Tag Archives: depression

Running for it

My old father-in-law, now gone, was someone I knew for the first thirty years of my marriage.

It does take me a long while to get to know anyone, and vice versa, but, as I grew into his ways (and he became more comfortable with mine), we got along fine.  There was my city boy naïveté for him to chuckle about, and I enjoyed the many parables that he related to me (true or made up) from his own street-wise life.  I think he was always testing me to see how much bullshit I would believe.

The last couple of years of his life saw him in a steep decline.  He began to have difficulty walking, and could no longer drive, but still wanted to pursue some of his favorite activities, such as looking through second hand stores to find some little trinket to bring home to his wife (who would usually spurn it anyway), going visiting, and prowling the flea markets and garage sales.

It fell to me to taxi him around most of the time, and I didn’t mind, because we kept each other good company.  Getting him in and out of the car, unfolding his walker, shuffling through the stores etc. at his slower pace taught me some patience,  and showed me his love and his own patience with his wife, who was well into her struggles with Alzheimer’s disease.

We were far apart, distance wise (hundreds of miles), but as her parents’ health declined, my wife and I visited at least monthly.  Sadly, her Dad began to lose interest in his gadabout lifestyle, and started wandering in his conversations.

When he and I were alone one time, he told me quietly that he had been having frequent dreams about the Devil, that he had a sense of being constantly examined by the Evil Eye, and that the Devil had shown him all of the misdeeds in his life, and was “expecting him” soon.  In the most recent episode, he was being chased around and around his car by “a short little bastard with red skin, horns, and brass buttons”.

I said to him “you’ve been watching too many cartoons”, whilst in my own mind I was pretty unsettled, despairing for all of the blackness of his visions, for the loss of his carefree self, and for my wife’s emotional state.  It wasn’t long before we took him to the hospital for the last time.  The physical ailment was bladder cancer, but he had long since given up the game, spiritually.

In those days, mental illness wasn’t a subject for open discussion.  Now, as I am approaching my seventies, and for the last couple of years, I’ve experienced the creeping insidiousness of the black thoughts, and have come to know it for what it is.  I’m on the run, as he was, in a way.  Recognizing what is happening (thankfully), and trying to stay a step ahead through therapy and (hopefully) wonderful medicine.

Still lucid enough to put something like this together, and to take a little joy from it.
God bless all of you out there who are rowing the same boat.

thanks for your support (*Graphic)

you do not understand
do you even want to?
when you look at me
with derision in your glance
and say get off that shit
snap out of it
what is wrong with you
and I snap, but not out of it
and say thank you for your support
now fuck off
a terrible terrible thing to say
then I go to bed
and have black dreams
and what is worse I am not sorry
we do not talk for days
I tell you I am cold turkey now
by way of a half assed apology or excuse
your look says are you looking for sympathy?
I tell you I have been clean for two months now
struggling to be strong
but some nights I need a little help
you find my white paper bag
with the drugstore sleep aids in it
and say I thought you were off that shit
and I say I am, this is only kids stuff
and I don’t take it every night
you say maybe if you didn’t take that damn tablet to bed
and turn off your light at a reasonable hour
it might help eh?
I have seen a therapist
they say maybe you should too
get educated a little?
you say you don’t need any help

joy has been gone too long too long

this circle is vicious

I believe in yesterday

I would like to ask some things of those who have felt, or feel now, that they have an undiagnosed or “phantom” disease.  Let’s say your doctors are confounded, or are losing patience with you.  Tests continue to come back normal.  You feel anything but normal.  Your family feels helpless, or worse, tells you to snap out of it.  Your social life is going downhill because you won’t commit to plans, or cancel them at the last minute.  You have one “good day” out of a week, or maybe two weeks.

Depression is one thing that I am very aware of, and have been treated for, and doctors have told me that physical symptoms can be coupled with this condition.  If that is so, and chronic 24/7 pain and debilitating weakness can be attributed to it, then I would say it is the worst thing that has ever visited this old guy.

I know, from reading some of your accounts, that sometimes the desperation is so great, we feel like throwing in the towel.  I have even followed people on WordPress that seemed to me as if they were going to do something desperate.  That’s when I realize I’m not there yet, and I try to keep them talking and check in with them frequently.

How do you stay afloat?
What has the medicine man told you?
Is your family supportive, or do you have any community support?
What’s your percentage of “good days”?
Do you feel as if you’re being punished for something?

So many more things I could ask, but that’s good for starters.
I appreciate your reading.

Lee

From Captivated, to Captivity

There’s something called obsession, and by all accounts it is “unhealthy”.
His fleeting glimpse of a lone dancer, in a season past, will not fade.  Instead, it has sprouted within him, a seedling spreading indelible branches into many directions.

On one of these possible paths, he sees himself returning to the scene, making improbable enquiries as to who she may be, when she might reappear, so that he may perhaps experience the vision once again.  On another, he wonders what he really has seen, and the whys of its powerful effect.  It has assumed the form of a bright filament of spirit within his mind.

He’s painted this, unwittingly, with his own brushstrokes, like a mad Van Gogh, and can’t tear himself away from the image.

This descent has taken him too far, and he tells himself that he must “come back”, for his daily life now seems dreamlike, and his artwork the reality to which he is drawn.

“What now is my path?” He thinks.
See  https://secret-lifeof.com/2017/11/09/the-captive-in-thrall/

Captivated

In a small, crowded, noisy bar, on a winter’s night, he’s surrounded by family and friends.  There’s a dislike for the setting:  Having to shout to be heard at your own table, the inevitable loud or belligerent drunks, the tiny bathroom always occupied.  He stays anyway, because the band is partly family too.

Gradually, unknowingly, he starts to tune out of the forced conversations, and even the band’s attempts to be heard.  They are good players, he knows, and he likes the music.  He identifies with them, and sees them trying to balance the desire to be heard, and yet be savvy enough not to overpower.  They have spent many hours on practice for this night.

The occasional tug from his wife brings him back to the table chatter, and, apologetically, he rejoins the shouting.  After a time, he slips back into reverie, and notices that no one is up dancing, save for a solitary figure in a dimly lit corner by the window.  It is a girl, probably just of drinking age.  Not beautiful or showy, dressed in a sweater and jeans.  She is holding her glass of beer, has her eyes closed, and is smiling.   It’s a slow quiet number that’s playing, and she sways in one spot, her face upraised to the light.  Seemingly, she is ignored by everyone but himself.  He is drawn to the simplicity and soulfulness of this dancer, and wonders if she came here by herself, or, if not, why there is scant reaction from those around her.  She stays for song after song, nursing that single glass of beer.

Once again, he’s brought out of trance by his tablemates. Gets a couple of annoyed glances and some queries as to why he is watching “that drunk girl”.  He does not think of her that way, and realizes with a start that he has been absent from the table talk for nigh onto half an hour.  In a while, he begs off for the evening, and he and his wife make their way home.

In their hour long trip, he thinks of nothing, other than what he has seen tonight.  Even months later, the image still visits him.

Captivated.

……..see https://secret-lifeof.com/2017/11/06/from-captivated-to-captivity/

picture credit to:  http://bilbaoarte.org/activities/dancer-in-the-dark-lars-von-trier-2/?lang=en