A Heroic Effort

Back at the beginning of this little journey I've found myself upon, I thought that my manic episodes were the normal state of affairs. As a result, when I would attempt to pull myself out of the depression, I would try to pull myself up into a mania. Now, I begin to wonder if the opposite might be true. If it seems that a depression is the 'norm' to be sought.

I have been fearful of late that I could be in a manic swing. While my energy has not been high, in fact it has remained quite low, I seem to find myself fixating on small, irrelevant matters while much more important things go unattended. It seems that the endless navel-gazing continues; am I depressed; am I manic. My wife says I should try going forward as if neither were the case and maybe I would find that I am neither. There is probably a lot of truth to that way of thinking. Now just to force myself off the dime.

My sons were with me this weekend and I was once again forcefully reminded just how much I miss being with them all of the time. The youngest had his first tooth come out while at church and was so excited. My third-grade son practiced for his class play (and also shoved sticky sucker sticks and used gum into the crevices of my couch! Grrrr!). My oldest is turning into a young man so quickly. And of course, when I returned the boys I saw my wife. I miss being with her most of all.

Now, only to reorganize my life so that these greatest matters -- my family -- recieve the precidence in my life as they do in my often impotent thoughts. Despite my normal inclination, I am making myself go to bed earlier and earlier in hopes that I will have greater energy during the day. I am attempting to bring order to my home, so that it is not a reflection of an inner turmoil and more of an inspiration toward a regular life. But I know that these changes are pretty much cosmetic.

I cannot afford to let myself be depressed or manic. I must find the razor's edge and balance upon it. Its odd, when Neil Armstrong steps on the moon, when Edmud Hillary ascends Everest, even when Luke destroys his Deathstar there is a cheer and general celebration. But so many navigate the howling gales of difficulty in their private lives with no hope of celebration or even a true end. The mental disorder, the physical challenge, the lack of education -- any number of personal challenges can demand a heroic effort to overcome. One thing remains the same between the two types of heroic efforts: failure cannot be an option.

I have newfound empathy for babies with ear infections

Man oh man! Last week I spent a few days home with Matthew and/or Nathan as they contended with the usual first bout of exotic germs brought together by the first days of class. By Friday I had a bit of a sniffle (possibly allergy, who knows for sure) and by Friday I had minor ear infections in each ear.

So, I did what you are supposed to do, soldier on with Tylenol and such and wait for it to go away. The right ear seemed to be clear by Monday, but the left ear kept getting worse and worse. By Tuesday evening it felt like someone had taken a syringe and shot a tablespoon of peanut butter behind my left eardrum. This is the point at which you become acutely aware that most of the ear is safely encased inside your skull, otherwise you would gladly rip it out (you have another one, right?).

When I got home Tues night I took my temp and it was 101.8. Yuck! Today I saw a PRN and she told me that my right ear still had fluid and that my left eardrum was nigh unto bursting. I got some antibiotics and am praying that they will kick in soon. So, now as I was getting ready for bed I took 3 large Depakote tablets, 2 Tylenol, 1 Lamictal, and 1 Amoxicilin. Don't think I will need to be getting up for a midnight snack.

Day 2.5

I have no idea why I am posting so much here today. Perhaps a manic swing now? Yea!!!

Well, I ended not going to Church for a couple of reasons. First, I am pretty sure that I now have an ear infection in each ear. This would not be surprising since I spent a few days home with my youngest son this week who also had an ear infection. So, long story short, my ears are driving me nuts. Second, I am just not ready to play the whole "everything is fine" game.

You know the one. Heaven forbid that you should answer the question of "How are you?" with anything other than "fine". Sometimes I am not ready to say "Fine" while I think "slowly bleeding to death internally, thanks". I'm just not ready for that game today.

Day Two

It never ceases to amaze and somewhat frighten me just how much I can sleep during one of these hits. I slept a bunch yesterday and thought I'd have to take some sleeping pills to manage to go to sleep last night. Instead, I laid down in bed at about 9 pm and slept through until about 10 am. I do feel better at the moment, but ye gods the hours of sleep I have logged in the last two days.

I am still in bed right now, but I will likely get up soon. I have enough enthusiasm to make some toast and take my pills (always have to take-a the pills). I will probably manage to muster enough momentum to make it to church later (one of the benefits of going to a meeting that does not begin until 1 pm). It will give me a reason to get cleaned up and a chance to be around some people.

Maybe I will watch the MDA telethon later. Maudlin songs, crippled children being rolled out, and the sweaty, inchoherent babblings of a comedy star from the 50's ought to make me feel MUCH BETTER. (heh)

Anatomy Of A Depression

Sadly enough, it began with hope. That is usually the case, actually. In the past I had thought about looking into truck driving as a living, and the thought struck me again as I drove my mother to the airport the other day. So, I began to investigate.

The work would not be the easiest: eleven hour driving days; spending 3 to 5 weeks at a time away from home, and so forth. That didn’t really matter, though. It would mean making enough money for myself and for me to take care of my children, at least to an extent. The worst part of the whole journey for me has been that I cannot provide. I am a drain, not a provider. I see my wife struggling to support the children and their household on one income, and I feel the pain.

Now I had hope once again that I could overcome this situation.

I looked into the matter further – there are trucking companies that will train you from scratch in return for a one-year commitment. Sounded good. The pay wasn’t the greatest in the world, but it would be enough for my needs.

And then I investigated the requirements for a Commercial Driver’s License. All sorts of medical conditions can be waived: poor eyesight, high blood pressure, heart disease, diabetes… But what condition cannot be waived? You guessed it – any psychological disorder, even if controlled or managed with medications.

I had been doing well. Not the greatest, necessarily, but I had been doing well (which is probably why I have not been writing on this blog – heh). Getting up in the morning. Exercising some. Generally “taking care of business” in small ways. Then this hits. The weight of the “Scarlet B” stitched on my shirt drug me down once again. What was worse was that I saw it coming. I said to myself, “Here comes the depression that follows disappointment.” Sure enough, like the tide rolling into a narrow bay, here came the immense wave of despair.

I was supposed to have my sons this weekend, but I just had to pass. They deserve more than a father who does little but lay in bed all day. I came home at about 5:30 after learning about the license and was in bed by 6:00. I slept through the night. Today I have intermittently lain in bed or listlessly played minesweeper. I did force myself to take a shower at about 4:00, which is more than I usually manage. I also made myself eat a couple of bowls of cereal this morning and a few ounces of cheese a little bit ago. It’s not that I am not hungry – it’s just that the effort hardly seems worth it.

It is Labor Day weekend, so everyone else is involved in family events. I have nowhere to go really, and nothing to do if I go there. So, I just stay here. Yes, I know that I am not supposed to just stay in my apartment, but there really are no practical options.

Slob, Get a Job!

(With apologies to Dr. Seuss and Sam-I-Am)

Would you, could you
Get a job?!
Don’t sit around
And be a slob!

I can no longer practice law
I messed that up -- Haw, Haw, Haw.
I cannot work in oil & gas
Each time I try I get the pass.
I cannot stand to sell Slurpees
Because of pain beneath my knees.
I cannot drive a great big truck
DPS says my brain is muck.
But chances are when I apply
For SSD they will deny.
A great round peg, all holes are square
I do not fit in anywhere.

I simply cannot hold a job!
And that is why I am a slob!

Life In Slow Motion

Everyone has experience it. That horrifying feeling when the independent observer in your brain watches as your body moves against its will. Your finger clicks the mouse just as you realize that you have not saved your work. The glass of juice slips through your loose fingers. You begin to fall only to realize your hands are filled with groceries, helpless to do anything but watch. In movies these moments are always depicted in slow motion, the victim emitting a prolonged “nooooooooooo!”

This is the state of my life. My observer screams a thousand admonishments every day only to see my recalcitrant self failing to act upon any of it. With ever greater velocity I slide toward the brink of destruction and see myself making no effort to prevent it.

The inevitable has been delayed time after time, but cannot be cheated forever. One way or another this must end soon.

What is to be done?

One year ago today I was on day five of nine days in a crises center. Today I resigned my license to practice law.

It came as no surprise. It’s been in the work literally for months. At least I managed to have five counts of alleged negligence reduced to three and avoided an indefinite suspension due to mental incompetence. A pyrrhic victory if ever there were one.

Well, now what? It is said that in Russian history there are only two great questions that consumed society, “Who is guilty?” and “What is to be done?” I really do not know who is guilty, if anyone. I have rolled that question around and around in my mind until it is become a smooth marble running on a well-defined groove. Ultimately, that question is futile. Blame will do nothing to repair my current state.

So, what is to be done? At present I seem to be back-pedaling at an enormous rate. Three years of education and ten years of practice – thirteen years of my life – expunged with the stroke of a pen. Friends I once had as a younger man scattered to the winds, never replaced over the intervening years. My fifteen year marriage appears to be slowly dissolving before my eyes, one bit at a time. My three sons stand as the only permanent marker in my life and I fear that I do them more disservice than service as a Father.

How far do I resign? How far do I slide down the sandy dune that is my life before my feet catch hold? I scramble at the crumbling wall until exhausted then ride its flow back down. Each attempt leaves me lower than before. Profession – gone. Friends – gone. Marriage – going.

All of the feel-good “you can do it” “how to fix your life in 40 days” types talk about climbing the ladder only to find it is against the wrong wall once you reach the top. Maybe that is what I am experiencing. Maybe. Climbing down the ladder to put it up to the right wall, so I can climb it again. If so, it sucks. If not, well, it also sucks.

And then... six months later.

Yeah, six months. I do not know how to describe the last six months. In early January the contract job I had was not renewed. Since then I have spent months trying to find work between bouts of some pretty crushing depressions. Living alone and being unemployed is probably a worst-case scenario for depression. There is no need to do anything for anyone. Sleep patterns become disturbed as you nap for two hours here, four hours there. One day merges into the next, always with the intention of getting your act together 'soon'.

As my therapist would ask, "Why now?" What has happened to make bring a change from the prior condition? Well, quite simply it cannot go on any more. I have expended what meager savings I had. My creditors are at the door. I have drawn upon the good nature of my siblings. The position of inaction is no longer tenable, unless I care to be homeless.

So now I work at a 7-11 whlie I try to find something better. At first I thought I might just stay there, living the low-stress life of a clerk. But a few weeks of working have reminded me of a few things. Number 1, I am no longer in my 20s and Number 2, I weigh about 100 pounds more than I did the last time I worked in a convenience store. Simply, I do not think I can take standing 8 hour shifts for many more days. Every morning I shamble out of bed like a 90 year old man and limp out to the car. I just do not think it will work.

I do finally have some prospect of another 'office job' and some more leads. My fear there is that I will start another job and end up messing it up as well. My hope is that with the help of a therapist as well as meds that I might be able to handle such a position better.

Time will tell. Time will tell.