I’ve found myself suffering as of late, while this isn’t any new news, it is different in how it’s manifested itself. When I started writing here, it was an exercise to get my feelings out in a manner whereby I felt a little better after writing along with the hopes that my insights might help someone else along the way, just enough to know they weren’t alone. In this case, I have never felt more alone while not being alone. Writing serves as an outlet but not the relief it has been in the past. It is a head scratcher.
The suffering in this case feels like being suspended in water, somewhat able to breath, somewhat able to hear. My vision for some reason seems to be impaired. Naps and deep breathing help somewhat, but I’m unsettled. In my chatting with my therapist, he just says, “Peter, you are depressed.” I keep pushing back on him in terms of trying medication again, not because I’m anti-medication, but because while I can’t quite feel as well as I wish and know I can, I know the medication will give me a temporary reprieve and then dull things again. Emotions are good – I don’t mind having them. For the first time in a long while I seem disconnected from them. As I have indicated here depressed is as Jim Carry says, is your body’s need for ‘deep rest.’ I find a bit of solace in knowing that my frequent naps and need for extra sleep are just my body’s way to find the deep rest it needs. I’m hoping the cooler weather as we roll into the fall will help me to get moving – as they say – 30 minutes of vigorous exercise is worth so and so many milligrams of anti-depressant. I’m not trying to be stubborn in this respect, but rather, find a more natural means of dealing with it.
So why Ambien or Lead? A month ago, around the time of my last post, I was contemplating joining Tony and my dad, I was beyond upset, I was staring down into the abyss and trying to find a way to make the pain go away. My choices – an ounce and a quarter of #6 Federal Birdshot or 10 Ambien washed down with a nice, very rare, hard to get whiskey. The issue is my shotgun has a 28″ Barrel – it’s a reach… guess that’s a good thing – I knew what I was doing when I bought it! Obviously, this post is written in the middle of August, so I am still here and very much of this world. Although, I’ll confess here, it is a weekly if not a daily struggle for me.
It occurs to me – you may, if you’re this far, asked yourself – Tony? Who’s Tony? Mr. Bourdain who is unfortunately not with us any longer. A person I admired, a ‘famous person’ I would have been very unlikely to meet if he had endured on this earth. If you ever watched his show, and you too are like me, depressed, you start to recognize where he was in a very quiet, self effacing way, showing us his depression. When his death was made public, I wasn’t surprised, as it had been right there all the time. I feel in some ways, similar to him in that the worthlessness I feel is driven down. After a lifetime of doing this, it becomes very second nature. Unless you know what to look for, you’d never know. In my idea of heaven – if I get there, I can finally catch up with Tony and have a beer and just exchange ideas. I’m honestly not in any hurry to get there – I just want the pain to go away. The suffering and the weight are starting to wear on what’s left of my sanity.
What so far has kept me on this side of the world, is somewhat twofold – my ex – will receive a windfall should my demise come before our agreement comes to pass – I refuse to line her pocket more than I already am. The other one is my children – I worry they might not understand how I could leave them – although the big one is off to college and doesn’t seem inclined to include me in her life, the little one might not show the level of interest, but her kindness might suffer and while I sit here in a great deal of pain, I refuse to hurt either of them more than I have.
In reviewing this post – it doesn’t seem very salty – it seems bitter and reflective of my general mood.