Depression, in someone elses own words

Depression, in my own words.

You can’t explain to someone who hasn’t been there what it’s like to wake up, and the black curtain of storm clouds have suddenly dropped around you. How do you face the people around you, silently mouthing to each other “again?”. How can you explain that the objectively irrational impulses seem subjectively rational? That you understand that you’re not OK, but there’s nothing you can do to change it, while the world goes on making demands as if you still felt “normal”.
Your partner still wants you to be able to be there for her. The kids still want to get hugs from you – and they still need to eat. The boss still wants you to output widgets. The bank still wants you to make payments on the credit cards you used to survive when things went pear-shaped last time. The landlord still wants his rent.
There are two ways things can go from here. Sometimes with a good night’s sleep (or two, or more), and some looking after yourself, things will be OK again, and you’ll pick up your stuff, and keep moving forwards.
Sometimes, things don’t get better. The wiring isn’t just on the fritz, it’s burnt out. If you ask for help, they’ll insist on chemical assistance. They don’t really understand quite why or how the chemicals work, but “they should help”. They might (will) have side effects. The cure might end up being worse than the disease. If that one doesn’t work, they have others. Or a cocktail of medications, each one to deal with the side effects of another. That way lies its own unique madness.
With the meds, they might prescribe talking. Lots of talking, in the vain hope that like the infinite monkeys with their infinite typewriters might turn out some Shakespeare, if you say enough words for long enough, everything might fall into place. Sometimes they’re good at listening, sometimes they’re not. With the right person, it helps.
Some sift your words carefully, picking out the little nuggets of truth that help you understand a little better who you are. Others nod, grunt, and write you another prescription. I’ve known both. And it’s expensive to sit in a little room and talk. When you’re in a situation where you need to sit in a little room and talk, there’s a good chance that you’re not in a position to be able to afford it.
Fortunately, for me, most days now resemble ordinary. I wake up. I stare at the face in the mirror worn with lines I don’t remember collecting, and stubble that feels like it belongs on someone older than me. I go to work, and try to fit into “normal” like a cheap suit that I bought in a hurry and can’t take back.
But occasionally, there are those days. Days where the mask is tissue-paper thin. Surviving the day is an act of will that leaves a lingering exhaustion that seeps into your bones. Like a drowning man in a flash flood, you wrap yourself around the hope that the waters will recede soon, and you’ll be safe and dry again.
At least until the next deluge.



--While I own the sentiment I cannot claim the words.
This was created by a creature called a Warwick on Wazzapedia

The Devils Drug

I seem to have a problem with some of the more basic human functions.
Ever since my teen years, I've always had insomnia.
Sometimes it is slight sometimes it just totally kicks my butt.
In fact, in the past 3 or 4 months I have been averaging maybe about 

2 hours a night.
That's from 3am to 5am and that's if I am lucky.
Not sure what was causing it but I think it passed last week.
I mentioned it to my doctor on Wednesday and he said "Hey! Try Ambien!"
My doctor really, REALLY likes his prescription pad.
I said "sure! I will give it a shot. I could use at least 1 good night's sleep."
He said "be careful though it can cause amnesia."
"Why the hell would you prescribe it for me then?" I thought but figured 

what the hell.
And what have I learned?
*ahem*
Ambien is the devil 

 This is what I would assume a roofie feels like.

I normally toss and turn and mumble and get up and basically turn the bed into 

the linen equivalent of one of those paint mixing machines you see at Walmart.
I took a 10mg pill on Wednesday night, oh about 8:30pm because hey, sleep!
And according to my wife flat out died.
Or basically I was an immobile sack of meat with a pulse.

Until, that is, Zeus started whining.
No, the Elder Greek God did not start complaining to me,(however I wouldn't 

blame him because Zeus sounds so much cooler than Jupiter but that's a different

 train of thought.)
No it was my daughters German Shepard that did.
So About 11ish I dragged my sluggish butt out of the bed and mumbling what I can

 only assume were Celtic magical incantations, because they were not words. 

Or English. Or even fully audible for that matter.
I let the dog out of his kennel and took him to the garage door.
Now here is where I must have not have been moving fast enough because as soon as 

I opened the door I was airborne.
The whole thing is kinda fuzzy so I do not know if I just tried to take a step 

and utterly failed at the simple act of walking
Or I was pushed out of the way by the furry lummox that is Zeus.
I am thinking it was the former but for the sake of ego, I am claiming the latter.
Anyway
I ended up on the garage floor and where my left foot was flat footed my right foot

 well I basically tried to stand on my ankle.
Yeah it is still bruised and painful.

From what I have pieced together I then went into the living room with the dogs

 and carried on a scintillating and intelligent text conversation with my daughter 

that was both witty and enlightening.
Yeah...
No.












I can vaguely remember typing on the phone but it's like looking through

 a Vaseline smeared lens

 and as for the typing I think it looked more like a 4 year old mashing piano keys

 than anything as dexterous as typing.

So as you can see kiddies, Just say No.

The Invisible Mom

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Best Analogy of the Existence of the Invisible God I’ve Ever Heard

By Patrick Morley

Even though we can’t see him, we believe in him.

My daughter-in-law sent me this story by Hungarian writer Útmutató a Léleknek:
In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?”
The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”
“Nonsense,” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”
The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”
The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.”
The second insisted, “Well I think there is something, and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”
The first replied, “Nonsense. And moreover, if there is life, then why has no one has ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”
The first replied, “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists then where is She now?”
The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her this world would not and could not exist.”
Said the first: “Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.”
To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and you really listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.”

I am not preachy and I dont flaunt my religion but I liked this analogy enough to add it here.

Hunting

Hunters.

You know, I get it. I truly do. I understand about the stalking of the prey thing. I've even done it.

Its not for me but I get it.

What I don't get...

What I don't understand is why do you hunt what you hunt?

You can hunt wild boar in the American South because there are an invasive species that needs to be culled or else they take over. Plus they are dangerous. Cool. knock yourselves out.

Or

If you need to hunt down a rogue tiger or elephant because they have endangered the populous. OK sure. I got your back on that one.

Even if you are hunting elk, antelope, deer, pheasant, etc. That's fine because the hunters that hunt these normally eat them too.

But walking into a lions territory and gunning him down. Nah that's not cool.

How would you like it if you were sitting at home and someone kicks your door down and says “ill give you to the count of 5” and then hunts you down and kills you just to have their picture taken next to your cold corpse.

Why kill a giraffe? Thats like going onto a farm and shooting farmer Joe's cow.

There is no sport in killing a docile animal.

There is a difference between killing a deer and a giraffe. The deer is going to be eaten the giraffe is purely for the sport.

As for elephants, that's just wrong. Clear across the board, its wrong.

I would rather see you give a 9mm to another human and then you can hunt each other. Now that would be sporty. That would be worth the picture.

Hunting a grizzly bear with a Bowie knife? Go for it. Hunting anything with just a Bowie knife is cool by me. That shows you have stealth and patience and endurance. Shooting a grazing animal from a football field away just shows you have a strong pocketbook.

I don't see it as sporting unless the animal has the same chance that you do.

Evenly matched.

A sporting chance as it were.

Watch for motorcycles

My nephew Andrew had just gotten off of work and was heading home. Home was just 2 blocks away and he was crossing an inersection on his motorcycle when he was struck by a young lady in her truck.

He fought a valiant fight for a few hours but eventually succumbed to his injuries. He left behind a young son and his wife of two weeks.

He was my first "son" and I do miss him greatly.



 

Getting Old

My wife just loves all those murder and mayhem shows.

CSI, NCIS, law and Order.

Anything that has someone getting shot and or dismembered is fair game for her.

She will literally turn on NCIS and leave it there for the entire weekend.

Dude. I just can’t take it anymore.

I used to like those shows too but guess I am just getting old.

All of the blood and the bashing and the rapes and the racism and the scores of dead bodies.

It is just getting to be too much for me. I already know how horrible man is and can be

I don’t want to escape TO that I want to escape FROM that.

Maybe that’s why I like my fantasy so much more.

It’s further removed from all of this “ripped from the headline” crap.

I’d rather watch a dragon burn 2 scores of village innocence than watch Thomas Gibson climb into the head of this week’s neo-Nazi pedophilic serial killer.

I’d rather watch this week’s villain freeze dry the Flash then watch Mark Harmon get his man

I’d rather watch all of the biters and geeks in the Walking Dead get smooshified in various ways than watch Vincent D’Onofrio hunting for a crack head Jesus freak

Like I said, just getting old.

Death of innocence

I can recall the first time I ever really thought about the future.

It was back in 1980 and I was in the 6^th grade. There was a meteor shower that night so my sister and I were laying out on the sidewalk in front of the house watching the skies. We lived in a small town in California then so of course it was a beautiful night.

As I lay there staring up into the black sky with its millions of twinkling stars my mind started to wander.

I thought about going into the 7^th grade when school started up next and my sister was starting High School.

Then it started to snowball in my head

Then in just 2 years I would be in High School and she would be a Junior

and then she would be a senior and graduating and then moving away

and then I would be graduating and...

It got to be too much for me.

I couldnt handle it.

It was just too big for my eleven year old mind to handle.

I got scared.

I started to cry.

I dont mean sniffles I mean full on no sound coming out bawling.

I ran inside the house to find the only comfort I knew.

Mom.

I needed my mommy.

She was in the bathroom.

I pounded on the door. “Mooommm!” I yelled “I (sob) need (sniff) you”

“What!” she hollered back through the door “what wrong”

but I didnt know what was wrong.

I couldnt put into words what I was feeling.

I didnt even know what I was feeling

I needed comfort.

I needed reassurance.

I stood there nonplussed.

How do I say that I am scared of the future? How do I vocalize that I am scared of growing up and leaving everything I know right now behind me.

“nothing” I finally managed to get out, holding back the sadness in my voice as best I could

“never mind”

“ok well just go back outside then, I'll be out in a minute”

so I went back outside

and I lay there staring up at the vast cosmos without really seeing it.

My sister asked me if I was ok.

“yeah, I'm fine” I replied

but I wasnt.

I mark that moment as the starting of the death of my childhood. Now I know it is not nearly as catastrophic of a childhood decline as some but that was mine.