Drugs, drugs, and more drugs

I haven’t written in a while and honestly I couldn’t tell you if it’s from not wanting to write or not being able to write.  My mind is mush, so to speak, and I’m trying to find the pathways that make me who I am and sometimes it’s a damnably hard thing.

 

I started seeing a psychiatrist a few months ago.  Here is what I have learned: brain chemicals are the psychiatrists playground and they are only interested in an end goal.  I’m not entirely sure what that goal is for me.  I was started on a wonderful little drug called Lamictal.  It’s a mood stabilizer (this Dr is leaning towards Major Depressive Disorder with mixed symptoms…lovely) and you have to stop it immediately if you develop a rash.  I totally got the rash.  Okay, well, Dr says, let’s try you on Viibryd.  Holy Aggression, Batman!  I told him by email that I was very agitated on it.  Dr says okay, well here, have some Klonopin.  I went and saw the Dr and he said since I wasn’t having apathy and depression per se that the Viibryd was doing it’s job so just use Klonopin when you want to kill people.  Oh, and here, try some Topamax for a mood stabilizer.  I took the Topamax one night and felt like I was having seizures all night.  I wasn’t…that I know of…but that’s what it felt like.  I woke up that morning and cried for a couple hours for no apparent reason.  I’m not a crier.  It’s just not something I do very often at all.  

 

I have made the decision to say screw the meds.  After a couple of my closest friends and my daughter told me that I had been very angry lately I decided that I would much rather have depression than anger.  I was getting mad about things that never bother me.  I was furious.  I would have racing thoughts for hours, planning rants that I would tell people in my head whilst I should be asleep.  

 

Add onto this that I’m wearing the nicotine patch to try to stop smoking cigarettes (13 days cigarette free yay), that I’m having some kind of flare up that is making my hands hurt like hell, and just the stress of being a single parent.  I am utterly exhausted.  Maybe a little depressed.  

 

I’ve started titrating down from the Viibryd and I am starting to feel a little better.  I’m still cranky.  I’m still moody.  I had to take a half a Klonopin tonight instead of buying a pack of cigarettes.  Everyone says  “reduce your stress!”  Ummmm….how?!  How do I reduce the stress of bills, kids, work, illness, and trying to quit smoking?  Oh, and here’s a fun fact for you…depressed people are more likely to smoke because the nicotine has fun with your serotonin and dopamine making you feel a little better after a cigarette.  I don’t know if it’s worse or better to have that information.

 

All in all, I do know that I need to be writing more.  I have startling moments of clarity (especially when driving) where I know exactly how I want to make a presentation on mental health to a high school student body, where I want one of my books to go, how I’m going to overcome EVERYTHING with working out and eating better, and how to enjoy life.  I lose my grasp on the clarity though so easily.  It falls like sand through my hands and then I’m down on my knees, sifting through the grains, trying to put the pieces of the sand into a coherent picture once again.  It’s maddening.

 

Depression and all mental illness is a horrible thing to deal with because what works for one may not work for others.  Medications and I do not get along.  I don’t like not feeling like I am ME.  If there is one thing that I can say about my life it’s that I have always tried to hold onto who I am as a person…not even as a person.  As a soul.  I want my soul to remain true to how God created it.  It’s been banged up, there are some black marks on it, and some jagged scars but it is still mine and it is still me.  Medications make me feel like they are making the decisions in my life and that just doesn’t work for me.  Good or bad I will be true to myself.  

 

On the plus side, depression always leads to some of my best writing (that’s a secret you know…creative people with mental illness enjoy it somewhat.  The darkness is where the truth hides).  So does hypomania…or whatever it is.  The meds lead to no creativity, passion, or truth at all.  I cannot abide that sort of life.  It is not who I was created to be.

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Voices

2016 was a year that a lot of well known entertainers died.  I was even a little sad about a few of them.  It got me thinking though.  Due to their medium of creativity, we will always have their voices, their faces, their characters.  It’s not really them that we miss.  It’s their persona.

I lost two people this past year and there are pictures of them.  I got to thinking the other day that I just wanted to hear Mary Lou’s voice.  I went through all of her Facebook and I couldn’t find a video of her.  Sure, in my memory I can see her beside me in her Xterra, dancing and singing or rapping along with a song.  I can hear her laughter and see her eyes crinkle up in a smile….but what if I lose that memory?  What if it goes away too?

Brad left 8 years ago.  He was the one who I never really got over.  I loved him so much.  I see his face every time I look at our daughter.  For 8 years I tried not to think about him though it was impossible.  And our daughter has no memory of his voice, or of how he threw back his head in laughter, how he would dance in the car, or how he could two-step well, or how excited he got when OU would make a touchdown (and he would quietly celebrate as I slept on the couch beside him), or how steely his eyes could get when he was mad.  She’ll never see him run a pool table, or feel his hug. She doesn’t even have these memories of him.  I do, but how I wish that I had video of him.

We spend a lot of time making fun of people for taking videos or selfies.  Yes, some people do it to a huge extent.  I think that others need to do more.  When we are gone, our loved ones will miss seeing our smiles.  They’ll miss our laughter, or are sarcasm.  For those of us who are too self conscious to let people take videos and pictures…they’re losing a part of us.  We live in an age where we don’t have to rely on only our memories.  We can utilize them now.  Don’t take anything for granted. 

The story goes on

I was told my story was not over

That I just had to start a new sentence

I turned the page

And then another.

The nothingness

Scared me more than the words

“The end”.

You want me to create something

Of the nothing that I have left?

You want me to fill the book

With stories, laughter, tears, and words?

I can’t fathom how I start again.

Do I start with me?

With you?

With love?

With the end?

Or do I close my eyes

Take a deep breath

And see what the paper desires of the pen.

Demons

Hiding in plain sight

The demons lurk behind storm filled eyes

No one ever knows

The pain that’s taken hope

I wish I had no heart

No soul to fill with love

What has it ever given me

But tear stained eyes

And blood filled hands

Life beats you down

Nothing ever comes easy

Apathy or excess

No in between

Dear God in heaven

What is wrong with me?

Cover

Why cover me in kisses

When you could cover me in lies.

Why promise me tomorrow

When you know it’s not mine.

Why love me through the night

When the days are eclipsed

Why give me your sorrow

When you know I’ll be missed.

Why give me your laughter

When your tears are inside.

Why do I keep asking

When I know it’s goodbye.

Last love

Really wish I could remember who I wrote this about LOL.

 

The last time I said I love you

I never dreamed would be the last

The last time I held you

God, it went so fast

The last time I trusted

You threw it away

The last time I wanted

You didn’t stay

The last time I loved

Did it die with you?

The last time I was touched

By a hand that gave a damn

It wasn’t you.

The last trust I had

Was wasted on a lie

The last love I had

Was really goodbye

Unrequitted

I scream, grab your arms and shake them, get right in your face, my eyes pleading with you to look at me…hear me…love me.  I rage at you, calling you awful names, grabbing your chin in my hand to make you look in my eyes…but you’re somewhere else.  You’re looking right through me into an abyss that makes a wormhole look full of light.  Your memories and your terrors have convinced you that you still live with them.  I slap your face, trying to get a reaction out of you and drag you back from yourself but you don’t even notice.  Tears streaming down my face, I back away from you, shaking my head at my disbelief, my loss, and the knowledge that I can’t save you.  I turn away from you and you still stare straight ahead, your moss colored eyes hazy with the pain of past wrongs and tragedies, a life that was filled with sorrow too soon, and death too often.

 

All this…happens in my head.  In the real world, as your eternity eyes look at the night, I say quietly to you, “hey, come back to me”.  I reach towards your arm, but you are uncomfortable with touch so I pull my hand back, never feeling the warmth of your skin…

 

You smile, and make a smartass comment…but I know that you’re still there…the abyss won’t let you get too far away….and I’m not enough anchor to hold you…and life slips you by…as you fight the demons that have long since gone….

 

And I fight the demons that still surround me…knowing that you’ll never love me…and that you will never see me for who I am.  I made an oath though, a promise to stay by your side and not abandon you as so many others have.  We sit and watch the moon bless us with the pale light of summer, and never dig deeper than calling a spade a spade. I may be the one to keep my oath but I may also breathe my last by it.  A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions, the loving of someone who will never love you back.