Archive for the ‘Depression’ Category

Sitting in my office, jamming to some tunes suddenly from a far I hear feet shuffling on the freshly waxed floor. A smile comes across my face, because I know soon I will see my best friend Dale Brown. 
Through the Taoist point of view Dale had reached the rare state of enlightenment, where he was able to see the world through the eyes of a child. I am aware that this state was partially contributed to his illness, but none of that mattered. The brief moments where we were able to interact was always the highlight of my day. It is amazing how we seem to appreciate things so much more when they are gone.

It was the day before Thanksgiving 2009; I spent most of the day by Dale’s side. His biggest fear was being alone I held his hand, and tried to tell him that he is not alone, and everything is going to be ok. I feared that he was so far in the process that he was not able to hear me.

 Dale had just recently been taken off hospice, so he did not have someone by his side, on this day he seemed more alert then the days before. He had spent most his days just laying in bed, on this day Dale was moved out in the common areas in what I call the “death chair”. I call it this, because the residents who sit in this chair pass soon after.

When the day came to an end, I saw him sitting there, I said my goodbye’s knowing in my head that this would be the last time I would see him. There was so much I wanted to say to him, for some reason it did not come out.

I received the text on Thanksgiving eve that he had passed, looking back there are so many things I wished I would have said. I wish I would have given him a hug, and told him exactly how much he meant to me. I wish I told him he is loved.

I still hear shuffles coming from the hallway; I look up with a smile waiting to see his smiling face. I never see it, it has almost been two months and I still have not talked about it, accepted it, or discussed my feelings.

I did not intend on forming any relationships with the residents I work with.  Dale came into my life at a point where I needed a friend. The conversations we had were delusional, yet very personal. I could be myself, I did not need to hide my disease or who I really was, and neither did he. His smile was infectious and always brightened up my day.

He was here my first day at work, and in my mind I thought he would be here for many years to come. I hate that I never took the time to just sit back, and be mindful of the moment. I am angry and sad that I will never get that chance again. I am regretful I did not let him know the impact he had on my life. I wanted him to know that even in death he will always live on in my heart. Even as I write this my eyes well up in tears, yet I refuse to feel through it. I refuse to accept and let go.

Since his passing my days seem empty, and my heart breaks every time I hear the shuffling, only to look up and see that it isn’t him.

Repost. I still miss Dale, and know he had very few people in his life that cherished and loved him for who he was. I know Dale would pass no judgments on my own mental health. Miss and love you.

Advertisements

I can’t remember the last time I have written a post, I know it has been awhile before my last hospitalization. I continue to fail at my daily goal of a post a day, but in my defence I have been receiving ECT treatments. I started them during my hospitalization and continue the treatments on an outpatient basis.

Before I go further I feel it’s important to note that as a side effect to these treatments is the difficulty I have formulating thoughts which makes my writing confusing because now I have to transfer my hazy thoughts onto the computer. I believe it is a certainty that my grammar is going to suck… I just did a … because I wondered what exactly my grammar was going to suck. 

If you don’t know what ECT is I will write a separate post  describing what it is actually like. My focus is on how these treatments have crippled my brains ability to remember things and to formulate thoughts, along with making simple daily living activities complex and scary. 

I have been getting more headaches, but nothing as intense and painful as the headaches following each treatment make me nauseous. I feel like I may be over using the word “but” I probably am but fuck it right. 

All I am saying is just getting this posted is a huge step. There I said it, and it can’t be unsaid. Because I have put it in writing so shame on me. 

My intended focus is to break down, analyze, and apply my methodology to three single events with the intended outcome of making the correct choice.

1. Do I stay or do I go? I have repeatedly replayed the same haunting moment of seeing my son still and quiet on his bike as he watched me get in the car to go to work. In that moment I could see in his eyes the internal conflict between acceptance and denial that his dad is slipping away. I could see and understand all too well the sadness he was trying so bravely to hide. 

As my mental state continues to deteriate, he now sees a dad who struggles with simple daily living activities. His bravery falls apart.

It is difficult for me to release my sadness and sorrow through the shedding of tears. The only time the outside world can see what I try so hard to hide, is when I cannot hold back my tears. At that moment, just as in this moment writing about it I cannot stop the tears. Many people say that crying is supposed to be this wonderful release of pent up emotions. It’s not like that for me. Tears feel like razor blades running down my face, slicing through self-denial and exposing my weakness and vulnerability. Regardless of how many times I have been told I am selfish and only think of myself, at the end of the day my meaning in life, and my purpose is to not break his heart. I am well aware I will never win the father of the year award. To be honest with you I don’t even know if I’m a good father. Despite what I am told I know I have always tried to be the best dad I could be. 

2.  Time holds no logical meaning anymore. Remembering the day, date, even what year it is. I destroy everything I touch. Answering the question I posed earlier… it is best to leave. As my depression gets worse so does my will to live. 

3.There are only so many pieces someone can be broken into before they are unable to be put back together. I now need to come to terms with the sobering reality that I will become in my own eyes everything I ever swore I wouldn’t. I will become my fathers son. I am desperately seeking, yet fear I will be unable to live with the guilt, or forgive myself.

4. Children are not stone, nor are they steel. They are dirt and clay, molded by the hands of experience. There is no way to reconcile the loss of my son’s happiness and hope due to the harsh reality of my life, which I have viciously infected upon my family. Despite my frequent mental transformations I made the decision to get married and have children; in that single moment I destroyed their lives. I suppose I was caught up in the perceived human need for significance, by my own sense of insecurity. Here is where I cannot deny my selfishness. Broken dolls are meant to walk alone.

In moments like this I want to hide within the minds of Soren Kierkegaard and Albert Camus covering myself in the blanket of Absurdism. Believing all struggles for life is for nothing. There is only birth and death, and everything in between is our feeble attempt to find meaning and purpose. This concept is wonderful, but in the back of my mind I’m burdened with this question. What if birth and death were only two points, that they were inconsequential compared to what happens between them?   

Although completely useless majoring in Philosophy was one of my better decisions. On one side I have tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt pursuing a degree which is useless in the working world… on the other it opened my mind up to critical thinking, logic, and the common sense to question everything. This is a blessing and a curse. The curse is getting trapped inside my own mind and becoming lost within the bright lights of neuron blasts. 

Thought bondage I think of my reality, my existence… trapped. I cry when I realize this will be the perpetual cycle… never-ending. For as long as I am alive I will forever be tormented by my own mind, so easily broken around ever corner.

I used to fear deaths embrace, but being scared and beat down by life will turn fears into wishing.

I don’t belong in civilized society less my madness be spread to the masses. Over the last few years the madness has become impossible to hide let alone deny. If my madness is factual and cannot be denied than what Kierkegaard is saying is the acknowledgment of my madness will inevitable perpetuate the insanity. 

I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the positive self talk advice which is usually followed by the statement “fake it until you make it.” This statement encourages denial and self deception. 

Prior to my complete mental breakdown I lived in a reality of self denial and false realities. 

Day after day I wore the mask of the masses, until I no longer had the strength to put one on. As I have stated in prior posts this shift occurred once I discovered emotions, the evil which lives in all of us. I cannot contain my crazy because I lack a social filter. This deficiency causes me to stay locked away alone in my home. Isolation is like throwing gasoline onto a fire. 

A recent example was getting thrown out of stamp dealer store. This dude was being a dick, what’s worse is I was fully aware of his strategy. To make a long story short this man was not expecting nor appreciated the verbal vomit of honesty spewing from my lips. I don’t know if it was my honesty or my liberal use of the word “fuck.” The end result is being permantely banned from this establishment. My honesty being without a filter almost got me arrested. 

The Pandora ‘s box of my insanity and the curse of seeing the truth of our society, a society blinded by complacency and ignorance. Most great minds are plagued with madness, they must have faced the facts of their reality and still have the courage to use it as a tool to enact change. 

The following link leads to the face of true evil.

https://coms.doc.state.mn.us/publicviewer/OffenderDetails/Index/254746/Search 

To the great majority the day of our birth is a day for celebration! It’s a time for cake, presents and countless Happy Birthdays on Fake Book… sorry Facebook. Unfortunately there are many people who view their day of birth far differently. For people like me we mourn the day of our birth and becomes a huge trigger into madness. 

I was talking to my dad and he expressed regret for not serving as an infantry during the Vietnam War. He was a specialist, and was redirected from infantry. I could hear the remorse in his voice and the swelling of his eyes trying to hold back the tears. I wondered the consequences in our time line had my dad been in the infantry and died. I know my birth would not have happened. I realized this made me sad, angry, and resentment. Wishing for this alternate reality to be my reality. 

The moral to this story is don’t wish people happy birthday because you never know the intense pressure you just put on someone.

https://coms.doc.state.mn.us/publicviewer/OffenderDetails/Index/254746/Search

I was advised to stay quite while as a family we went through hell and back thanks to this piece of shit my daughters life has been changed and damaged by him, and not writing about this has been very difficult. Over time I plan on telling this story although for the sake of my readers I will reframe from posting one long drawn out post. 

If you want to see the predator who took my daughter and I in to his home during a very fucked up time. Mentally I was fucked, all the while this man who was supposed to be my friend and as he called it we are a family like “My two dads.” One of the things that eats at me is he systematically kept me sick and fucked up on purpose to groom my daughter. 

I want it to be noted I am an overly honest person when it comes to writing and the posts to come will be from eyes and I will be painfully open, but out of respect to my daughter any details regarding my her and this douche fuck will be limited to “grooming.” 

I will attempt to unravel this cluster fuck in future posts. 

I avoid mirrors, I simply can’t handle seeing my own reflection. I naturally have a difficult time making eye contact with anyone, fearing they will see through my mask. The rare moments I make eye contact with the man in the Mirror I grow weary and this is what came out.

My faces of evil

Cleverly hidden 

My eyes…

The window into a voidless darkness…

Soulless 

Stare too long and he takes you away

“Grab my hand”

“I will take this pain away”

“Follow me into the shadows”

“Fear not of voided thoughts”

“Shed no tears”

“We have lived beyond our years”

“Trust in me”

“To take the pain away”

Behind my children’s eyes
They weep, they cry
Standing by while flowers die
No hope upon this stage
Locked away in my cage
They cry
Regardless of our futile tries
Seeing their eyes
Hearing their cries
Inside I slowly die
To know their pain
Daddy has gone insane
To be the cause, attacking with verbal claws
Suddenly I pause
Realizing a life of lies
Failed tries
All the things which bring tears to their eyes
The fractured parts lay bare to see
Hating myself for being me
With holy sighs
Wishing I couldn’t hear my children’s cries
Stop their tears
Ease all fears
The lies
The fights
Fucking sleepless nights
The lies
Sorrow in their eyes 

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

Posted: September 3, 2016 in Death, Depression

WARNING This post has absolutely nothing to do with flowers, Peter, Paul, or Mary beyond their song getting stuck in my head while I am searching for the proper title of this post. You have been warned.

Take out the flowers and insert the posts and I thought it was a clever title considering the direction things were going and then just… Nothing. 

I am not narcissistic enough to think my regular readers arw losing sleep because of this silence, so this is more for me than anything. 

Lesson learned trying to be considerate whilst committing what I have been told is the most selfish of all acts is a bad idea. I have created this singularity around my suicidal ideologies, tendencies and what the probability is of me taking my own life. I discovered this singularity during my recent stay in the psych ward. 

People were worried and concerned on how serious this was due to red flag actions. I did my best and played my part as the boy who has called wolf one to many times to minimize alarm. Sadly to say one person wasn’t willing to take such a gamble. As a result my depressing clothes were replaced with the scrubs to identify the mentally ill. 

I did my time then changed from my scrubs into my depressing wardrobe and sent back into the post-apocalyptic reality which happily replaces my Depression with colorful scrubs and socks. 

The trajectory of the planet as it orbits it’s star is consistent predictable and the outcome will always be the same. Unfortunately my trajectory like the planet is… the same. 

Now I have been given the gift of seeing the sun rise another day. The best example I can think of at the moment is waking up to see the real Vegas after the sun covered the sins created the night before.