My Nail Salon Experience
First, Bill, I don’t know if you are someone I actually know, or one of my “blog friends”, but either way, thank you for the strong words and the great insight. There is much wisdom in your comment. Thanks to all of my friends that wrote to prop me up, either in the blog or personally.
The good thing that came from the REI denial is a confirmation that my mental health is better than it used to be. Before ECT, this REI denial would have sent me into a tailspin of morbid depression including suicidal ideation and the whole bit, or made me so pissed-off that I couldn’t focus on anything for days. I was over and done with REI a couple hours after I got the call. That was one “no” in a sea of possibilities, and a “no” on a job that I only intended to keep for a couple months until the move, anyway. So, onward.
Today has been a great day. I got little, if anything done, but it was a great day. I had to be out of the house for a couple hours for showings. Melissa, sort of out of the blue the other day, suggested to me that I get a pedicure. Hmmm, that bad, huh? Those that know me personally know that I’m not the “metro-sexual” type. Manicures and pedicures aren’t my style. Now, remember, I’m about 6’2”, a pretty brawny athletic guy, shaved head and goatee. Today, I was wearing a black biker t-shirt from a motorcycle rally in northwest Arkansas. It has the logo of a drug store sponsor on the front, and on the back in great big white letters it says “OFFICIAL DRUG DEALER.”
So, here I am, pulling up to the nails salon on my big motorcycle in my sunglasses, shiny head and biker “Drug Dealer” t-shirt, strolling onto this nail place (carrying an iced coffee from Starbucks, no less) manned entirely by Asian women and full of (a) over-weight middle aged women and (b) high school chickees getting their hands and feet worked on. Before I walked in, I realized that I was going to stick out like a turd in a punch-bowl. So, I decided that, instead of being embarrassed, I was going to walk in there like I belonged there and just take inventory of people’s reactions. It was PRICELESS! It was all I could do to keep from laughing. People were whispering, pointing but trying not to be seen, one chickee even picked up her cell phone and called another chickee that was also in the salon to have her check me out. I just wish I had had on my bandana on my head and it had been cold enough for my black leather and studded jacket too.
Below is another writing from the past. I’m just tossing these in as I come across them to further pain the picture of where my mind used to be. I find them interesting now because they give me something to which to compare my current mental state. This one is consistent with my current philosophy, but only in an ill state of mind would I have written about it.
February 16, 2005
[05/15/06 Note: This was written after my first hospital stay, during a time when I “thought” that my depression was better. If it was better at all at this time, it was temporary. Much of the fear of the “Monster” has faded and continues to fade. Fear of being unable to escape the Monster, should it return, will likely never leave me.]
Fear
What are you afraid of? What really strikes fear in your mind? Most people have some phobia. Maybe snakes, public speaking, heights, water. Perhaps death. I am amazed by the Christians who fear death. “It’s a better place”, they say. “You will live at the right hand of God.” If you really believe in those things, why is death scary? Unless, of course, your faith isn’t what you pretend it is.
I don’t fear death. In fact, on many occasions, I beckon it. I wish it to come. On many occasions, in fact, I have even intended to bring it upon myself to stop my pain. What I fear (in addition to spiders), however, is the inability to bring about my own death should I choose to. Unable because I’m physically disabled, or incarcerated, or for other reasons. But being unable to end my pain is far more frightening to me than death itself.
Now that my depression is better, I also very much fear its return. I live in fear of it coming back. The medication I’m on works great during the day, but it seems like, as the sun sets, the meds wear off. And the fear comes. Sometimes I can hear depression, “It”, creeping in the shadows. It sounds like barbarians at the gate, Mongolians at the city wall. I so fear the return of the “Monster” that at times I think the fear is worse than the Monster itself. When It is here, at least I know it’s here. We are one. I am it and it is me and there is nothing to fear at that time. The pain envelopes me and causes me to lose perspective on how things really are and how they should be and how much I have in my life to live for. If I had to point to one thing I fear most, it would be being unable to escape the Monster, and being unable to end the agony it brings.
The good thing that came from the REI denial is a confirmation that my mental health is better than it used to be. Before ECT, this REI denial would have sent me into a tailspin of morbid depression including suicidal ideation and the whole bit, or made me so pissed-off that I couldn’t focus on anything for days. I was over and done with REI a couple hours after I got the call. That was one “no” in a sea of possibilities, and a “no” on a job that I only intended to keep for a couple months until the move, anyway. So, onward.
Today has been a great day. I got little, if anything done, but it was a great day. I had to be out of the house for a couple hours for showings. Melissa, sort of out of the blue the other day, suggested to me that I get a pedicure. Hmmm, that bad, huh? Those that know me personally know that I’m not the “metro-sexual” type. Manicures and pedicures aren’t my style. Now, remember, I’m about 6’2”, a pretty brawny athletic guy, shaved head and goatee. Today, I was wearing a black biker t-shirt from a motorcycle rally in northwest Arkansas. It has the logo of a drug store sponsor on the front, and on the back in great big white letters it says “OFFICIAL DRUG DEALER.”
So, here I am, pulling up to the nails salon on my big motorcycle in my sunglasses, shiny head and biker “Drug Dealer” t-shirt, strolling onto this nail place (carrying an iced coffee from Starbucks, no less) manned entirely by Asian women and full of (a) over-weight middle aged women and (b) high school chickees getting their hands and feet worked on. Before I walked in, I realized that I was going to stick out like a turd in a punch-bowl. So, I decided that, instead of being embarrassed, I was going to walk in there like I belonged there and just take inventory of people’s reactions. It was PRICELESS! It was all I could do to keep from laughing. People were whispering, pointing but trying not to be seen, one chickee even picked up her cell phone and called another chickee that was also in the salon to have her check me out. I just wish I had had on my bandana on my head and it had been cold enough for my black leather and studded jacket too.
Below is another writing from the past. I’m just tossing these in as I come across them to further pain the picture of where my mind used to be. I find them interesting now because they give me something to which to compare my current mental state. This one is consistent with my current philosophy, but only in an ill state of mind would I have written about it.
February 16, 2005
[05/15/06 Note: This was written after my first hospital stay, during a time when I “thought” that my depression was better. If it was better at all at this time, it was temporary. Much of the fear of the “Monster” has faded and continues to fade. Fear of being unable to escape the Monster, should it return, will likely never leave me.]
Fear
What are you afraid of? What really strikes fear in your mind? Most people have some phobia. Maybe snakes, public speaking, heights, water. Perhaps death. I am amazed by the Christians who fear death. “It’s a better place”, they say. “You will live at the right hand of God.” If you really believe in those things, why is death scary? Unless, of course, your faith isn’t what you pretend it is.
I don’t fear death. In fact, on many occasions, I beckon it. I wish it to come. On many occasions, in fact, I have even intended to bring it upon myself to stop my pain. What I fear (in addition to spiders), however, is the inability to bring about my own death should I choose to. Unable because I’m physically disabled, or incarcerated, or for other reasons. But being unable to end my pain is far more frightening to me than death itself.
Now that my depression is better, I also very much fear its return. I live in fear of it coming back. The medication I’m on works great during the day, but it seems like, as the sun sets, the meds wear off. And the fear comes. Sometimes I can hear depression, “It”, creeping in the shadows. It sounds like barbarians at the gate, Mongolians at the city wall. I so fear the return of the “Monster” that at times I think the fear is worse than the Monster itself. When It is here, at least I know it’s here. We are one. I am it and it is me and there is nothing to fear at that time. The pain envelopes me and causes me to lose perspective on how things really are and how they should be and how much I have in my life to live for. If I had to point to one thing I fear most, it would be being unable to escape the Monster, and being unable to end the agony it brings.
posted by DeMental at 6:30 PM
1 Comments:
I got the mental picture of you and that salon and got a good laugh from it. Thanks!
The 2 fears you spoke of: 1)being unable to end things if you choose to and 2) the return of the Monster.
I'm quite intimate with both these fears. Having attempted and failed many times, the fear of inability to follow through grows. And, for me, the Monster does keep coming back, Maybe it's my imagination, or maybe I'm just growing more weary of the fight, but it seems he returns with more intensity each time.
Each time I have an internal conversation that goes along the lines of "I'm not sure I can survive it this time, I'm so tired of stuggling so hard.".
I had a bone marrow biopsy today and am still somewhat woosey from the high dose of Ativan and morphine, so I hope I made sense.
Hang in there Mike.
(BTW, did you enjoy the pedicure?)
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