful. Oddly enough, coincidentally in fact, the last time I heard from this loser was two nights ago when we made plans for today. Not one text, email or phone call has been received since Friday evening. Very odd indeed since prior to that day we’d exchanged an average of 80, yes EIGHTY, text messages a day. In a previous life this sort of rejection, humiliation, and hurt feelings would have sent me into a tail spin where I spiraled out of control and turned to drugs to numb myself from to the pain. Prior to drugs I ignored the pain as best I could, pushed it down and prayed it would stay locked away from consciousness. Thank U Terror.

Of course my feelings are hurt. Of course I’m disappointed. I’m human, of course. I’m a beautifully and perfectly flawed person. So he wasn’t ‘the one’, there most certainly will be more. What’s important and meaningful is that although I’m slightly sad, I’m still sober. The hurt and ickiness I felt all day are gone and I’m still standing and dammit I’m still sober. (Namaste Ms. Morissette )

The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

© Copyright by James Luther 2009, All Rights Reserved

On a serious note, I would be criminally remiss if I didn’t acknowledge my muse, best girlfriend, and fantasy fiance ”DM” for encouraging and inspiring me to write about my life and share my stories for mass consumption. I thank the Universe for her every night before I go to sleep. It was during countless meaning-of-life conversations on our favorite Hawaiian beaches a few short months ago that DM called me on my bullshit as well as taught me how to laugh and experience joy again. Her unwavering faith in me and generous, supportive laughter buoyed me daily so that I finally realized and accepted the classic lyrics of  the band America, that . . .

“Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man, that he didn’t, didn’t already have.”

 

 

James Luther is an amateur human being, actor, barista, former drug addict, voice actor, waiter, writer, homosexual, bartender, singer, and merchant marine among many, many other things. Mr. Luther is a brand-spankin’ new resident of Madison, Wisconsin. In future posts he plans to regale you with his tales of the trials, tribulations and triumphs that ultimately brought him to MadTown by way of Hawai’i, San Francisco, and of course, Kentucky.

© Copyright by James Luther 2009, All Rights Reserved