Wednesday, July 23, 2014

curing depression

A talk with somebody who has little to no experience fighting depression revealed one thing that is very telling about the disease.  First, it is a disease.  And treating it isn't just taking happy pills.

Trust me, if there was a pill that simple we'd all take one.  And I'm sure there are  pills and other meds out there that give you "good feelings."  They would not work on suffering from depression, however, and might very well cause harm instead.

The point of anti-depressants is to help balance your brain chemistry so you can think clearly, so that if you did get a good feeling you would actually feel it.  They do not take away bad feelings or suppress them, but at least you can feel something.

And there is no cure.  Some people need just a slight adjustment.  Most have to be on the meds the rest of their lives.

Monday, July 21, 2014


Because giving up means it was all  a lie.

All of it.

You coming here to be with me.  You saving my life.  You leaving me in 2002.  None of it mattered since it was all a lie.

And now you have a new lie to finish.  Hopefully he won't be as heartbroke.

I have a hard time believing it was all a lie.  Larry at least lied to my face, can't you?

Guess not.  Hard to think you're worse than Larry.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Stop fucking Ebola monkeys. Or at least wear a condom.

Given that I lost my job today I am surprisingly in good spirits.  That's proof that I've changed.  If this happened last year I'd probably crawl into a bottle right now.

The title of this post refers to one of my funnier texts during the first hour after getting home.

So:  What now.  My boss obviously didn't want this to happen.  He was in my studio as I gathered up my stuff and jokingly asked if I was going to fuck anything up before leaving, i.e., setting some kind of computer virus off that would infect the network.  I asked in return, "Would you like me to?"  I think he was relieved that I was taking the news so well.

I didn't tell him that I actually could have easily done that.  He was relieved I didn't Hulk out and was a good boss and didn't want this to happen.  The orders came from on high.

I'm kind of just relieved that this happened now and not a year ago when I was straightening up my act.  I would not have survived that.  I was getting better because Ex wanted me to.  That was wrong.   I should have been getting better for myself, and I knew this, that's why I stayed on the meds.  Until I was doing it for me, it was for the wrong reason. 

And then in January I did believe that I'd never hear from Ex again.  And with that came the realization that if I wasn't going to hear from him again, I'd never hurt him again.  (I was wrong, on both counts.)  But I began thinking about what he told me in his last message:

you're a good person

He was trying to tell me he didn't see me the way I saw myself.  It's like when you hear your recorded voice.  When you talk you hear not only what's coming out of your mouth, but also all the vibrations inside your ear canal and in your head.  It changes your resonance drastically, and you are the only person who hears you like you do, and your brain rejects the recording.

Same with pictures.  Unless they are in reverse, which is what you see in a mirror, when you know it's you and are perceiving it in real-time, your brain rejects it.  Not me!  That's not me!  Ugh!

But that's how I saw myself, and I know it was my sickness that caused most of it (although I like to believe that most people are not Narcissists and do not believe they are beautiful and also all that), but hearing somebody you still love tell you, when you hate yourself, that you are good... that's hard to ignore.

I regret that I found a way to ignore it for so long.

So now the search begins.  I have the demo to Seattle, if that is really a position and not an EOE required posting... And I am working facebook and my friends in the industry.  Of course if things don't pan out I can always just try for a job at Hardee's.  Losing all that weight like I did last time wouldn't be a bad thing.

Anyway.  Back to working the crowd, until I leave tomorrow morning for a restful week at home.

The strain

Well yesterday was an adventure in itself.  Apparently I cannot take a "sick" day at work without everything coming down in shambles.  Whatever.  I'm allowed sick days and, unlike in the past when I'd use them in a moment's whim, I have twelve saved up from rollovers... basically the past year and a half of not being a drunk all the time has meant I don't need to use them.

But I was a drunk this weekend and was encouraged by my new friend to get back on the big stuff.  He has familiarity with depression in his family.  My doctor confirmed that, yes, I can get back on Zoloft after my body has adjusted to the current med.  Good then.  But how will it affect my work output?

So I talked to my boss yesterday.  I was absolutely honest with him about everything.  Back in Lexington, after all, I passed out more than once at his place.  So when I told him the whole story he was not surprised.  I think he was more surprised that I'd even been fighting to stay on the sober side of life.  It's not easy.  You wind up being alone a lot, because if you hang out somewhere with friends, there's drinks.  If you go to the bar to meet people, there's drinks.  It's like everyplace you can go to there's temptations and you want to say, "Well just one," but it is never just one.  So you stay away from all that.

I even started going to the movies here to pass the time, at that shopping mall with the bad parking.  There were drinks.

I told my boss because a.) trying to do the right thing, and b.) I had to find out if he thought my work output had suffered while I was on Zoloft, or if I acted weirder than I usually do.  No on both counts, so medicine for life I guess.

This morning I woke up at 4 am after a strangely dreamless night and went to the kitchen for some ice water.  In the freezer was the leftover Bicardi from this past weekend.  Regretting the waste of money besides everything else it represented, I poured it down the sink.  For some reason it took a long time to pour, and for some reason I turned the disposal on, which makes little sense outside symbolism maybe.

Basically now I'm gonna play a waiting game until my meds are upped.  I can make it a few weeks.  It's nothing I haven't done before.  

I will always regret not staying on them, now.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Thank you

I just got thank you'd for something somebody else did for me.  It was an odd feeling.  I will have to take him to dinner.

The doctor has heard my tale now and recognizes that I need to be heavierly medicated again.   Apparently she could tell what was wrong just looking at me.  Am I that obvious.  I knew the possibilities of side effects of coming off my anti-depressants in January.  I didn't have any of them.  No suicidal thoughts, nothing.  I started eating properly again.  Well, not properly.  Just eating at all was a miracle, and after starving for so long I forgot how much I enjoyed things like tomatoes with salt.

And learning that table salt was not my enemy but sodium from processed foods was... it became easier to eat healthier but stay very lazy about it.

So we are going the same route as before.  I'll continue with citalopram for now, and then move on to Zoloft again, whatever its generic name is.  I should have done this in May but didn't want to admit the feelings that were building in my head.  That was, of course, before.  Speaking of which I got a very nasty little note from somebody I barely know.  Knowledge is power.  I could crush this person's spirit if I wanted revenge for the note, but I do not.  They will find out on their own.

Here's to better living through chemistry.


I've spent so much time in the past year and a half getting sober and healthy.  I switched from Captain Morgan's to Henry Weinhard beer when it was made available here.  That is when things started to change for the better for me.  I could have a beer and sleep... I wasn't a drunk anymore.  Too little too late.  Then one weekend, frustrated after learning that he had already been in a relationship this whole time we were talking... That's all it took for the dangerous activity to start back up.  Hating myself, hating what I became.  Looking for something to hurt me, because that's always great.

The one good thing I can say about this experience was it made me reach out to others.  I've actually gone on dates.  A new friend came over last night and stayed, making sure I took my meds and listening to my words.  He helped check my blood pressure twice.  A little high, but nothing to worry about.  He held me when I didn't want to be held.  I told him I was a bad person, he said he didn't believe me.  I told him I'd wind up hurting him.  He promised he wouldn't let me hurt him or myself.  We went to bed and he told me I was good.  I started to believe him.  I trusted him.

We woke early and I took him home.  He wants to hang out more often.  I do too.  If he'll make time for me.

So maybe something good did happen.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

The Impossible Valentine

I was recently cleaning and came across something I thought I'd lost a long time ago... maybe I just forgot about it.  No, I hadn't.  It was my iPhone.  I recognized it sitting under the bed because of the cool shell you bought for on Redbubble, the Dr. Who/Chuck Taylors one.  That was probably the coolest gift anybody ever gave me.  You said you wanted to find something that combined some of my passions, and hoo-boy did you.  It's almost as disheartening as it is joyous when you get something like that.  You had to not only pay attention to my interests, you had to figure out which iteration of phone I had, and then you had to be internet savvy enough to know where something like that would be found, and you had to get it for my post-Valentine's day gift.  It was even in the faded white and not the optical white, which is a different shade but not the faded white Chucks the Doctor wore.  It's hard for somebody even as jaded as I am about love to think it doesn't exist after receiving something as a gift that shows that somebody you love has been paying as much attention to you as you have to him.

It was so great a gift.  I was so happy that I had you in my life, and I felt again what I felt for you so long ago.  Not that it ever changed.  I just had to push it away, holding that old gift in my rare fit of cleaning, because you were never going to be part of my life like that again.  I would just be refusing to let go of the past, and it would hurt me to revisit it again. 

So of course I had to see if the phone still took a charge.  Yeah it did.  And I had to look at our chats.  Most were from me, thanking you for coming into my life again.  But there was one in particular that touches me to this day, because I remember what caused the exchange like it just happened.

You'd come to bed late.  We were never on the same sleeping schedule, I knew that.  I accepted it a while before.  But my morning routine was to wake up and slam off the alarm so it wouldn't wake you.  It never did.  Bathroom stuff, shower, dress, then lean over you on your side of the bed and kiss your forehead before leaving.  You were always such a deep sleeper it never woke you.  I'd go to work and come home to you on the couch, smiling your heart-melting smile.  Good times.

I remember that morning I was wearing my green cargo shorts and the white pin-striped shirt that looks too big on me now.  It looked good then, it fit me perfectly.  I know I'd had my hair and goatee trimmed recently and was quite impressed myself with how I looked in the mirror.  

I came over to your side of the bed and leaned down to kiss your forehead.  You were as deep a sleep as you ever are.  I don't know what happened that morning... maybe I jostled you too much leaning down.  Maybe I put on too much deodorant and it bothered you but...  You woke up after my kiss, and leaned up with that smile, reaching out to shirt for another kiss.  It was very sweet.  You started to fall right back to sleep afterwards, still in the arms of Morpheus.  I left the apartment with what I must imagine was a very silly looking grin on my face.

Later at work you texted me, saying how handsome I was that morning.  I was surprised and flattered, because it wasn't like you to break out of your sleep to text something like that.  I replied, "Is that why you wanted another kiss?"

You told me you just wanted a kiss on your lips before I left.

I read those chats and others with customary tears that day, with that forgotten iPhone in the impossible Valentine gift, and never thought I'd be happy like I was that one day at work, knowing you'd be waiting at my apartment for me in just a few hours. I don't think I'll ever be as happy as that again.