As pointless as an inside out raccoon.

Once upon a time, some medieval a-hole invented the oubliette: a dungeon modeled after the mythical bottomless pit. The only entrance, a trap door in the ceiling, was so far overhead that the person banished to the depths went mad with hopelessness, knowing they were left in the dark to be forgotten. (Or something like that.)

Clearly, the aforementioned medieval a-hole was familiar with the concept of depression. And weaponized it. Genius. Mad genius.

Today, I greet you from the depths of the oubliette, depression having settled in like an old friend I never really wanted to meet in the first place. But here he is and the associated fog will likely cover the faint glint of light from the mouth of the pit for a while. It’s my job (with the help of medication) to work really, really hard to remember that it’s not actually hopeless and I do actually matter. But first, how did I get here?


Are you familiar with Jenny Lawson? Alias: The Bloggess? Author of Let’s Pretend this Never Happened and, more recently, Furiously Happy: A Funny Book about Horrible Things? I kind of adore her — her irreverence and frankness about mental illness is a thing of beauty and I think she’s done a lot, lot, lot of good for a lot, lot, lot of people who might otherwise feel very alone. Her point: we’re all broken, some of us more than others, and for those of us in whom that means mental illness, it is a legitimate disease worthy of medical treatment. And that is all. That and a silver ribbon to be worn with pride — I am surviving. No shame.

Anyway, I’m reading Furiously Happy right now and the star of the show is Rory the furiously happy raccoon (see book cover):


Rory is a taxidermied raccoon. Taxidermied to a state of permanent, furious, happiness.

I kind of dig Rory and all his maniacal excitement. And I fully understood what it meant to be a taxidermied raccoon — once upon a time he was alive, he died, his skin was removed, he was stuffed, posed, preserved, the end.

But then last weekend, this horror show took place in my backyard (not a fan of gruesomeness? scroll by real quick):

inside out raccoon

Not actually my backyard, of course, but the backyard that butts up to the edge of mine. So close enough. That’s a raccoon. Hanging from an apple tree. Having its skin removed.

An inside out raccoon.


I was disturbed on Saturday, but when it happened again on Monday morning (happened again on Monday morning because #Wisconsin), less so. I mean, that’s how you make a taxidermied raccoon, right? Even a furiously happy one was once upon a time dangling from something having its skin removed.

The premise behind the idea of being Furiously Happy, a la Jenny Lawson, is that when you suffer from severe bouts of depression, it steals the joy right out of your life. So in those moments when you can be happy — you should be furiously so. Embracing life and adventure and goodness and joy to the fullest in those moments when it is in your power to be in that place, when the fog isn’t hanging over you, when all the exclamation points haven’t mysteriously vanished from your life. Or, as is apropos here, when you’re not busy being turned inside out, be like Rory.

I liked that analogy for depression — an inside out raccoon with the potential to be happy again, given a little help from a skilled taxidermist with a good sense of humor.

But then again, once the inside out raccoon suit was off the bare raccoon body, my neighbor took the pelt (is it a pelt? is that what we call the removed skin/fur???) inside the house and left the (now naked) raccoon body hanging from that tree. It swayed there for a long time and I couldn’t look away. What do you do with a dead, naked raccoon, I thought? I mean, people don’t eat raccoon, do they? That naked raccoon isn’t going to get furiously happy — just his little suit. So… what’s his point?

My neighbor came back outside with a bucket, untied the raccoon, dropped him inside, and carried him away to who knows where. To nowhere, probably.

And I realized that I felt past the point of the little raccoon suit with the potential to be happy again. I felt a lot more like the dead, naked, slightly swaying, completely pointless raccoon left hanging on the branch. It was just grief at first. I was so sad, and with good reason, but I had moved past that point. Somewhere in my grief and brokenness, I had convinced myself that that’s all there was. That I was pointless.

I had let myself slip back into the oubliette.


The thoughts that came and went (and still sometimes come and go) are scary. I wished to not be loved — because then it would be easier to disappear, no heartache left behind. I wished for tragedy of the variety that was unquestionably not my fault yet would somehow lead me to oblivion. For an end because why was I bothering anyway. I did not matter and that the people who for some reason thought that I did would be better off without me… when they realized that there were prettier wives that were good at keeping their families healthy, children with the ability to produce grandchildren, sisters that don’t harbor ugly jealousy, writers with more talent and less baggage, friends with the ability to smile, nieces without drama, etc. I want to be all those things to all those people. I have been none of them. I had no point.

I don’t want to lie to you. I’m still there to some extent. It’s a bad neighborhood of the mind, as my aunt would say, and I wander there frequently these days. But I do have some good days too. Thanks to the people that love me, goodness knows why, and the mental health care I have sought — needed to seek. But maybe most of all this time because someone else heard what I said and shared their own story with me and I thought for a second, hey, we just connected. And maybe connection is enough of a point. Enough of a reason. Something that matters.

And connection does keep happening, when I really stop and think about it. It has for a while and it has very frequently recently. In ways that I didn’t really expect. Not just those who have experienced the loss of a pregnancy or a child, but those who have been to broken places for other reasons too. People who look so shiny and bright on the outside that there’s just no possible way for that to not be the whole story, except of course there’s more. And they said to me, “hey… me too, because this thing…” And dang. That’s powerful stuff.

On the surface, it seems a little bit like misery-loves-company, but it’s not. It’s a lot more like hey-let-me-lend-you-my-strength. Let’s-walk-together-for-a-sec. I’m-going-to-hug-you-gently-with-my-words. I’m-going-to-show-you-something-tragic-yet-beautiful-and-remind-you-that-it-is-possible-to-be-furiously-happy-again.

For those moments, for those people, and for the people that love me… that I love back… I’m going to hang on. I’m going to remember that even an inside out raccoon isn’t really pointless. That the bottom of the oubliette is temporary and that somewhere above me, no matter how far away it seems, there is light.

9 thoughts on “As pointless as an inside out raccoon.

  1. “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” – Our wise Headmaster.

    Have you ever seen the movie Labyrinth? It’s basically about a young girl who thinks everything in her life is unfair, and one night she is stuck watching her baby brother. She wishes the goblin king to take him away, and then instantly regrets it when the baby brother vanishes. In order to get him back, she has to solve a labyrinth, which is filled with oubliettes, and this labyrinth looks impossible – but she says ‘it looks like a piece of cake’. Only, it turns out, it’s not a piece of cake. If it weren’t for all of the friends she makes along the way, the labyrinth would be impossible in every way. This movie is one of my go-to movies when I feel like I need a reminder to lean on my friends a little bit more than I never do (even if my friends are just my sisters.)

    It may look like none of us are down there in that oubliette with you, and that is because we aren’t. We are all shining our (flash)lights as bright as we can to help you find your way out.

  2. Dangerous neighborhood: the corner of Lake and Chicago in your mind… but may I just say that even at Lake and Chicago we had the most story-worthy pedicure we’ll probably ever have?

    I’ll keep reminding you there is always light and I’ll keep appreciating that you are taking the time to educate others like me who don’t understand depression what it feels like to be in that place. It is skill to paint the image with words. Important, in the way Tegan’s images are, to bring light to what is hard to understand by those who don’t experience it.

    So pointless? I don’t think so. More like worthwhile and loved.

  3. You are so beautiful, inside and out, and you touch the lives of more people than you know. You are an important and necessary part of God’s creation, and the world would be less without you in it.

  4. Oh, Rachel, how many times have you watched Labyrinth? What a great comment! I’ve lived in that neighborhood and I fear going back more than you will ever know. I’m so sorry that you ever had to go there. I love you inside out!

  5. Rachel- I will continue to call out your bravery for as long as you need to believe it! Your gift of words using poignancy and humor is so beautiful and while so good for your heart, look at the other hearts it touches and fluffs up as well!! As N said above, it’s true we aren’t in there with you, but we are all sitting up here by the opening that looks so far away to you- we’ve got flashlights and hugs and acceptance and snacks of course!! We can see you and hear you moving around down there- we trust you! And when you need a word whispered down, just let one (or all) of us know!! So much love!!

  6. “I want to be all those things to all those people. I have been none of them. I had no point.”

    Please don’t think your worth is tied to what you can do for others. You matter simply because you *are*, because you exist.

    I’m reminded of one of my favorite lines from The West Wing, when the president tells his daughter, “The only thing you had to do to make me happy was come home at the end of the day.” I’m pretty sure the people who love you feel the same way.

  7. I love Jenny Lawson, thanks for making me aware of a new book!

    You WILL get through this. There is light on the other side. Life is full of ups and downs, and you just gotta get through the downs, knowing that it DOES get better. I can relate in a small way to what you’re going through, having been someone who literally didn’t want to continue breathing during an episode of depression, and you are doing everything that will get you through. You are being guided through therapy, you are reflective on your blog and reaching out to others, you are taking medication (because depression is absolutely a brain imbalance too, even if begun through a life experience), so because of all of this I have every confidence you will make it out of the oubliette. I’m so proud of you for being so open about your depression- you are an advocate and an inspiration.

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