Head- Blurry, foggy. Mood- shit. Physical energy- thats a negative. mental energy- precariously teetering between just a tad to none. Emotional energy- HA thats a laugh. Body Temperature raised ( fever). Not the best start to a day. In fact it’s far from it. I am busy, have lots to do today (Im moving). What plans i had today got shifted around because of me being sick, my mother not feeling well, and i realize i have plenty to do here. As I’m packing I’m going through everything. The new place is a lot smaller. That being said i have some things to sell. I already this morning posted a few listings. They were easy though, they meant nothing to me. Most, if not all, of the other things i have to sell i have an emotional attachment to. My organ…..I have wanted an organ or piano for a long time. I was lucky enough to befriend a very kind man who is the Pastor at a local church a little over a year ago. When his church got a new (donated) organ he was kind enough to donate the old one to me. It took the Pastor, me, and 2 other gentlemen to physically do this “organ swap”. Now i was thrilled to get this organ and i am still very happy to own it. The other person I’m moving with says “no way we are bringing that organ, you don’t play it and it just collects dust”. She is correct. I haven’t played it in over 2 months. And even before that it wasn’t an everyday thing. But i know that everyday when i look at that organ it makes me feel really good to know i own one and when I’m feeling better can play it. I got the organ at a very difficult time in my life. It was a time when my mental illness was really getting to the point where taking care of myself was difficult. I needed help. Since I’ve gotten the organ there have been too many times to mention when I’ve wanted to play it. But each and every time my mental illness (sometimes physical) would stop me. It still does! If i wasn’t battling this monster everyday and could see straight for even one or two hours i guarantee i would fill those one or two hours by playing the organ. Its unfortunate the other party involved doesn’t understand this. Now her initial reaction of disapproval made me angry and sad at the same time. I didn’t understand why something which brings me more joy than she understands would and should NOT be taken with us during the move. Yes we need help to move it, but we also need the same helping hands to move certain pieces of furniture. SO whats the big deal with keeping the organ? Im trying as hard as i can to see it from her perspective, and i am able to do that. It doesn’t make her feel good to own an organ, she doesn’t know how good it makes me feel or that i have absolute plans to really play the instrument once I’m a bit more stable. So to her its just a large, tremendously heavy decoration that takes up a lot of floor space. Seeing it in that light i can completely understand why she doesn’t want to keep (move) it. Musical instruments are special to me, each one holds a sort of “soul” that i think should be respected. Music is one of humanity’s greatest gifts so the instruments used to make it are so much more than pieces of finely cut wood and tightened steel string. Each instrument is a tool that when used correctly or even just by someone who “wants” to learn how to use it, it becomes something so much more. It becomes a gateway into the human brain specifically targeting emotions. When i hear music i hear pure emotion. Each different note or set of notes floods the brain with powerful feelings of emotions. For instance- When I’m feeling “suicidal” or very depressed i literally hear very sad songs or even just tunes playing non stop in my head. Or when i hear an old Metallica or Slayer song it rejuvenates me with such intense energy i can’t help but smile and start physically moving. Yes i know that there is plenty of scientific data to back this up, that music provokes strong emotions in the listener. I even know someone whose has a career in “musical therapy”. This person uses sounds, tunes, and songs to bring up emotions in people and even to sprout new ones that are needed to help their patient get through a hardship they are struggling with. I guess i got a bit off topic here but I’m just gonna say this- anytime i ever hear the song “one” or “Blacken” from Metallica (older) i feel alive, i feel electrified, and i will FOREVER dance around like a nut playing air guitar or headbang until my neck hurts. Forever i will do this, thats a fact, and one that I’m proud of. Whatever you listen to- be proud of it, crank it up and feel the good vibes it gives you. There is nothing wrong with that, its good for you. It doesn’t matter if you are the only person you know who likes Bjork, blast it! This much i know is true. Different strokes for different folks
Chain Brain
I sit here trying very hard to keep down the oatmeal infused medicinal breakfast shake. Each sip brings an urge to throw up and a tightening of my chest while i close my eyes and try to stay as calm as possible so i don’t throw up all over my computer. The fever i have is absolutely kicking my ass. As the heat radiates off my body it is not alone, joined by my rapidly depleting physical energy. Perfect timing too- I have a busy day. All i can do right now is hopefully type something worthwhile and then go lay down for an hour or two. Now i love the fact that people identify with and/or read my writing, that feels great. It’s very uplifting, motivating, and brings a big smile to my mug. Knowing I’m possibly a link in the chain of hope spread among us, and the hopeless. But really i am writing for myself. Im writing to purge myself of thoughts that without writing they would just whirl around my head, eventually being relegated to the dark corners of my mind, making everyday simple tasks much much harder than ought to be. Am i the only 32 year old man who turns into a sad, useless sack of groaning potatoes when I’m sick? Of course my low self-esteem is telling me yes without a doubt. But my brain (when it powers on for brief moments) tells me that its highly likely I’m not the only one who feels this way. It’s a good thing “Honor” or a word like it isn’t something i seek. If it was then i wouldn’t be comfortable writing anything that i have written and i certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable freely admitting to an unknown number of people i don’t even know that i have been a strung out junkie, or how i struggle deeply with serious mental illness and i have been hospitalized because of it numerous times. O wait a minute, if you would be so kind (or intrigued). I have been a patient of a methadone clinic for close to 7 years. That, along with a myriad of other potent psych meds i take on a daily basis, and not by want. I take them because i need them. Without them i suffer from crippling anxiety, and i literally mean crippling. It completely incapacitate me, rendering me unable to walk or distinguish reality from fiction. Of the large number of doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, and counselors that i have seen they all overwhelmingly agree that i suffer from ptsd, depression, panic disorder. Most of them agree i suffer from OCD, surely it would be all of them if i didn’t leave that part out during our initial conversation. I have struggled with OCD for so long and learned to live with it that i figure i don’t want ANOTHER medication to take everyday. I do have the sneaking suspicion that i should start telling my doctor about this in full detail but for some reason never do. The OCD is so bad that if tried to explain it to you it wouldn’t make any sense at all, i promise. I’ve tried. So ill give you the simplest, outermost layer of it. I don’t have OCD like you see on tv when someone washes their hands 100 times a day or does some other normal or abnormal action so often that it inhibits their ability to take care of themselves. My OCD involves perpetually counting things. Theres an entire, insanely detailed system operating in my head that has to do with counting things. I have to count how long each one of my breath’s last and the number of seconds three breaths equals has to be a certain number. Its the duration of my breathing, timing of next breath…its really nutty. A tremendous burden that absolutely keeps me from reaching the level i know i can be at if it weren’t for this disorder. Ill get stuck in one spot, just standing there for so long counting breathes that by the time i kind of snap out of it and realize “o shit, ive been staring at the same spot on the wall for 45 minutes” that i have messing with my breathing patterns for so long and holding my breath without knowing it that not only is my breathing all out of whack for hours to come, the gases in my body are because i have been hyperventilating. Heres where it gets real fun- ( besides the hours of heart arrhythmia): Because off all of this hyperventilating and the gases in my body being thrown way out of whack and the heart arrhythmia i begin to suffer dystonia and eventually seizures. And if it’s not the ratio of gases in my system that causes the seizures its a fever. A fever brought on by me not sleeping or eating for days on end because I’m stuck in some highly detailed process (that makes no sense at all) of counting numbers. It’s not just the breathing, its the footsteps, the amount of times i touch something, the amount of times i think of something, it ALL has a numerical value to it that is plugged into some gigantic mathematical formula in my head thats i get stuck constantly, obsessively thinking about for hours, days, even weeks. Really it is so deep and involved that words cannot explain it. Iv had this problem for as long as i remember, and thats being 3 or 4 years old, maybe younger. I was born with this. And i propose that OCD, PTSD, Addiction, Depression, Panic Disorder are all the same thing. They all interlink with each other to form a chainlink fence that covers my brain and has a huge impact on my ability to even take care of myself. Scary stuff, even to me and i live it. And please do not think this is just me complaining and seeking sympathy- Because it is NOT. It is simply me trying to make sense of it all through writing.
The Syringe Covered Dance Floor
Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight? (thanks Batman….). When i really think about it i guess i have. Iv sucked a large amount of chemicals into a needle and shot it directly into my veins knowing only two things- Im either going to get really high or I’m going to OD and die. The urge to feel that high, “chase that dragon” as its commonly referred to as was so strong at that moment in my life i was fine with either outcome. Sure i wanted to get really high more than i wanted to die, but not enough to make me think semi-logically and start out by shooting a smaller dose of a certain chemical into my arm. Now looking back i truly realize how insanely, ridiculously foolish that was. But at the time my brain and body were so addicted to this chemical that i would take any chance if it could possibly lead to me to “catching that dragon”. That alone could draw parallels between what i was doing and the phrase “dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight”. Combine that with what my definition of a “clean’ needle was at the time and it draws even more similarities to the phrase. A “clean” needle at that time simply meant i squirted water and bleach through it after i was done scraping the tip of it on the concrete to “sharpen” it. If there were some bubbles in the liquid in the syringe it was ok because they were only”little bubbles” and i was tough, it wouldn’t kill me. So now imagine doing that everyday, usually numerous times. That IS “Dancing With the Devil in The Pale Moonlight”, and having a very strong embrace while doing so. I lived for the pale, moonlit dance with death. The dance was so insanely comforting that it didn’t matter the dancer could kill me at any second. It also didn’t matter that i don’t think we ever truly danced after that First Dance. Every dance after the first was merely me hoping and scrambling to feel what i felt during that first meeting. It never came. I never got to dance again. On that first dance i signed up for a club that only ended in death and was a lifelong battle. I didn’t really understand that at the time, i was 19. Everyday was spent trying to find the tickets to that dance and once found i would arrive to the dark, hollow dance floor and see the devil in the center of the room, gesturing me to come forth. But i could never dance again, only watch him dance as i sat on the sidelines in the dark wishing with every cell in my body that i was dancing with the devil. Everyday it was the same exact thing- drive around chasing the tickets to the dance (opioids of any kind), then procuring them and being so excited because i “knew” that today i would dance with the devil. And everyday i was relegated to the sidelines as i watched the devil dance and he beckoned me onto the dance floor, me being firmly stuck in place by myself in the dark. I have been clean for around 7 years and when i look back i think that if i ever did make it back onto that dark dance floor for that impossible -to-get second dance i would have never came back from it. The second dance means death. Any addict knows that you only ever get to do that shuffle once, the second time you do the dance means you are leaving the dance floor with the devil, you are dead (Overdose, air embolism., etc…). I am so grateful i no longer yearn for that dance, for that place. If I’m not careful every once in a full moon my mind drifts back to that dance and for a moment of time it sounds and feels attractive. Luckily and thankfully when this happens i am strong to fend this feeling off. Because now i truly know what that second dance is, and nothing in this world could make me fantasize about it or try to find the directions to the dancehall ever again. Luck? Probably. Pain? Yup. Sadness? That too. Work (on myself)? Absolutely & Never Ending
Chimps, Potatoes, and Doctors with Bags
Have you ever had one of those days where as soon as you awaken and start doing your normal routine the urge to just go back to bed is so strong its as if the bed has some special power over you and is physically pulling you closer and closer to it? Actually i just realized that there is no need to ask that question, everyone feels like that at some point. Some are better at fighting it off than others. Me, I’m not so good at it. Very rarely do i beat it unscathed . Usually when i beat the urge i am emotional, angry, and one look at my face tells you iv been in a skirmish of some kind. I started out this day feeling just like that. To be perfectly honest the feeling is still lingering, twisting and clawing at the back of my head desperately trying to burst out. Thankfully i have learned to recognize when I’m feeling this way and i know that i can beat it. I know i have a plethora of tools at my disposal with which to fend if off with. Grabbing my camera and shooting a few pictures is a great one, as is writing. Now i know this could sound bad because I’m a 32 year old man but sometimes i have to retreat into my room and play a video game for a half hour to hour if I’m afforded that much time. I used to be ashamed of the fact that i very much enjoy playing video games as an adult. When i was a child it was something people looked down upon, a grown man playing video games by himself and loving it. Luckily society is changing and it’s much different now. I know I’m not the only “grown up” (that’s a laugh in itself) who enjoys playing video games, so why should i hide it? Sometimes after a long day at work when i have trouble winding down to go to sleep ill play xbox. Overtime iv done that its calmed me down and after an hour or so of exploding zombie heads or riding a horse in the early 1900’s as an outlaw i am calm and ready for bed. I switch off the console, lay down, and thats it- i’m asleep. There are other ways i calm down for sleep when I’m having trouble. Playing my guitar is a sure-fire way, as is writing, skimming the internet and looking at photography gear i wish (someday!) i had, and getting out my planned and “planning” the next day. Ill write things that have to be done but i always have to sneak in a small photo session, thats the one i write the most. For some reason having these tasks written in my planner so i can check them off as they are done the next day lowers my anxiety, and gives me something to look forward to. Without something to look forward to the next day i don’t get much sleep because my anxiety has me hyperventilating without even knowing it. Yes i know that sounds crazy, i didn’t know it was possible either until i landed in the hospital ER one day because i could barely walk and all my muscles were locking up and making me drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, or a retarded chimp who falls face first into the ground everytime it is looked at. After all the doctors and nurses ran their tests i was sure there was a very serious physical problem going on. So when the doctor came into my room and told me that anxiety was causing these problems i was truly stunned. I didn’t believe him at first. I HAD to ask him to explain it to me so he did- the gases in my body (oxygen, carbon dioxide, among others..) were WAY off balance. Thats what was causing all of my muscles to lock up and instantly drop me to the floor faster than a break-dancer on crack. Ok, that makes sense (sort of), but ill take it. So then i asked the doctor what was causing these gases to be so out of whack? What he said next (as i said before) completely stunned me. Anxiety. It was anxiety that was causing all of these problems. What i learned was that my anxiety was so bad that it was causing me to hyperventilate. Now when you think of someone hyperventilating you think it lasts a few minutes, maybe the better part of an hour worst case. Thats exactly what i previously thought. But it turns out i had been hyperventilating for DAYS at a time, even a week. Before the doctor told me that i did not know that was even possible. So i hyperventilated so much and for so long and my anxiety was so bad that i had no idea i was hyperventilating. I know that sounds ridiculous and that I’m possibly exaggerating. But i assure you it is the truth, nothing more, nothing less. So after constantly hyperventilating for almost a week it threw of the ratio of gases a human being’s body needs to have and that caused muscle dystonia (see-instantly dropping to the ground unexpectedly with no control), and also on very bad days cause seizures. Its been many months (8 to 10) since i have been diagnosed, making it many months since iv been so scared because i think I’m dying. Now i realize everyday i have to make a conscious effort to keep my anxiety at a level where i can function. Full disclosure- The meds help too… Somedays when it gets so bad, and for no reason, i have to breathe into a paper bag. Thats what the doctor at the hospital told me when i asked what can i do to stop or combat this. When he said “breathe into a paper bad like you see on tv” i was in disbelief. Im in the hospital feeling like I’m about to die or something and he’s telling me to breathe into a paper bag?? Obviously i left the hospital a bit irked. But i was so desperate for relief that we stopped and bought a package a small paper bags on our way home. Which at that time ‘Home” was a shed at a church. It wasn’t too bad, we had an air mattress and a tv with dvd player. I also caught pneumonia and was waking up overnight and vomiting but thats another story. Fast forward to current times and I’m doing better. Yes, somedays i don’t do well at all, even some weeks, but i pull through. The most important thing to remember during one of these long episodes is that there is hope, i HAVE pulled through before. I know how to fight it. Being involved with photography, writing, music, just having and utilizing a creative outlet is the greatest thing i can do to fight and sometimes even stave off these events of terror. More and more I’m fending them off. Like a siege on an ancient castle i have spikes surrounding my perimeter and a moat laden with floating paper bags like lily pads and made up of photography, writing, music, and reading that also surrounds me and my castle. Looking back i realize that i would never have thought id make it this far, but i did. The fortifications currently in place weren’t just dropped there one day, they took years to construct. In fact I’m still learning how to use them correctly. But now its different- i know i have ways to fight back my mental illness and i regularly employ them. Thats having hope, something that used to be in very short supply in my life. Now i have many avenues that lead to hope, and that is a great feeling. It’s one that i hope other’s that are struggling with mental illness realize they can have, no matter how bad they are feeling or how bad things get, there is always hope. Sometimes you may have to reach out and find it, but its always there. It took me basically my entire life up until recently to realize this, and i am so grateful that i have found it. I wish for others that are suffering to just reach out, without an agenda, and they WILL find hope. NOTE- Im going against my better judgement by posting this…..
Slippery Slope
I sit here this morning just like every other morning and look at my computer to provide me with some kind of creative outlet, or at the bare minimum a temporary escape from the chains i am shackled to (anxiety, depression, addiction, mental illness). My computer or any computer for that matter, is simply a tool i use to express myself and ultimately help myself feel better. I could stare at a blank computer screen for 8 hours and getting nothing out of it but a sore ass and tired, dry eyes. But when i write, read other’s writings, edit photos, view other’s photos it allows me to see that I’m not alone, that there are people out there like me going through the same things I’m struggling with. That connection is what makes writing an online blog rather than a private journal so appealing. Now that I’m hooked blogging (sharing my photos and writings), it has surpassed simply being “appealing” to me. It has become a morning routine, a necessity if i stand a chance for relief from my mental illness. Out of the myriad of medications i am prescribed and take everyday, simply sharing my thoughts and photos online to people whom i don’t know helps me more than most (possibly all…eventually) of any medication i take. It gives me hope. I get excited during the day when i think of something i want to write, and sometimes if I’m lucky enough (meaning- prepared) i am able to jot down some ideas to later on expand upon and write about. Just the thought that there are other people out there who not only take the time to read my ramblings, but actually identify with some of them makes me very happy. It truly gives me hope. For the first time in a long time realize and feel that i am not alone. In a way that makes me sad because i hate to think of any human being going through the mental anguish i suffer from on a daily basis. But i had to come to the realization that blog or no blog, no matter what, there are countless others who experience things just as i do. So just as i had read someone’s WordPress Blog post one day and it inspired me to start my own blog, theres a possibility that one of my blog posts will inspire someone else to start their own blog. Now that’s a great feeling, spreading hope. I am grateful that that there is even a possibility for me to spread hope. Each day as i log onto this site i read a few posts from people whom’s blog i have followed. And each day atleast one of those posts brings a smile to my face and a warm feeling in my heart, most days every post i read does. An unexpected benefit of doing this is that it not only put me in contact with like minded individuals, but it made me realize the importance of such connections. No matter what, no matter why ,how, or who, this blogging website connects people. On days where i felt so bad and out of bounds that i was absolutely sure not a soul could feel the way i was feeling, on those days i always have found someone’s writing that matched my feelings. It truly amazed me in the most wonderful way and continues to do so each day. All i have to do is get myself to sit down at my computer and start writing or reading someone’s blog post. There was a very sad time in my life when i was completely hopeless. I wanted to die but didn’t have the strength to actually end my own life. That is complete hopelessness. It has taken me 7 years to get where I’m at right now, and I’m still clawing and climbing out of a bottomless pit. But now i have hope. I realize there is no excuse for me to feel hopeless ever again. Just knowing that there are other’s who read my posts and identify with some part(s) of them gives me an endless supply of hope. When i read other’s posts and i identify with them, that gives me a tremendous “shot” of hope. One that i am so very grateful to be a part of and one that means so much to me that some days it actually feels like a life-saver. Many days reading and seeing other’s work has pulled me up and out of such a deep, dark place that death seemed the only logical next step. One that surely would have gotten worse if it not for someone’s blog post. If, any day at anytime, theres even a tiny chance that any of my writing or photographs can help someone the way that other’s work has helped me then i am filled with gratitude. Mental illness is ridiculously hard to manage, it’s the slipperiest slope of all. But with the realization that you are not alone, that there are others like you, thats empowering. It gives you skates to slide down the slope with and a helmet so you know you can get back up and keep trying
King Kong’s Grief
When i was in the midst of my addiction ( over 7 years ago!!) i didn’t have “a monkey on my back” as most people describe opiod addiction, I wore a gorilla SUIT. Every morning as soon as my eyes would open, the suit would be right in front of me, staring at me, commanding me. I dutifully put it on every day of my life, rain or shine, hardship or not, it didn’t matter. On days where i couldn’t get what i was looking for and id be sick- that gorilla suit would be a sweaty, angry, and sick thing to be in. The weight of it could not be measured (During withdraw). On those days it seemed as if all the pain, suffering, and sorrows of the world would completely flood my senses instantaneously, like they were dropped on me. I could even hear sad music playing in my head, making me cry intermittently. Stuck in a spinning bedroom, unable to feel anything but pain and confusion. Luckily (or so i thought at the time) the gorilla suit i was in would take over. It would make me do anything and everything just to get a chemical and feel relief, or make me feel like a “normal” person for maybe one hour. I would run into friends and acquaintances out and about and they didn’t even recognize me. They had never seen me in a gorilla suit, they just saw a gorilla. If i so happened to glance at a mirror while leaving the bathroom where i sat down to shoot up in what i saw scared me, but i was grateful for also. I saw nothing. I had no reflection. To see a reflection would be to see me slowly but surely killing myself, and my family and friends. The very few times i did see a reflection, only during withdraw while i was sober but sick, It was so horrifying that suicide seemed like a restful, happy retreat. For six long years i had no reflection. I wasn’t even human. I was reduced to an animal, using pure instinct to survive (survive = get opioids). It wasn’t fun anymore. It didn’t feel good anymore. I didn’t exist anymore, and i didn’t want to. That would mean i would have to actually confront all the pain i have caused loved ones. And that would be like standing at the bottom of the Hoover Dam and then telling them “ok, open er up” and have all that water slam into me all at once. Each drop of water pounding onto my shoulders would be a thought and feeling of excruciating, unbearable pain. Like all the pain, sorrow, and suffering of this world was crashing down on me. Human, animal, whatever-WAAYYYY too much to withstand at once. – To all that wonder and are mistakenly enticed, Remember this- A junkie’s life might seem glamorous, but a dead kids life is pretty uneventful
Let it Flow
Writing is funny. The more i sit here and ponder what to write about the less i am able to think of. Its as if the creative process does not allow anything but spontaneity. Yesterday is a prime example of this. All day i thought about what to write about on my blog, all day i was looking forward to it. Sure i thought of some ok ideas but when i sat down to actually write them i didn’t feel that creative “spark”. It just didn’t feel right. So i ended up not writing anything. I almost made the same mistake today but using yesterday as an example this morning i just sat at my computer and started typing. Im typing now and i have no idea if I’m going to delete this because its shit, or if i stumble onto something worth grasping. It could go either way. But with spontaneity involved it’s more likely, almost guaranteed, to hit on something that resonates deep within me. And if I’m lucky it provokes feelings in others (my readers). Creativity is like a river that constantly flows through me, and maybe everyone. It’s as if i didn’t create the feeling of creativity, i simply am on the same wavelength and can feel it. It feels like a force of nature, a collective feeling, Like all creatives are connected via this flowing stream of creativity. Like water it has its ebbs and flows, high tides and low tides. We creatives are sensitive to the flow of creativity, and somedays we have more creative juice than others. Like the energy that connects all human beings, creativity flows through all human beings. It is a gift that sometimes can also be a curse. Sometimes the flow is much too strong and it overwhelms us. I for one am extremely grateful that i have this “gift”, this ability to feel things that connect all people. If i try to dam it up the flow stops and my brain becomes a chaotic whirlwind of ideas that are moving so quickly and sporadically i cannot catch them. But if i just let if flow, and sit down to write with no preconceived notions or ideas than at a certain point during my writing I’m able to almost divert the flow of creativity and let some of it flow out my my fingers onto the keyboard. A truly unique, almost mesmerizing process which holds many secrets (atleast to me). But in those secrets, the unlit corners, thats where the real good stuff is hiding. Some days I’m lucky enough to access that and write about it, other days it;’s stuck firmly in place with nothing i can do to get it out. Such an interesting process thats its almost hard to explain. Any creative knows exactly what I’m talking about. I wonder- will time and a steady regimen of writing will make those far corners up-river easier to access? I like to think so and at times it seems so. Just as i read someones writing and it inspires me and provokes feelings in me, that is this force of flowing creativity in action. The writer diverted the flow to me and with any luck i will inspire or provoke another person to express themselves, thus diverting the flow of creativity to the next person. Creativity- surely a way of looking at things from different perspectives. But is it a force of nature? Is Love a force of nature? I would argue that if love is considered a force of nature than so is creativity.
Rollercoaster of hell (creeping death)
The last few weeks have been some of the most difficult of my entire life. My mental illness seemed to kick into overdrive, making it almost impossible for me to even take care of myself. The anxiety i feel gets so bad thats it’s horrific. It’s literally crippling, i can’t even get out of bed because i am so dizzy and completely out of it. I couldn’t discern what was real and what wasn’t. Very scary. Its like everything is spinning and I’m caught in this loop that keeps flipping over and over again. I don’t just feel this mentally, i felt it physically also. Constantly feeling like the floor was being pulled out from under my feet. With that comes a very deep and immensely strong feeling of absolute dread, nausea, and such a weird feeling of tingling in my limbs that i couldn’t feel my legs. It physically felt like i was floating and on a roller coaster that was doing endless loops. I even felt it in my stomach the entire time. You know how when you are confronted with something so horrible and scary that you feel it in the pit of your stomach and it distorts your vision (and reality)? Thats what i have been feeling like 24 hours a day for the last few weeks (around 3). Every minute felt like a half hour, everyday felt like many days. Iv felt that feeling so strongly that if anyone would have told me otherwise i would not have believed them. Truly. Now that I’m climbing out of that pit of despair void of sunlight I’m realizing what i honestly, completely felt and was absolute sure was 3 weeks was actually a little over 1 week. When i learned that it hit me hard, forcing me to confront my illness and just how ill i actually am. I have never had my mental illness affect me so dramatically for so long. It’s never distorted time to where i almost couldn’t believe one week had passed when i was absolutely sure sure it had been 3 weeks. The only thing that kept me out of the nuthouse was my lack of insurance or medicaid. Now that I’m slowly getting better i think back and realize my mental health had been slipping for months. I stopped doing things i love to do, i barely ate, barely drank (water, i don’t drink alcohol), i was showering less than once a day, i had been struggling with sleep- waking up screaming and briefly seeing hallucinations. For me it was full throttle crippling anxiety. And that craziest part is that i was aware that i want thinking right but i still couldn’t stop it. Its almost like this episode had to run it’s course, like the common cold or something. As with all bad experiences in life there is usually something good hidden within the bad. This latest “flare up” of my mental illness has changed my outlook slightly, and for the better. I realize how truly lucky i am to just be alive. I take nothing for granted, i am grateful for what i do have (and I’m not talking about physical possessions even though i am grateful for them also). This last experience, or “break from reality” has brought me to my computer to finally start the blog iv always wanted to start. With that it has allowed me to see that i am not alone, that there are other wonderful people out there going through the same thing i am. With darkness comes light, and without darkness there would be no such thing as light.
It’s In The Eyes…
This image haunts me. The pain, sadness, and hopelessness i see in this child’s eyes is one of those things that you wish you had never seen because once seen it can never be “unseen”. A poverty stricken little boy in a poverty stricken part of town. I try to help as much as i can. Mainly bringing gifts like toys and clothes, and spending time with the child everytime i see him. Once you get him talking he does light up, making it painfully obvious there aren’t many people in his life who listen to him (if any at all). The odds are stacked against this kid, surely stemming from a home life filled with drug abuse, serious criminals, poverty, and no real guidance. The only positive in all of that is it will definitely teach him how to be tough. its just unfortunate it has to be that way. It makes you wonder- at what cost? To be tough means you have gone through some very difficult things, things you wouldn’t want anyone to go through let alone a beautiful child. During my few interactions with this little boy i have managed to see a smile a few times. A smile with a look in his eyes that not only screams for help but also shines with hope. I have seen the bright little boy come out, rather than the depressed and hopeless child facing many very serious problems. The first time i met him i was brought to tears later on, i just couldn’t bear the weight of this child’s pain. But it also made me realize how resilient not only people are but especially children. The smile that took over his face every so often showed me that. it gave me hope. His household is filled with drugs, poverty, dangerous people, selfish people, and just a litany of horrible things. But through all of that he still manages to smile and act like a child his age every once in awhile. That alone is a testament to how tough and resilient children are. It’s a testament to the power of love.
Old Habits…….
Old habits die hard. Or maybe more appropriately they tend to linger around and then swiftly take you down. Sneaky bastards they are. I haven’t been writing much lately. To be completely honest with myself i haven’t written anything AT ALL for about a month. I was in the habit of writing everynight, right before i went to bed. My anxiety, laziness, sickness, and the fact that my main computer i use for writing (my “digital diary”) crashed are all the reasons i haven’t been writing. And trust me, i have felt the consequences. Writing and photography is how i blow off steam. Without those two things i bottle everything up inside until my brain explodes and i end up in the nuthouse. Thankfully i picked my camera up and started using it again, but only in the last few days. Because i haven’t expressed myself and created anything lately i have been very depressed and just about completely hopeless. I have been feeling like a piece of dog shit tied to a string thats attached to the back of a truck, being dragged down the road at a high rate of speed as parts of me erode away into nothing. To combat me feeling like this giant, road-rashed turd i have made it a point to sit at my computer desk immediately when i get home from the clinic (7am). I have been doing this for a few days now, maybe 3 or 4, and it obviously is serving me well. I feel well enough to write a blog post (your reading it). Which i knew i would eventually do if i sat at my computer long enough. Now as for the quality of my writing thats another story. I know it is not even close to being on par but hey, atleast i started. I am comfortable with the fact that it will get better with time and with each new post. Both of my sister’s are Doctor’s, i just have to say that. I brag about them often and to anyone who will listen on a regular basis. One of them is a Doctor in Chemisty, the other is a Doctor in criminal forensics and psychology. Amazing they are. What i should point out just for a laugh is that while both of my sister’s are Doctors i work at a dollar store….lol. Its ok to laugh about it, i do.
Fit To Be Unfit 