29 March 2017

I Like Pelicans But I Hate Depression -- Guess Which I Have?

Hand me down my walkin' cane
Hand me down my hat
Hurry now and don't be late
'Cause we ain't got time to chat
You and me we're goin' out
To catch the latest sound
Guaranteed to blow your mind
So high you won't come down
Hey ya'll prepare yourself for the rubber band man
- From Rubberband Man by The Spinners

Write what you know. Write what you know. Write what you know. Fine, but what do I know? Right now I know the mental ache of depression. Emotionally draining, meaningless, purposeless depression that medication can’t seem to quell. Depression that I can be distracted from but not for long. When I finished watching a movie earlier it was there waiting for me. All that pain just sitting at my side waiting patiently. Depression is a patient bugger. It can stand there by the side of your bed waiting for you to wake up. It can let you go for a little while, let you enjoy life for a bit than come back all at once moving rapidly from the top of your head down to your toes.

You can feel like you’re swimming in it and there’s no side of a pool, no shore, no bank of the river. All you can do is tread water and talk yourself out of purposely drowning. The depression clouds your vision and stops up your ears and weakens your muscles and all you want to do is curl up into the fetal position. Sometimes — like now — it’s merely awful and not debilitating and you can write. So you write what you know and all you know right now is a soul sapping depression.

Lucky in so damn many ways. I can put one foot in front of the other and take care of business. Maybe slowly at first but I get there. So yeah I can work. I can run errands. I can go to the gym where I can work out enough to produce some endorphins that will stave off the depression for a few hours. I can sure as hell plunk myself in front of a TV show or a movie.

But oh the pain is so real.

I increased to 100 milligrams of lamictal on Friday. After two weeks I’ll up it to 200. If a few weeks at 200 doesn’t do the trick….Of course there's now a side effect....Most unwelcome

That’s not something to think about now. No use. No way. No how. No deal. No point. Pointless. Less. Mess. Messy brain. Not insane. In the shit. In the depths. In the feelings. But don’t despair. Don’t except this as normal. View it as temporary. Don’t give in, give up. Turn it over. Over turn it. It it it it it it it. It has a life of its own and is messing up mine. Mind.

Sighs from deep within. Just cascade out. Sometimes as I rear my head upwards. Is that how you say it? Do you rear your head. Raise it maybe better.

I remember snorts of cocaine chased by a swig of imported beer and feeling like anything was impossible. I could anything. Any. Thing. But all I did was more. All I did was get higher and higher. All I did was it. And in the morning I looked regret right in the face and give it the middle finger. I had a purpose and it was to be high, high, higher. I was a flyer.

I’ve had my ups and downs and evens. Lot of even Steven. Lot of love and hate and just can’t wait and hurry there and linger here and slide sideways. Rev it up and go then screech to a halt. Plunge.

I’ve thought of that long step off the Golden Gate Bridge into the beautiful waters below. Splash/crash. It would be finite. I’ve read that people who survive the jump say that halfway down they realize they’ve made a mistake. I bet. Thing is it can not be reversed. Cursed. So I’ll steer clear of the bridge during dark moods.

And oh did I mention the itching? (The side effect I mentioned.) An allergic reaction to the Lamictal. It was going to cure all my ills but merely started another one. So we’ll be trying something else. Meanwhile the dreaded rash. Sharper than an eczema itch -- maddening.

One day at a time. One hour. One minute. One step. Make it through this moment, then the next. Don’t pick up a drink or  a gun and don’t let defeat or even despair settle in. Push forward everyday, do what is in front of you. Remember the love around you.

Still. Wouldn’t. Trade. Places. With. Anyone. Else. In the world. Not for a second. Don’t need the normal brain. Don’t need the money. Don’t need the fame. Don’t. I’ve been this person, the one who I am, for decades. I’ve grown to like it and to accept all the problems associated with being me. I’m intent on seeing this journey out and will continue to move toward trying to be a much better man than the one who started adulthood. Obstacles are everywhere but I will not be deterred. Every day a new challenge.

I’m a comin atchya with my moves and the grooves and we gonna dance. Take a stance. The blue tipped bird told me that birds can’t talk so why I listening to him. I say he gotta point and go on my way. I see the sun shine and burn and glow and what not and it makes my brain go a little bit panicky. Sets it off you might stay. Play to pray. This is a Trumpy world where it’s all going straight to Hades unless we persist and resist and make him cease and desist. I’ma hollah at ya later about this.

I miss Grizz and Tim and Kevin and my brother. Deceased. I’d love a minute more with each. Fine fellows. One a hulk one a jock one a carpenter one chatterbox. All gone now and no coming back. That is the way of the world and I struggle with it everyday. Damn it.

Back to me. Lower case love and affection and italicized kisses and bold faced pronouncements. I actually will carry on. Can’t stop me now.

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