Beautiful Nightmare

“It is not good that the man should be alone…” Genesis 2:18

Last night I dreamt. I dreamt a shining, beautiful nightmare.

I dreamt of a woman. I can recall no face, no features, nothing much in particular actually, other than a general impression of her. But I do recall one fact vividly, burned into the walls of my memory like a flash-burned shadow remaining after a nuclear explosion. She loved me.

Not the me that might be. Not the me that should be. Not the façade I place before the world, or the quiet lies I mumble to myself in order to justify my own existence. She looked into my core and loved me.

And then I awoke.

Now I think I have some small idea of what it is for an imprisoned man to dream of freedom; for a starving man to dream of a feast; for a blind man to dream of colors he has never seen. The magnitude of the ecstasy during the dream pales before the raw power of the crush of reality upon waking.

Now it is 5:30 the next morning and I cannot sleep. Probably because part of me fears to dream and then to wake. Probably because another part of me fears not to recapture the dream at all.

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.