Signs of Life

Finding my Canary in the Coal Mine

Apr 22, 2025

I take everything very seriously. I wish I didn’t. I wish I had ‘more chill’ as the youths™️ would say, except the youths then were Millennials and we’re old now and Gen Z doesn’t say things like ‘having more chill’ because they are cool and I am not and have never been.

As you can see, I am a very calm person who does not overthink much. Never. Not here. No overworked brain up in these hills!

Before we go any further, if mental health stuff is not your jam, this is your sign to exit. No hard feelings, I just want to give folks proper content warnings. Because while I like to think I have above average intelligence, I can be slow on the uptake. Why does this matter? Because I went to the doctor’s yesterday to up my brain meds and walked out with a shiny new depression (re)diagnosis.

*Favorite tree still being my favorite.*

Finding the Canary in the Coal Mind

To recap: the last few newsletters I’ve sent out I’ve alluded to being behind on everything writing related, and feeling both like I was doing too much and not enough. Last week, it reached a peak, and I noticed something that troubled me even more than lack of motivation to be a person: I didn’t want to read.

When I sat down to read, I couldn’t focus for any length of time. I’d start one book, then stop and put it back. I’d get very excited when looking at my TBR, but then couldn’t choose a book. I’d start to read, then stare off into the distance and disassociate. It was very odd. I’ve been working on my self-sabotaging tendencies around writing, so the fact that I wasn’t writing as much wasn’t (ab)normal. But not wanting to read? Now that was new and troubling. Reading doesn’t require as much brain power as writing, and I have always been able to find some energy to read.

Last Thursday, my thoughts finally coalesced: what was even the point? I was specifically thinking about why should I bother putting real clothes on, but that formulation alone was enough for me to call my doctor. Now, I could have just upped my brain meds on my own, but I generally think that consulting a physician about such things is smart, especially since my psychiatrist left me high and dry when I wanted to adjust last year. These are not things I recommend doing alone.

So I already knew what I was going in for: physician approval to take more brain drugs. What I did not anticipate was her taking me so seriously. Remember how I said I have no chill? Yeah, apparently I do when it comes to my health. I thought my self deprecating humor would get me in and out of there in 10 minutes. The conversation went something as follows:

Me: I think this will be a quick visit. I’d like to up my meds.
Doctor: Why?
Me: Well, I’ve been thinking ‘what’s the point’ about most things recently and -
Doctor: *immediately pulling out mental health questionnaire and questions on suicidal ideation* We need to talk about your depression.
Me:…oh.1

See, I had depression previously. Really, really bad depressive episodes in my teens and college years. But it’s been over a decade since I had a flare up, so I considered it something that happened, nothing something that was actively happening. Heck, I thought the brain drug increase was going to be for my anxiety. But nope, mental health questionnaire does not lie. Depression it is. Probably did not help my case any that it was 8:15 in the morning and I was sitting before my doctor in leggings and a giant Grandpa cardigan. I am a very adult person.

Would I have figured out I was depressed eventually on my own? Sure, probably. It might have taken longer because I apparently mask very well (to myself, even!). I just had a great weekend celebrating Easter with family, and I’m kitty sitting a very distinguished gentleman named Frank who yells at me and demands pets. So I wasn’t sad, per se, but everything felt hard and pointless. An endless stream of tasks to be completed with no end. It’s been said before, but depressed people don’t necessarily have to be sad. My depressive episodes in college were held at bay by the fact that I was so anxious. So even though I was depressed, I was highly functional.

As I told my doctor, I don’t even think anyone else noticed I was off,2 I noticed the change in my behavior and found it alarming. I also got diagnosed with anemia, so clearly my depression stems from the lack of iron in my blood. (I jest. See? Self deprecating humor masking real emotional problems.)3

The reading was the key. My canary in the coal mine. I do not want to sit and be cozy and drink tea? Yeah, something’s wrong. What I do find highly entertaining is that I made it through winter all fine and dandy, and then my brain got to spring, saw the greater sunlight, the trees blooming, the small animals running amok, and said NOPE I’M OUT. That is hilarious to me.

*I wish I didn’t have a meme for everything but alas…NBC don’t sue me all rights to Park and Recreation.*

What does that mean for here and why am I even telling you about it? In 7th grade, my science teacher, Mrs. Theriault, reminded me a lot of my own grandmother. She was small but had presence, the kind of woman you did not mess with. She told a story one day during our child development unit that toddlers will often look to the people around them to help them decide how to react. For example:

if a child falls and the adults around her act upset at her fall, the child might intuit that she should be upset and start crying.
if a child falls, and the adults around her act as if her fall is no big deal, she might start laughing and consider it silly.

All this to say: I am telling you how you can react. I don’t mind talking about my brain because to me it is not that big of a deal. It has a chemical imbalance, always has, always will. This might seem counterintuitive given that I’ve just told you how much it’s been my own worst enemy these past few weeks, but the fact that it exists isn’t taboo to me. The fact that I need therapy and meds is less salacious and more mundane. Honestly I’m relieved - there’s a reason why I’ve had so many good writing ideas and haven’t been able to execute them. There’s a reason I can’t focus on reading. There’s a reason everything feels hard: there’s a ghost in the machine, a missed connection in my brain, and it needs sorting out. And if anyone else out there is struggling and just needs a bit of reassurance that they’re not alone? I’m happy to provide that.

I have shiny new meds for both the anemia and the depression (though I wish they’d just straight up give me the iron infusion, but you can’t always get what you want etc etc), so I’m going to take the next two weeks off from Substacking to adjust. I’ll send out weekly No New Books™️ and Mug updates because those are fun, but I’ll hold off on any longer analytical pieces until May. Hopefully by then I will have more than one molecule of serotonin bouncing around my brain, and I’ll be able to focus more on writing for pleasure.

*Proof of life with (gluten-free) treat. God my hair looked good yesterday, proving the Universe does indeed have a weird sense of humor.*

I promise I’m fine. I’m not just saying this to reassure you. I’m lucky that I have good health insurance and supportive medical providers, and a community of people (you, my lovely readers, included!) that I know I can lean on. I just need some time, and then I’ll be back annoying you with my chaotic reading takes. And will finally write about Men Have Called Her Crazy.

T.S. Eliot had it right: April really is the cruelest month.

I know I say it a lot, but it bears repeating: thanks for being here, I really appreciate it, and I’ll be back soon.

No New Books™️ Challenge

I have been very good and will continue to be very good until Saturday. I am counting down the days and have a full on plan for the books I will acquire on Independent Bookstore Day. Might as well order all my sequels on the same day.

Longest streak: 38 days (January 1st - February 6th)
Last streak: 28 days (March 5th - April 1st)
Current streak: 21 days (April 2nd - Present)

Mug Moment of the Week

This week, I have a guest mug for you. After visiting both my family and the wilds of Western Mass for Easter, I am back in Providence. But behold: the fancy mugs I was drinking out of at my parents house.

If you are not familiar, this is Polish Pottery. Which does have its origins in Poland, so that is not a misnomer. I’ve been aware of it for years (it’s often on gift registries in my part of the world and my Mom has a bunch), but I wasn’t sure what made it special. A supplier’s website illuminated me:

Polish Pottery is made from a specific type of clay that is found only in a few regions in Poland. The clay is very durable and dense, which makes the pottery highly resistant to chipping and scratching. The pottery is fired at high temperatures, which gives it a shiny and smooth finish. (Bolding website’s)4

Anyways, this is a great mug not only because it’s pretty but also because it’s BIG. As we know, I need a large amount of hot liquids at all times otherwise I will combust.

Don’t worry, I’m not featuring guest mugs because I’ve run out of mugs at my house. Never. But my Mom’s mug collection deserved its time to shine, too.

Apropos of nothing, if you read last week’s post, we have now entered ‘The Pollening’ portion of New England’s 12 seasons and I hate it.

The Chaotic Reader

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