Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Blabbering Blatherskite
I don't know what to do, so I am writing. I am laying bare every insecurity and weakness and in all likelihood it is a selfish act because as much as I want to believe that I am doing this to give myself therapy I feel there is a more sinister truth. To all who read this, you know how much you and I communicate. You know how close we actually are and you know if I am coming to you for help or if you are just the observer who wants to hear a sad story. I will do my best to present my depression in a way that makes for compelling reading and will keep you wanting to read because my sickness, my vanity, is that I need someone to notice me. I need someone to care about me. I have become painfully aware that there are societal norms that keep me from being a real friend to a lot of you. See, I'm married and as such I cannot care deeply about the sorrows of another woman. I don't understand this. There is one woman in particular, and god I hope you're reading this, who has had more tragedy in her life than any one person ever should have. A person who was hurt and violated and abused by an evil step father. A person whose church gave her "church discipline" when her mother divorced the monster. A woman who has tried in vane to find a home and someone to care about her. A woman who has had far more dark days than sunny ones and needs, NEEDS someone to stop and take her by the hand and look into her eyes and say "I notice you. I see you. I am so sorry for the evils that have befallen you and I want to show you that not everyone in this life will hurt you. I want to show you that I weep for your sorrows and I care very deeply about you as a person, a human being, a soul who does not need to give me anything in return. I want nothing from you except for you to see that in this life there are people who will love you and not ask you to prove it. Just be. Close the doors. Don't focus on what your yesterdays were or what your tomorrows might be. Simply experience today, this moment, for all of the beauty and potential that it holds. Life cannot be lived if you are in another part of it. You aren't in your past. You don't yet exist in your potential future. You are here and now and in this moment is the only real truth. Make this moment anything you want it to be,because you own it and I have looked at you, I have seen the inner you and I have full faith that you have something the rest of us only wish we had........", but I can't because there are people in this world who will say things and create problems and see something that isn't there and question my intent. How much good doesn't get done in this world because we are scared of what someone might say or how someone might interpret it? How many sad souls do we walk past when we have the power to lift them up, to give them the tools to make themselves better, all because societal norms and insecurities tell us that someone might think something or take it the wrong way? Still,how many times do we, with all good intentions, set out to show someone that we care about them, and those same societal norms and insecurities cause the person to question our intent? How many of you have wanted to say something to me but are worried about how it will come across? How many have said something and worry that it came across the wrong way? Let me make one thing clear. If you are reading this, I love you and have in some way noticed you and have made an effort to connect with you. I care about your sorrows. I want, need to show you that I want you to have the best possible of all good things. I want you to know peace, contentment, love, support, friendship. I want you to know that one of my deepest needs, an all consuming hunger for me is to look beyond the surface of people and see the soul inside your skin, the person you are, and tell you that you have an amazing value that no one can measure. Yes, you have been mistreated at times. Yes, people have been selfish with your emotions. Yes..... I have mistreated people and been selfish with their emotions and I have fallen more times than I care to admit, but I still care. This is my weakness. I want so badly for the sad to know love, to be appreciated, to know that someone else out there sees their worth and their inner beauty and CARES. But I will fail, and I will be judged, and I will balk at opportunities to let someone know what they need to know, because I want you to like me and I want you to trust me. I want to be the safe person that you know you can talk to and I will make of it only what is right, and safe, and pure. This is my weakness, my fault, my own particular insanity. No one can be what I want to be. More to the fact, I have recently discovered that I, well, let me put it this way. My sweet Willow. I loved going for walks with her and it thrilled me to my core when she would reach up and hold my hand, or my finger, and we would walk. I had a stability that she wasn't capable of, and she recognized that, and she clung to me. That was not enough though. In her clinging, in her reaching for support, she did not have the strength to hold on when she would stumble. If her support depended on her ability to hold herself up then she would fall. The difference was when I, with my big,strong hands, would grasp hers. When she was holding my hand my soul sang. When I was holding on to her, she had stability and she would not fall. There was someone who had the strength that she did not, who would not let her fall. I let her do everything she was capable of but she was not capable of everything. I saw the short comings, and I stood to fill in the gaps. I held her when, through no fault of her own, she could not stand. I am now the one who cannot stand. I have been desperately reaching out to hold on but the weight is more than I can bear. It is not my fault, I just do not have the strength to hold myself up. In turn, I cannot be for the people in my life what I want to be for them. We are stumbling, falling, weaker vessels who need someone or something stronger to hold on to. I am reaching out now, finally, at last saying that I can't hold on, and there is no shame in it. I have hands that reach out to me, to help me stand, but even in their best efforts they cannot be what I need. I don't yet know what that strength is, but I am surrendering to my own frailty. It feels good to stop fighting. One day, it will feel good again to stand.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Falling down.
There is no getting a handle on this. I wrote on my facebook page the other day about an experience where I stopped to change someone's tire and showed them pictures of Willow and had what I called a "happiness epiphany." That being, Willow brought so much good into my life that I had to spend the rest of my days doling out goodness back into the world. I had crossed a threshold. My grief had turned from anguish into something pure. One step forward, two steps back.
Last Thursday I went to see a nurse practitioner to get set up on medication to help me deal with my current circumstances. The depression had become overwhelming and my daily functioning was becoming more than I could bear. My yard is a mess, my birds have been all but neglected. I had gotten to a point where I was fine at work but when I came home I could hardly get off the couch. My "epiphany" opened a new door for me and helped me to have a peace of mind about how I was going to deal with my life from here on out. Two steps back.
I was 12 hours into my day yesterday when I was waiting to load my truck for todays deliveries. Recently I was robbed by two crackheads with a gun. They were going to shoot me. They would have killed me, for my phone. That alone is a huge ordeal to endure but on top of my already fragile state I just have more to bear than I know how to. Then, as I was waiting to load my truck, a fellow driver came in and in front of several others said "Hey, I heard you got your ass kicked." I feel no need to defend myself over how I handled being robbed. If anything I am ashamed and proud at the same time because I did not roll over and take it. I never once felt fear. I felt resignation to death and a blinding rage that could only be quenched by killing this man who had sucker punched me in the eye. I wanted to kill him. He tried to get away and I fought as hard as I could to get to his neck. I was going to kill him. I mean no exaggeration when I say that my only goal, the only thing that existed in my world at that time was to get ahold of his neck and crush it. I was going to kill him. I wanted to kill him. I fought as hard as I could and even when he broke away I chased him down and tackled him, still intent on ending his life. I spoke no words to this man who was mocking me over what I had been through. I shook my head and went about my paperwork. He didn't want to let it end. "From everything I heard you got your ass KICKED!" Still, I kept my head low, intent on finishing my work and overwhelmingly sad for what was happening. Brad has never been like this before. I just could not understand why. Repeatedly he laughed and told the others guys the version of the story he had heard, repeatedly emphasizing that line, like it was funny to him, "I heard you got your ass kicked." I did suffer a severe sprain to my ring finger on my right hand and to my right ankle. I got a black eye and bruised ribs from where crack head #2 was kicking me as I tried to kill his friend. Yeah, they worked me over pretty good. I finished up what I was doing and silently walked away. It was no good though as the seed had been planted. On the dock,preparing my truck to load, it repeated over and over in my head. The smile on his face as he laughed about what had happened to me. My anger reaching a fever pitch. Finally Brad came up on to the dock. I waited, calmed myself, and spoke to him. "Brad, what exactly are you going for? What point are you trying to make?" "My point is you got your ass kicked." "Why are you enjoying this? You should know better." "Get your ass out of my way so I can do my job." It overwhelmed me. To those with a sensitivity to foul language I apologize for what you are about to read. Of course you can stop reading if you like so any offense is on you. "What's your fucking problem Brad! You should know better! You should fucking know better!!!!!!" I turned and walked away, threw my hook down on the ground and collapsed into my truck. I knelt there, unable to breathe, crying uncontrollably, still harder to breathe, panic setting in, heart pounding, feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise. Grabbing a milk crate with both hands to keep myself from falling over, even as I was kneeling. Squeezing so tight it hurt. Plummeting further and further into whatever was happening to me. Knowing I could not step back out on to that dock, I climbed down from my truck and went into the office to speak with Gary. He wasn't there. Going to Kathy to ask where he is. "Are you alright Stephen?" "NO. Get Gary." He came from his meeting and we walked to his office. I explained everything that had happened. I told him I was not interested in telling on anyone or Brad getting into any trouble. I simply wanted him to know what happened and that I had to leave. Gary is a great guy. He came to Willow's funeral. He knows my story. He assured me that some people are going to be "assholes" but that I handled it in the best way possible, by walking away. I told him that I had to leave. I had to go to my doctor. It was 20 minutes before they closed but I called anyways. Driving there I was overcome again. Not able to compose myself. When they finally answered all I could get out what "My doctor is Dr. Wood. I think I'm having a nervous breakdown." She patched me through to a nurse who begged me to stop driving. She said I was in no condition to be driving. I have seen my dad locked up in a mental ward for his nervous breakdown and I wasn't going to let that happen to me. I wouldn't let her know where I was for fear of an ambulance coming and taking me away. I was driving to my doctor's office and wouldn't stop until I got there. All I knew was that I needed to get to my doctor because I had finally reached a point where I was no longer in control. The strong wall I was trying to be, one that my family was to lean on, was crumbling and I couldn't even lift a single brick to try and replace it. I needed someone else to take control. That is all I knew. As soon as he was able my doctor got on the phone. I told him I needed help but if he was going to commit me then I wasn't coming in. I was standing right outside his door. "I could only commit you if you seem to be a threat to yourself or others. I really don't see that. I think you are having a panic attack." There is no way I would ever harm myself. The most selfish thing in the world would be to make my son endure his father's funeral. I would never. Never. Others? My Willow gave me goodness. I do not wish harm on any person in this world. I know that at this point I would not even raise a hand to the men who wanted to shoot me. I have no room in my heart for hatred anymore. I have no room for guile. I am a softie's softie. I finally came in and as I was walking to the check in desk my head started swimming and I fell, almost, as I caught myself on a chair back and stood until I was well enough to walk. Twice I nearly passed out on my way to the desk.
This is where I have to pause and speak to the nurses in this world. They are a quality of people that are of the highest caliber. My nurse, I don't remember her name, took my weight, asked me questions, and laughed with me when she said she needed to check my blood pressure. My blood pressure is never more than 2-4 points from perfect. 134 over 96 this time. The only surprise is that it wasn't worse. As she was about to leave I asked her if I could show her a picture of Willow. Of course, she said. We spent the next 10-15 minutes together. I told her stories about my sweet baby. I wept. I showed her another picture. I wept. She put her hand on my back. She wept. She certainly had other work to do and I'm sure I set her behind on getting it all done, but she stayed there with me until I had enough composure to be left alone. I will never forget her compassion as long as I live. She is one of tens of thousands who do this type of thing daily. I will never be able to truly express just how grateful I am for her and what she did.
My doctor came in a few minutes after she left. He is a short man, young, bald, and he wears these black cowboy boots that seem to be older than he is. He carries with him a demeanor that says that he can be completely trusted and is as knowledgeable as the elders. We spoke for a long time. His office was at this point closed but there was no rush. We spoke in detail about what was happening, had happened, and what I needed to do. He let me ask any question and took his time to make sure I fully understood everything. I had suffered a severe anxiety attack. He said it was only a matter of time considering my circumstances and it confirmed what he and his nurse practitioner had been thinking. I am suffering from PTSD and need to get proactive in dealing with it. I will be setting up counseling. I have Xanax for when these episodes hit, as they likely will again. It is now 2:16 A.M and I have been awake since just past midnight, trudging my way through another attack. As of now I cannot sleep, even if I had the opportunity because I have to get ready for work. I fear being medicated. I do not want to not be in control of my own mind and I do not want to bend to the notion that I cannot handle things. I am now painfully aware that I can't handle things and that is okay. When a plane loses pressure and the air is sucked out, the pilot cannot save the plane if he cannot get oxygen to himself first. He cannot create the will to power through it and without the oxygen mask he will black out too and all will suffer the consequences. I am reaching for the mask. I need the life giving oxygen. I am unashamed to say that I need strong arms to hold me up and that I no longer have the strength to do this alone. Fortunately I am not alone. My family gives me strength. My friends give me joy. My job gives me purpose. My love for my baby girl gives me hope and comfort and strength and reasons for living. I will honor you Willow by simply surviving. I will honor you by rebuilding myself to the point where the love and goodness you had will be continued in your absence. Your goodness is my ambition and I will never give up.
Last Thursday I went to see a nurse practitioner to get set up on medication to help me deal with my current circumstances. The depression had become overwhelming and my daily functioning was becoming more than I could bear. My yard is a mess, my birds have been all but neglected. I had gotten to a point where I was fine at work but when I came home I could hardly get off the couch. My "epiphany" opened a new door for me and helped me to have a peace of mind about how I was going to deal with my life from here on out. Two steps back.
I was 12 hours into my day yesterday when I was waiting to load my truck for todays deliveries. Recently I was robbed by two crackheads with a gun. They were going to shoot me. They would have killed me, for my phone. That alone is a huge ordeal to endure but on top of my already fragile state I just have more to bear than I know how to. Then, as I was waiting to load my truck, a fellow driver came in and in front of several others said "Hey, I heard you got your ass kicked." I feel no need to defend myself over how I handled being robbed. If anything I am ashamed and proud at the same time because I did not roll over and take it. I never once felt fear. I felt resignation to death and a blinding rage that could only be quenched by killing this man who had sucker punched me in the eye. I wanted to kill him. He tried to get away and I fought as hard as I could to get to his neck. I was going to kill him. I mean no exaggeration when I say that my only goal, the only thing that existed in my world at that time was to get ahold of his neck and crush it. I was going to kill him. I wanted to kill him. I fought as hard as I could and even when he broke away I chased him down and tackled him, still intent on ending his life. I spoke no words to this man who was mocking me over what I had been through. I shook my head and went about my paperwork. He didn't want to let it end. "From everything I heard you got your ass KICKED!" Still, I kept my head low, intent on finishing my work and overwhelmingly sad for what was happening. Brad has never been like this before. I just could not understand why. Repeatedly he laughed and told the others guys the version of the story he had heard, repeatedly emphasizing that line, like it was funny to him, "I heard you got your ass kicked." I did suffer a severe sprain to my ring finger on my right hand and to my right ankle. I got a black eye and bruised ribs from where crack head #2 was kicking me as I tried to kill his friend. Yeah, they worked me over pretty good. I finished up what I was doing and silently walked away. It was no good though as the seed had been planted. On the dock,preparing my truck to load, it repeated over and over in my head. The smile on his face as he laughed about what had happened to me. My anger reaching a fever pitch. Finally Brad came up on to the dock. I waited, calmed myself, and spoke to him. "Brad, what exactly are you going for? What point are you trying to make?" "My point is you got your ass kicked." "Why are you enjoying this? You should know better." "Get your ass out of my way so I can do my job." It overwhelmed me. To those with a sensitivity to foul language I apologize for what you are about to read. Of course you can stop reading if you like so any offense is on you. "What's your fucking problem Brad! You should know better! You should fucking know better!!!!!!" I turned and walked away, threw my hook down on the ground and collapsed into my truck. I knelt there, unable to breathe, crying uncontrollably, still harder to breathe, panic setting in, heart pounding, feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise. Grabbing a milk crate with both hands to keep myself from falling over, even as I was kneeling. Squeezing so tight it hurt. Plummeting further and further into whatever was happening to me. Knowing I could not step back out on to that dock, I climbed down from my truck and went into the office to speak with Gary. He wasn't there. Going to Kathy to ask where he is. "Are you alright Stephen?" "NO. Get Gary." He came from his meeting and we walked to his office. I explained everything that had happened. I told him I was not interested in telling on anyone or Brad getting into any trouble. I simply wanted him to know what happened and that I had to leave. Gary is a great guy. He came to Willow's funeral. He knows my story. He assured me that some people are going to be "assholes" but that I handled it in the best way possible, by walking away. I told him that I had to leave. I had to go to my doctor. It was 20 minutes before they closed but I called anyways. Driving there I was overcome again. Not able to compose myself. When they finally answered all I could get out what "My doctor is Dr. Wood. I think I'm having a nervous breakdown." She patched me through to a nurse who begged me to stop driving. She said I was in no condition to be driving. I have seen my dad locked up in a mental ward for his nervous breakdown and I wasn't going to let that happen to me. I wouldn't let her know where I was for fear of an ambulance coming and taking me away. I was driving to my doctor's office and wouldn't stop until I got there. All I knew was that I needed to get to my doctor because I had finally reached a point where I was no longer in control. The strong wall I was trying to be, one that my family was to lean on, was crumbling and I couldn't even lift a single brick to try and replace it. I needed someone else to take control. That is all I knew. As soon as he was able my doctor got on the phone. I told him I needed help but if he was going to commit me then I wasn't coming in. I was standing right outside his door. "I could only commit you if you seem to be a threat to yourself or others. I really don't see that. I think you are having a panic attack." There is no way I would ever harm myself. The most selfish thing in the world would be to make my son endure his father's funeral. I would never. Never. Others? My Willow gave me goodness. I do not wish harm on any person in this world. I know that at this point I would not even raise a hand to the men who wanted to shoot me. I have no room in my heart for hatred anymore. I have no room for guile. I am a softie's softie. I finally came in and as I was walking to the check in desk my head started swimming and I fell, almost, as I caught myself on a chair back and stood until I was well enough to walk. Twice I nearly passed out on my way to the desk.
This is where I have to pause and speak to the nurses in this world. They are a quality of people that are of the highest caliber. My nurse, I don't remember her name, took my weight, asked me questions, and laughed with me when she said she needed to check my blood pressure. My blood pressure is never more than 2-4 points from perfect. 134 over 96 this time. The only surprise is that it wasn't worse. As she was about to leave I asked her if I could show her a picture of Willow. Of course, she said. We spent the next 10-15 minutes together. I told her stories about my sweet baby. I wept. I showed her another picture. I wept. She put her hand on my back. She wept. She certainly had other work to do and I'm sure I set her behind on getting it all done, but she stayed there with me until I had enough composure to be left alone. I will never forget her compassion as long as I live. She is one of tens of thousands who do this type of thing daily. I will never be able to truly express just how grateful I am for her and what she did.
My doctor came in a few minutes after she left. He is a short man, young, bald, and he wears these black cowboy boots that seem to be older than he is. He carries with him a demeanor that says that he can be completely trusted and is as knowledgeable as the elders. We spoke for a long time. His office was at this point closed but there was no rush. We spoke in detail about what was happening, had happened, and what I needed to do. He let me ask any question and took his time to make sure I fully understood everything. I had suffered a severe anxiety attack. He said it was only a matter of time considering my circumstances and it confirmed what he and his nurse practitioner had been thinking. I am suffering from PTSD and need to get proactive in dealing with it. I will be setting up counseling. I have Xanax for when these episodes hit, as they likely will again. It is now 2:16 A.M and I have been awake since just past midnight, trudging my way through another attack. As of now I cannot sleep, even if I had the opportunity because I have to get ready for work. I fear being medicated. I do not want to not be in control of my own mind and I do not want to bend to the notion that I cannot handle things. I am now painfully aware that I can't handle things and that is okay. When a plane loses pressure and the air is sucked out, the pilot cannot save the plane if he cannot get oxygen to himself first. He cannot create the will to power through it and without the oxygen mask he will black out too and all will suffer the consequences. I am reaching for the mask. I need the life giving oxygen. I am unashamed to say that I need strong arms to hold me up and that I no longer have the strength to do this alone. Fortunately I am not alone. My family gives me strength. My friends give me joy. My job gives me purpose. My love for my baby girl gives me hope and comfort and strength and reasons for living. I will honor you Willow by simply surviving. I will honor you by rebuilding myself to the point where the love and goodness you had will be continued in your absence. Your goodness is my ambition and I will never give up.
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