In Fall of 2023, I was introduced to the Day One Cinema Therapy writing program (via www.yesandexercize.org). It was a lifesaver, helping me find the strength to save myself. Through the 16 weeks of the class, I focused on a Joseph Campbell-inspired Hero’s Journey to uncover hidden emotions that imprisoned me. By naming my apathy I began to understand and externalize the emotion, making it less overwhelming and more manageable. I brought my feeling of apathy to the writing process and mythologized it as “Apathetic Annie”. 

I feel that it’s time to revisit “Apathetic Annie”. 

She appeared in my life on a Tuesday, in the Summer of 2023. Her presence was as unexpected and intolerable as an unrelenting heat wave that refuses to abate. With a shrug and a sigh, she settled on a pile of pillows on my living room floor. Strangely, I was drawn to her listless demeanor. As days passed, her indifference proved contagious, and soon I found myself stuck in a rut, unable to muster enthusiasm for anything. 

I struggled to navigate the chaos of daily life, forcing myself to confront the apathy that threatened to consume me. But I felt defeated. “Apathetic Annie” had control over me. This apathy affected both my mind and body, causing my cognition and executive functioning to rapidly decline. I was sinking in quicksand.

I discovered her strength and influence, feared her, and worried I would languish like her. She looked like a combination of “Mrs. Robinson” in The Graduate, and “Cruella de Vil” in the original, animated 101 Dalmatians. She had gray, cracked skin, brittle hair like a worn-out steel scouring pad, an angular, harsh face, and dark, empty eyes. Her putrid cigarette smoke made me nauseous. One day, I found that I could no longer stand her smugness and laughing at me. In a moment of pure rage, I attacked her, tossed her into an empty dog crate, and locked her up in the back of my minivan. Now she was cowering, no longer laughing at me or in control.

I continued my journey with “Apathetic Annie” in tow, learning to accept that she would always be with me but under my control now. After the 16-week class ended, I released “Apathetic Annie” and other troublesome emotions, freeing myself from their burden. I feared “Apathetic Annie” would take advantage of my mourning when my dog, Daisy, died. But when she came to my door, I never let her in. I acknowledged her presence but never let her take control again.

“Apathetic Annie” and the other troublesome emotions returned when I did another 16-week cinema therapy writing session. I didn’t banish them; I let them be who they were, but under my control. “Apathetic Annie” in particular became quiet and contemplative. She became my shadow. Always there, listening and watching but never interfering. She had transformed from Apathetic to Empathetic. Her look softened, with supple skin glowing with a soft rose hue and long, soft, wavy brown hair, resembling the musical poet and singer, Carole King. She’s beautiful. I still saw apathy within her, but it was weak and distant. She was no longer “Apathetic Annie”, just Annie. My Annie. Now when I feel apathy sneaking in, Annie comes to me for strength and support. We look at each other, deeply, and try to sense if we are truly feeling apathy or just have a lack of direction in that moment. I smile at her, hold her hand, or give her a hug, and together we shake off the apathy. We find something interesting or distracting to do and move on. It’s still hard work sometimes and often a struggle because Apathy is an unrelenting enemy for someone with Parkinson’s. But there is a path toward acceptance and relief. Each day that I get to wake up, relatively pain free or at least have no new pains, I sit at the edge of my bed, and open my eyes, and hope to find something to inspire me and keep me engaged in life for another day. It doesn’t have to be big. It could be making a phone call, or doing the laundry.  In fact, some of my best days happen when I am out doing everyday things like getting groceries or dropping off packages at UPS. These can be my best days because while I am driving I always look out the window and up at the sky. The beauty of the clouds, blue sky and sometimes swaying trees are so beautiful and peaceful that it’s hard not to take a deep breath, let it out and smile.
And in those moments, as I breathe deeply and smile at the sky, I remind myself that naming my emotions was the first step to reclaiming my life—and every day, no matter how small, is a chance to keep moving forward with Annie by my side.