On Writing Memoir, Part 3, “Fractured”

This is the third in my series on memoir. Adjusting to my blindness after my accident meant many things. My life took a new direction, and not just because I was now an eleven-year-old kid who was totally blind and not able to do many of those things he did before. I began reading books, and the world opened up for me in a new way, just as it seemed to be shutting down in others. I will have more to say about reading in a later post.
When I was in my thirties and had two children of my own, I was at a family dinner, helping my cousin to wash the dishes. She was telling me about suffering something she called seasonal affective disorder, a kind of depression I’d never heard of. It affected her during the winter months, and she was doing a variety of things to manage it. This was one of those moments for me—some people call them epiphanies. it occurred to me that I had been experiencing something similar for years—but during the summer and not the winter.
It took some time, but I began to realize that every year, right around the middle of May, I experienced a strange flattening out, a kind of compression of my emotional life that didn’t ease up until nearly the beginning of the school year in September. It was depression. The accident that took my sight happened in the middle of August, and feeling some form of depression during the summer months had become so normal for me that I’d stopped questioning the pattern.
I began writing about this strange depression, and one of the results is “Fractured,” a piece that appeared last Christmas in Green Briar Review.
This piece describes an early awareness of depression, but I had no ability at the time to understand it. Years later, I still have to work at understanding my depression—when it manifests and why. As a child and a teen, I had few means of sorting the complex, confusing, and often destructive emotions I felt. As an adult, I now have the language to describe it, to explore it, and to better understand it. I’m thankful for that, and thankful for all the hours in therapy that helped me sort through this difficult period of my life.