Stream of thought
As I was driving around with my son today, many things came to me regarding my illness. I am my most creative self when I am not well. I wrote a novel during a period which I am now sure was a mania or quickly cycling mood. It took me 6 months. I write poetry when I am most depressed. Its dark, ugly poetry. I think I started that thinking if I wrote it down, it would go away. It didn't. Here is but one of hundreds (don't be a critic...I'm no poet):
A Good Rain
Time blankets all
With dust, malcontent, and pain
As the world slips by unnoticing
Needed is a good rain
To wash away the neglect
And bring renewal to a stagnant life
Begging, pleading, forcing
The clouds come
But rain is a rare luxury
In this biosphere world
Protected by this envelope
Of chemicals and kid’s gloves
The drops seldom fall
Those drops that cleanse the soul and mind
That thunder which erases the pain
The storm builds for days
Rolling and threatening
Until the tempest arrives at last
The rain of my soul streams down my face
As I bask in its clarity and rejuvenation
I am lost in the confusion and remarkable revelation
Yet the rain opens my heart
To the release of useless emotion
And brings rest and temporary solace
And allows me to stiffen my resolve
To face one more day
One day at a time
Until the rain falls again.
I have mental illness on both sides of my family, mostly undiagnosed. My mother, no doubt, suffered from depression. She past away, death by alcohol, this past July. My father is treated for depression. Somewhat by Zoloft, mostly by vodka. I have been certain, for some time now and during better and worse periods, that absent some car accident or other anomoly, I will die of my illness (most likely by my own hand). That is, unless I find a way to control it. Following is a day form my almost daily journal which highlights my existence:
Today was different. I could have stayed in bed all day. My body physically hurts today. I noticed the effort it took just to raise a cup to my mouth. As though nothing is going on in my head, except for noticing that nothing is going on in my head. Melissa did her best to get me out and keep me moving. I know she’s worried about me. So am I. But today, that sadness is gone, or very distant. Its not that I don’t care, its that I can’t focus enough to care. I can’t imagine going to work tomorrow. That level of interaction and energy just seems too much. Melissa gave an alprazolam at about 1:00. They help, fast. They take the sadness away within 15 minutes. If I could live my life on them, things would be better. They prevent me, however, from knowing how I’m “really” feeling, and so I resist taking them during the day. All day, my mind keeps noticing these happy families at lunch, shopping, smiling and laughing and “having fun.” I’ve forgotten what that is, and how it really feels. My mind keeps telling me that maybe my “illness” is just an excuse for my lack of personaility. Maybe I really am just the asshole jerk that I act like much of the time. Maybe I’m just too lazy to keep a job or to be successful, and my illness is just a crutch or a cover. I could convince myself of that, given time. I also realize that I always feel like an outsider, the different one. I’ve always been shy, withdrawn, even in college. But I was engaged in life, had friends, lived in the college world of fun and pranks. But at some point I detached from the world and became someone looking in from the outside.
After more thinking and reading on ECT, I know there are some downsides, and I know there are some people for whom it just doesn’t work or doesn’t “stick”. I know its is a controversial treatment, and I know there is no scientific explanation for why it works (hypothesis, but no answers.) I also know that the last 5 years of my life have been a steady decline. I know I am losing my fight with my illness. Even the last 11 months since Porter, my depression has been in check, but my life is completely “about” my illness. I AM my illness. I live a series of daily routines which repeat day after day and which cause me great stress if they are interrupted (ie up at 7:00, coffee, work at 8:30, lunch at 1:00, go home at 5:30, eat at 6:00, hide in basement from 7 to 10, bed at 10. Weekends, insert coffee at Starbucks/read at both 9:30 and 4:00 each day). I am removed from my family and everyone else in the world, and I’m fine with that. Now, after feeling like I fought every day of the last 11 months to get somewhere, to get on top of this “thing”, I slid hard and fast right back to the same place I was before, crying several times a day, sorry for everything in my life and everything that I am not, focusing on the fact that I was an intelligent, driven lawyer who is now a professional nothing, barely supporting his family, and so miserable that giving my family the proceeds from life insurance far outweighs the value that I bring. I want to fucking die. (even through the alprazolam, I’m crying.) Now, back to ECT, how bad can those downsides be? How much worse can things get than being so miserable that on an increasing basis, planning my own death is my leading past-time? I don’t think there is more than one logical choice.
People who have never suffered a deep depression simply can't understand. It doesn't matter if you are a psychitrist or a therapist, you can't get it. 10 years ago, my best friend's father kiled himself. This man was a well respected radiologist, had more money than god, a great family, a great home. I was so astounded, then, about his choice. How could "he" have so much to be down about that he would end his life? Maybe its karma...but now I get it. Explaining the pain of depression to an "outsider" is like trying to explain the pain of a burn to someone who has never felt a burn. Its primal, it cannot be broken down into smaller peices and explained. It just is, and it has to be experienced to be appreciated.
An interesting quote I found today, from a novel by T. Jefferson Parker, "Silent Joe": "everything is the same s everything else, and none of it matters."
I realize that, if someone showed up at my door and said "OK Mike, its all over. You can go back to being the old you again!", I wouldn't have a clue where to start. My wife commented, in therapy, that I haven't been "happy" in five years. Not really happy.
I also realize that I'm not afraid of much. What I do fear, however, is being alone with my illness. What I fear most is not death. There are many things worse. Such as life, wihtout the ability to end suffering. I fear being Terry Schibo (sorry if I misspelled.)
Imagine how you might feel if someone came and took away TV form you today. We all, for the most part, have liveds built on or around TV. It would be missed terribly in my life if it were just suddenly gone and never to return. In ways, I would be lost. Think of the stimulation and the information you get, for good or bad, from TV. I have heard it said that if you never had a TV, and they vanished today, there would be nothing to miss. I haven't always had this illness. I had a TV, and I built a life around that TV. 5 years ago, someone took my TV away, and it hasn't returned. is it different if you are born with and always have a mental illness? In that case, I would know no life other than WITH the illness. Sorry, rambling.
treatment begins tomorrow at 3:30. I've been asked if I'm scared. I'm not. Decision made. All that's left is carrying out the plan.
A Good Rain
Time blankets all
With dust, malcontent, and pain
As the world slips by unnoticing
Needed is a good rain
To wash away the neglect
And bring renewal to a stagnant life
Begging, pleading, forcing
The clouds come
But rain is a rare luxury
In this biosphere world
Protected by this envelope
Of chemicals and kid’s gloves
The drops seldom fall
Those drops that cleanse the soul and mind
That thunder which erases the pain
The storm builds for days
Rolling and threatening
Until the tempest arrives at last
The rain of my soul streams down my face
As I bask in its clarity and rejuvenation
I am lost in the confusion and remarkable revelation
Yet the rain opens my heart
To the release of useless emotion
And brings rest and temporary solace
And allows me to stiffen my resolve
To face one more day
One day at a time
Until the rain falls again.
I have mental illness on both sides of my family, mostly undiagnosed. My mother, no doubt, suffered from depression. She past away, death by alcohol, this past July. My father is treated for depression. Somewhat by Zoloft, mostly by vodka. I have been certain, for some time now and during better and worse periods, that absent some car accident or other anomoly, I will die of my illness (most likely by my own hand). That is, unless I find a way to control it. Following is a day form my almost daily journal which highlights my existence:
Today was different. I could have stayed in bed all day. My body physically hurts today. I noticed the effort it took just to raise a cup to my mouth. As though nothing is going on in my head, except for noticing that nothing is going on in my head. Melissa did her best to get me out and keep me moving. I know she’s worried about me. So am I. But today, that sadness is gone, or very distant. Its not that I don’t care, its that I can’t focus enough to care. I can’t imagine going to work tomorrow. That level of interaction and energy just seems too much. Melissa gave an alprazolam at about 1:00. They help, fast. They take the sadness away within 15 minutes. If I could live my life on them, things would be better. They prevent me, however, from knowing how I’m “really” feeling, and so I resist taking them during the day. All day, my mind keeps noticing these happy families at lunch, shopping, smiling and laughing and “having fun.” I’ve forgotten what that is, and how it really feels. My mind keeps telling me that maybe my “illness” is just an excuse for my lack of personaility. Maybe I really am just the asshole jerk that I act like much of the time. Maybe I’m just too lazy to keep a job or to be successful, and my illness is just a crutch or a cover. I could convince myself of that, given time. I also realize that I always feel like an outsider, the different one. I’ve always been shy, withdrawn, even in college. But I was engaged in life, had friends, lived in the college world of fun and pranks. But at some point I detached from the world and became someone looking in from the outside.
After more thinking and reading on ECT, I know there are some downsides, and I know there are some people for whom it just doesn’t work or doesn’t “stick”. I know its is a controversial treatment, and I know there is no scientific explanation for why it works (hypothesis, but no answers.) I also know that the last 5 years of my life have been a steady decline. I know I am losing my fight with my illness. Even the last 11 months since Porter, my depression has been in check, but my life is completely “about” my illness. I AM my illness. I live a series of daily routines which repeat day after day and which cause me great stress if they are interrupted (ie up at 7:00, coffee, work at 8:30, lunch at 1:00, go home at 5:30, eat at 6:00, hide in basement from 7 to 10, bed at 10. Weekends, insert coffee at Starbucks/read at both 9:30 and 4:00 each day). I am removed from my family and everyone else in the world, and I’m fine with that. Now, after feeling like I fought every day of the last 11 months to get somewhere, to get on top of this “thing”, I slid hard and fast right back to the same place I was before, crying several times a day, sorry for everything in my life and everything that I am not, focusing on the fact that I was an intelligent, driven lawyer who is now a professional nothing, barely supporting his family, and so miserable that giving my family the proceeds from life insurance far outweighs the value that I bring. I want to fucking die. (even through the alprazolam, I’m crying.) Now, back to ECT, how bad can those downsides be? How much worse can things get than being so miserable that on an increasing basis, planning my own death is my leading past-time? I don’t think there is more than one logical choice.
People who have never suffered a deep depression simply can't understand. It doesn't matter if you are a psychitrist or a therapist, you can't get it. 10 years ago, my best friend's father kiled himself. This man was a well respected radiologist, had more money than god, a great family, a great home. I was so astounded, then, about his choice. How could "he" have so much to be down about that he would end his life? Maybe its karma...but now I get it. Explaining the pain of depression to an "outsider" is like trying to explain the pain of a burn to someone who has never felt a burn. Its primal, it cannot be broken down into smaller peices and explained. It just is, and it has to be experienced to be appreciated.
An interesting quote I found today, from a novel by T. Jefferson Parker, "Silent Joe": "everything is the same s everything else, and none of it matters."
I realize that, if someone showed up at my door and said "OK Mike, its all over. You can go back to being the old you again!", I wouldn't have a clue where to start. My wife commented, in therapy, that I haven't been "happy" in five years. Not really happy.
I also realize that I'm not afraid of much. What I do fear, however, is being alone with my illness. What I fear most is not death. There are many things worse. Such as life, wihtout the ability to end suffering. I fear being Terry Schibo (sorry if I misspelled.)
Imagine how you might feel if someone came and took away TV form you today. We all, for the most part, have liveds built on or around TV. It would be missed terribly in my life if it were just suddenly gone and never to return. In ways, I would be lost. Think of the stimulation and the information you get, for good or bad, from TV. I have heard it said that if you never had a TV, and they vanished today, there would be nothing to miss. I haven't always had this illness. I had a TV, and I built a life around that TV. 5 years ago, someone took my TV away, and it hasn't returned. is it different if you are born with and always have a mental illness? In that case, I would know no life other than WITH the illness. Sorry, rambling.
treatment begins tomorrow at 3:30. I've been asked if I'm scared. I'm not. Decision made. All that's left is carrying out the plan.
posted by DeMental at 3:24 PM
3 Comments:
Antipsychotic Medications
What happens if I overdose? � Seek emergency medical attention if an overdose is suspected.� Symptoms of an Cialis overdose include sleepiness, dizziness, confusion, a slow heart beat, difficulty breathing, difficulty walking and talking, an appearance of being drunk, and unconsciousness.
I was reading this post and what I got from it was a mere glimpse of how it must feel to be depressed. Almost a year ago my next door neighbor committed suicide and I was actually called to the house to help the wife who found him. He was suffering with depression every day of his life and noone understood. I was so grateful to read this post and really be able to taste how it must be. I am in no way claiming to understand or get it, but thank you for sharing your personal struggle so we can all be a better help to those in our lives that suffer.
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