Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Dark closets and Danger

I don't know how clear I was in my last post, but the issues I'm dealing with aren't happening in any type of quick fashion, they've been going on over the course of the last few weeks, and yes they've been hard. Night time is always the hardest. Insomnia has been another issue I've struggled with for the past few years with increasing difficulty. It is always during these times that I seem to get to my lowest, feel my most pain, and reach the darkest places of myself. As you might expect this is where I do the worst damage to myself and make rash decisions.

Tonight I feel bad. I feel like I want to embrace the worst parts of myself and discover how bad, how evil, how horrible I can go. Just saying it sounds as stupid as I know it is, yet the roiling turmoil inside of me is screaming in pain and asking to have it ended, seems to think it can only be satiated in the worst possible way. I wonder how much time I have left before I truly do something stupid?

Small Destructive Steps

Coming to terms with who I am and what I've been through is a mixed bag. In some ways it's easy, but in a way that's equivalent to paying lip service to something. I can say it easily, but I don't always put the effort into taking care of the issue, and that is the hard part.

Don't get me wrong, I never thought this would be easy or have a clear path to figure out, but it doesn't mean I have to like how it feels. I don't think I've ever felt more alone about anything. This isn't something I'm ashamed of, but at the same time I don't know how I go forward and reveal what I'm going through to people and talk about this openly. It's exhausting having to explain everything and how the sexual abuse and the narcotics addiction are currently working hand in hand against me at this time. I mean, who do you dump this shit on? Who can even understand this?

So, this big change in my life and how I view myself is here, and so far I've handled it poorly. In fact, I'm still handling it poorly, making dangerous choices, bad choices, or what have you. There are days when I get up that after I get the kids off to school and I'm alone all I want to do is lay in a shallow grave and cover myself up into oblivion. Other days I want to watch the world burn, looking at everything and seeing nothing but futility and cynicism through my eyes. I'm either numb or hurt, some days both, and sometimes I switch between the two in the bat of an eye with or without reason. I see it coming and I'm powerless to stop it let alone get a handle on it. Some days I do better, and it's all internal, I don't share it.

Among the many bad choices I've made lately was going through a new prescription of Ativan in a week, in stead of a month. I didn't do this as a premeditated action, I just had access to my pills and used them to cope. I can make excuses, but I won't because it doesn't do any good and it really just leads back to making poor choices.

So here I am fighting against each of the problems and I'm really not sure which one I treat first or if I can get treatment for both at the same time through support groups. Narcotics support groups seem more numerous and offer more options, but if I'm being honest and I'm more concerned about the issues that I struggle with from the sexual abuse. Even now, I still have days that I wake after a night of troubled sleep and uncomfortable dreams that trail behind me throughout the day, but at the same time I have a hard time accepting that this happened to me, that some how I could have allowed it to take place, even though I was powerless and unable to protect myself. Its that last part that I know is hard to come to terms with.

So slowly I trudge through these days, walking through an emotional quagmire of my own life problems, feeling inadequate and unworthy, searching for relief and acceptance, and often finding that there is none, or that when I do find it then it's destructive for me. It's a solitary wading road and unfortunately I see it getting only more solitary the further I go.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011


I feel that the time is right for another entry, or several, on this blog because I need to come to grips with more issues. I don't know who is left out there that still checks on this from time or who will read this, but what I'm going to discuss is something I have to work through. I've tried for several days now to complete this post and each time the words escape me, probably as a result of some ingrained subconscious defense mechanism so I won't have to confront my feelings. I think the best thing for me to do is just to explain how this started.

My usual sleeping problems have gotten worse over the last month and when I can I usually have powerful nightmares that leave me thrashing, mumbling, or even shouting in my sleep. I've always been a vivid dreamer, but talking or physically reacting to them is very rare. The intensity of these dreams affected me greater than I would have ever imagined any dream could and on several occasions they have unlocked memories that I had pushed away and caused me untold amounts of confusion and trauma. What it has uncovered are memories of being molested as a child by my mother.

I dismissed the first couple of dreams as being nothing more than figments of my hyperactive mind, but the dreams continued and while I was awake I began to have more memories surface. Even now, just acknowledging this to myself internally makes me want to crawl out of my skin and seek safety in some unknown place. I tried every logical explanation I could conceive of that could strike down what I was remembering, but each attempt only led me to further examination and confirmation. Coming to terms with this new realization has been unbearable at times and pushed my depression into stages that has had me considering suicide in my weakest and lowest moments.

It's not commonly known to many people, but I have an addiction to painkillers such as hydrocodone, which I needed to seek treatment for. Times of stress and great anxiety heighten this alluring addiction because the benefits of overusing medication like this is that is keeps me numb and deadens my emotions and feelings. As I walk through the pained memories that I am experiencing all over again, the need to take away the pain and suffering that I am going through on a daily basis is overwhelming. I've abused my anxiety medication trying to mask the anger and resentment I'm going through so that now I'm battling this as well.

As meager as this collection of thoughts are, organizing and composing them have been draining, so I think I'll leave this alone for one night.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Slow to move

Tomorrow I have to pick out a psychiatrist and start the slow process of playing with my medication. I think I'm wishing for something that doesn't exist, a pill to help me with depression that doesn't make me numb with a lot of side effects. Ideally I'd like not to take a pill or any medication at all AND avoid therapy. I don't think that's going to happen, I'm convinced there is something screwed up in my body chemistry that requires help to get me in balance but there is a pull between being "normal" and feeling as though I am able to live and enjoy life on an emotional level.

I really can't stress how badly I want to be off of Celexa. Despite the success I have achieved with it I truly believe it has led to other problems in my life, namely the addiction and abuse of the painkiller hydrocodone. specifically Norco. Don't get me wrong, I still accept full responsibility for that but one of the side effects of Celexa is apathy and emotional flattening, which is what I talked about in my last entry. It's hard to recall what I was thinking while under the influence of the medication, but I wouldn't be surprised if, subconsciously at the minimum, I was attracted to the release of the hydrocodone and the euphoria that made me feel, something, instead of my usual wraith-like existence.

I have the will to live, I just want to feel the benefits of it again. Living an analytical existence is a half-life at best.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

It's time to let the damn break

If this is your first time visiting, you really need to start reading from the beginning. You can't possibly hope to understand the perspective and motivation for this blog without starting there. You can easily get to the beginning either from the sidebar, or by clicking here. Thanks.

I've put off making posts of any kind here and on other blogs because I lack any feelings strong enough to right about them. The medications that I am on keep me insulated from the world and I find my public displays of happiness, joy, and even excitement and truly just myself going through the motions for the sake of others. I'm acting like me, or more specifically how I am supposed to be.

It doesn't matter what the event or situation is, its not personal, I just struggle through it. But the worst part is when I am left to my own and I realize I don't have any more feelings. I should explain that they are there, but they are just buried so deeply that they are almost an enormous task to access. The only exception being the joy and love my children bring out in me. But every other feeling or care it gone as I were sitting on a chair in a large empty room all alone..

Now, I don't really talk to anyone about this, or try to let on, but I am sure it manifests in some awkward aloofness. Even when we are gathered together for functions or a relaxed get together, trying to remember the appropriate times to laugh, act interested, ask further questions, or display the proper emotion to go along with the conversation or action based on how I am supposed to do so. It's funny that I do not believe people know how difficulty I am having over a simple conversation around "How bout dem Bears, huh?" These get togethers are so hard on me that I am ready to go 2 second before if starts. Don't get me wrong they're almost always wonderful situations but let me let people here in on a little secret that will probably do myself so good by finally letting it out even here. and is that these situations, which force so much confusion consistent low levels of terror and nervousness, end with me waiting to be alone at night sobbing to sleep because I feel broken. I've never even told this Meva for fear of rejection and not wanting to worry her further.

My reluctance to discuss this with Meva centers around what I feel/know if the cause of this, and that is my daily medication for depression Celexa, I think we would both argue that our lives have become less chaotic and more manageable since I have started taking it. But the truth is that I don't feel any more and I can't access my creativity and write like I used to. It makes me feel like such an enormous failure and that is slowly killing me.

To this end, I decided to stop taking the Celexa because I so desperately need to know I am alive, but after just a few days and not chance of seeing any symptoms I had to return to taking it, until I can get to a shrink and talk with him about what to do.

My asshole sister Traci has resurfaced again, wanting to borrow money so that she can make her way via bus to just show up at my other sister's house in Arizona. Teri's health is not good, and despite being told repeatedly not to come down there, Traci's plan is to do just that. This always stresses me out, so the last thing I need to do is be off my meds during this.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Episode IV --- A New Hope

If this is your first time visiting, you really need to start reading from the beginning. You can't possibly hope to understand the perspective and motivation for this blog without starting there. You can easily get to the beginning either from the sidebar, or by clicking here. Thanks.
This week Meva told me that for the first time in a long time she feels like she has her husband back.

This is significant because the last 5 years have been extremely difficult and enlightening for me as I've come to accept and better understand the extent and power depression has on me. At times it has been all-consuming, even causing Meva to strongly question and believe that I might be bi-polar. For me to say that it has had a powerful influence on me is really an understatement.

When I'm at my worst, I am extremely anti-social, irritable, and passive-aggressive and I find that I can't control the self-destructive behaviors which cause me to push everyone away. It's frustrating and further fuels all the negative urges of Depression. I don't want to get too descriptive about everything I did wrong or poorly, but suffice it to say that this has cost me dearly. I've alienated friends and family and has all but ostracized me from those who were among my closest and dearest friends. I don't blame them for avoiding me because reflection has allowed me to see just how terrible I was.

To those of you that read this and fall within that category, I'm sorry. I can't erase my mistakes no matter how hard I try, but I with time I might be able rebuild the friendships we had, but I understand I may not be deserving of that opportunity and that is something I will have to learn to accept and live with.

So, how did this happen? It wasn't quick or easy, that's for sure. I would have good days and you probably wouldn't even suspect what I was going through (if you didn't already know about it) and then I'd have a string of bad days and I'd hide in plain sight from everyone and lash out in every direction at the slightest irritation or conflict. But after failing to manage the depression without better living through modern chemistry, I began to feel I was hitting a wall and doing nothing but injuring myself and my family. I took the initiative and began a program using the drug Celexa and rebuilding my sleep hygiene. It's only been two months, so I can't be 100% sure if it is working, but I see results. What's more important is also the fact that I am not the only one.

I expect there will still be bumps in the road even if this current plan continues to be successful, but hopefully any slights from here on will be insignificant and easily forgiven.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Sleep Deprived Thoughts

If this is your first time visiting, you really need to start reading from the beginning. You can't possibly hope to understand the perspective and motivation for this blog without starting there. You can easily get to the beginning either from the sidebar, or by clicking here. Thanks.

I'm not at all sure why, but good, solid sleep has really become a premium for me. Over the last week I've had times where I have almost dreaded going to sleep at all. So I'm averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night and that means I've got a very short wick; which I then dangle around three little sparks all day long! And to top this off, it gives me the nastiest headaches in the world.
Despite being 40 now I still think I could lift my old truck and tip it completely over, so I've got that and the headaches going for me now.

Their are two consistent thoughts or issues that are prevailent during this time. One is a larger sense of my own mortality, but being 40 and working a job I truly never imagined I would be doing at this stage of my life makes that thinking easy. I can elaborate later on that because I've always had thoughts like this about mortality, so this isn't anything new.

What primarily bothers me is that I an still sorting out the mess that was my mother. I just keep playing so many of the negative things that she did, or in many cases didn't do, to me or for me. It is an exhausting but neccessary step that I have to take so I can move forward. But every time I do this, I go right back to the time these things happened and the original feelings of doubt, oppression, fear, loathing, hate, and even misanthropy all just crawl back under my skin and paralyze me. And I sit there watching these scenes play out and I see the damages they caused at the time--who they hurt, who those that were hurt then hurting others (myself included)-- and seeing this modeled as correct behavior.

It didn't matter if it was me getting beaten with motorcycle helmets or baseball bats, having lighter fluid thrown on me and then chased with a lighter, or buying liquor and paying for hair appointments so she could seduce a married co-worker (who happened to be the older brother of one of my closer friends in high school---- yeah HUGE issue there alone!!) while we were getting thrown out of places to live,. to the many hurtful and venomous things she would say to me and my sisters.

Right about that time I begin to wonder how much the mustakes I've made in my life are a direct result of all that and how I was cheated out of an early adulthood and the poor choices that still affect me to this day. It's usally at this point that my own mortality has found a way to seep through my melon and point out that the wasted time IS valuable because life is short and mine isn't getting any younger!

Is it know wonder then that I end up tossing and turning and trying to shake these thoughts and the corresponding images out of my mind so I can sleep, but it takes alot of time and more meds than I want to be taking. I take the meds because they do calm me down, but unfortunately they are becoming less effective.

So I'll get to go into the next morning with all that still freshly lingering in my head like the hungover bass sound you can't get rid of from that dance club you got wasted at the previous night. Somehow I have to fight on alone, through it, and raise my kids to never know any of that could happen to them and try to keep up with the house while I can.