(I have been thinking about Jesse lately and how much I miss having him around. Not that I want to be miserable, I just miss his company… )
I was hoping that when I woke up this morning he would be gone, but the moment I opened my eyes, I sensed he was still around.
All my life, I have been subjected to dark, depressive moods to such an extent they seemed normal. Something that happens on a regular basis to me and other people, something I could do little about.
Looking back, I often wonder, which came first, the disasters or Jesse? Could he be the cause of all the trouble in my life, or simply the end result? Did some obscure supernatural force that masqueraded as a large black dog curse me?
No stranger to the conflicting thoughts and emotions that churn around in my head, I knew what it meant. Not going to be a quick visit then, but when was it ever?
I also knew there was little point in arguing with him, as it had never worked in the past. Had I been working too hard in my haste to finish writing my book and move on?
I knew I had, but this couldn’t be what had summoned Jesse again. I love being a writer. Words, sentences and chapters were my friends.
The most important part of writing a book is the choice of cover, and for some peculiar reason, I just couldn’t do it. I tried repeatedly to first find the inspiration, then to create something suitable, but I didn’t like anything I came up with.
Not one to give up easily, I even commissioned a cover from my friend Chris Graham who is far cleverer than I. But after three failed attempts I had to step back. Something must be seriously wrong this time. Not just overwork or frustration, I was getting mixed signals and failing to recognise any of them. Could it be time to hang up my pencil? But halfway through writing this, I realised that wasn’t the answer.
It is never just one thing that brings Jesse back. He has learned to wait, I swear, knowing that this little car that could, will finally slip off the rails completely.
In the past, I have snapped out of it reasonably quickly, but just lately, it’s as if he doesn’t want to leave me. Maybe he is getting old too, and eager for a quiet life.
Sometimes I miss having a real dog, for all the friendship and loyalty they bring, but in all fairness, I cannot welcome this one into my heart, although sometimes it would seem he is already there.
He has been with me, off and on, for so long now. Almost by default, as he is always there when I seem to need him the most. He never berates or condemns, criticises or demeans and in the midst of all the dark silent terror that is depression, he has become my friend.
Jesse is the embodiment of my despair made manifest. He hasn’t caused my distress, how could he? People are too quick to blame him, when the truth is closer to home…
© Jaye Marie