Sometimes...I feel as if I can't take it any more.
Some of the folks who read this blog know that, several years ago, I spent several years under the care of a psychiatrist, on medication. I was diagnosed with severe depression. I've always been a meloncholy (I think it's genetic) but for a time, it became more than I could bear. I missed so much work that I nearly lost my job, because I was, quite frankly, afraid to leave my house.
The shrink prescribed a very heavy dose of an anti-depressant and Zanex for the accompanying anxiety. Anti-depressants take several months to become effective, but between the drugs and the (in the beginning) twice weekly therapy sessions things began to moderate. The therapy sessions became less frequent as we talked out the episode in my past that I had suppressed for far to long.
Trouble was, the drug made me an emotional zombie. This was a good thing at first, because I was a real basket case. After a while, though, one needs to feel something; even if it's only pain. I couldn't get excited about anything, nor did I get upset about anything; I went for almost three years without shedding a single tear. Not only that, it killed my creativity - I couldn't write. So, I asked the doctor to let me come off the med. He advised against it, but let me. After coming off it the first time, after a period of months, I had to go back on it. The second attempt has lasted over three years now.
In the past several months, I've experienced several increasingly severe anxiety attacks. When they happen, I feel as if my sanity is hanging by a thread, a very thin one. I do not want to go back on the medication; really. I'm contemplating some Saint John's Wort. Maybe that can regulate the chemicals in my brain enough to control my mood, but not make me numb, I don't know. I've thought of going back to the shrink and seeing if maybe we could just treat it with the Zanex and not the other stuff; the fact that I'm considering that, to me, is a measure of how bad things have gotten. I understand now what brought on that horrible state I was in, and I really am beyond the primary cause; but I also know that the meloncholy that is part of my wiring is still there. I'd like to think I can deal with it without that soul-killing anti-depressant.
I don't know why this rates a blog entry. Maybe I hope someone out there has had a similar experience and found some alternative means of handling it. Maybe I just need to tell someone.
Okay, here's mine...
Four jobs I've had:
1. roughneck (yes, that is an actual job title)
2. delivery driver
3. compressor station operator
4. office manager
Four places I've lived:
3. Georgia (I wish I'd never left)
4. West Virginia
Four websites I visit daily:
1. Radio Paradise
2. my blog
3. someone else's blog
Four television shows I love to watch:
1. Strangers With Candy
2. Will & Grace
3. Two and a Half Men
4. Malcolm in the Middle
Four of my favorite foods:
1. chocolate (doesn't this one go without saying?)
4. cocoa puffs (yeah, so?)
Four albums I can't live without:
1. Annie Lennox - bare
2. Aimee Mann - Bachelor #2
3. AC/DC - Back in Black (hey - it RAWKS)
4. Yes - Fragile (a true classic that never grows old)
Four places you'd rather be:
1. Georgia (did I mention I love Georgia?)
2. Big Sur
3. San Francisco
4. a tiny island no one knows about in the South Pacific
Four people to tag for this meme:
you know who you are...
oh what holiness we are
and so fallen
oh what peace we've lost
and blessing awaited
given so much and taken
without thanks or deserving
how far and how madly we wander
seeking that which was in our hands to begin
our pride and our selfishness are our end
what immeasurable glory and peace unimagined have we missed
what obscenity we commit
and call it faith
what bottomless depravity we delve
and call it caring
without our inheritance and given each to his own
how much do we not see and look away in pride
mystery revealed to he who sees not to seek
but only receive
livepray into and for
never leave without and wishing
bring all and burn complete
breathe as first and last
wonder and joy in all and every
constant companionand the wind never ceases
death's last rattle
ill or fair
and the wind never ceases
childhood's carefree embrace
youth's fleeting caress
blessed curse of age
and the wind never ceases
and the wind never ceases
what do we do?Having reached almost forty seven years of age, I find I wonder a lot of late about the choices I've made in my life. Maybe this is the beginning of the much ballihooed "mid-life crisis." Gawd I hope not - how pedestrian that would be. *rolls eyes* Anyway, I wonder about stuff lately.
I wonder if I should have actually gone to college after enrolling. I wonder if, maybe, I gave up on someone a moment or two before I should have. I wonder if I'd still be alive if Army medicine, in it's abysmal incompetence, hadn't pitched me out on my ear before the recent wars. I wonder what things would be like if I'd chosen a different career. I wonder how the hell S has put up with me all these years. I wonder if I've done all I could for our son, who's getting close to striking out on his own. I wonder how I manage to get up every morning and drag my ass to that souless hell I work in. I wonder why I'm not an alcoholic or living in a cardboard box somewhere.
What do we do in this life?
Is it just some great cosmic joke? Who's laughing?
I'm not saying my life is a total loss; I just wonder, when I'm gone - what will remain? What mark have I made? Have I accomplished anything that anyone will remember? Isn't that what we're supposed to do - immortalize ourselves somehow?
I'm not really in a funk here, it's not like that. It's just curiosity.
and anon...and the longness stretched on...
beyond ever and anon
and on up past the borrowed glitter of youth
or even explanation
onward ever without and gone
Grievingwhere is she?
she can't be found
her aroma lingers
the place remains
where is she?
my small warm friend
i will remember
can i forget?
where is she?
short enough is life
shorter still for some
i miss her
Gadget, our oldest male ferret, seems to miss Tasha. At playtime he goes to the small carpeted tube tower where she spent much of her time. He circles it, goes inside, comes back out. Sometimes he lays inside.
Spoke with the vet today, Tasha had a tumor the size of a walnut on her right adrenal gland remnant; he said there was nothing we could have done for her. I know we did what was best, but, damnit, these little creatures only live 8-9 years at best anyway; Tasha barely had 3.
I'll stop moping now.