Needle in the Hay

There's a fascinating and heartbreaking article in the January 16 New Yorker, about a child prodigy who lived in the middle of Nebraska and committed suicide at the age of fourteen. What is partly so fascinating is the author's ability to lay out the story without judgment, either in the way in which the boy lived or in how his death has been interpreted, by his family, friends, and experts. His mother and father deny that Brendenn was depressed and have an odd interpretation of his suicide. In the middle of the story, however, there's a quote from what would normally be an innocuous teenage e-mail from Brendenn:

I'm glad there's someone who cares. I don't know why I'm so depressed, before it was just every now and then, and you know, it was just 'bummed out' depressed. But now it's constant and it's just 'What's the point of living anymore?' I don't know, maybe I don't spend enough time around good friends like you.

While I don't want to read a whole lot into the few words in the e-mail, for me it captures the genuine distinction of being bummed out vs. being depressed, and Brendenn, at age fourteen, accurately described depression, the constancy of it at least.

I'm fumbling through my days here as well, feeling like I'm merely moving from here to there, sometimes in a car, sometimes walking along a sidewalk, even feeling like I'm watching my arms move, detached and autonomous from my body. It's not very fun, but I have enough cognitive gymastic skill to get through the day and also to seek a bit of help. I don't think the music I listen to helps at times either, like Elliot Smith and Nick Drake, but I've been grooving to free online tunes I've scored for my iPod. Check out www.fingertipsmusic.com.