Eight. I'm sitting on 8 after having been at a 9 for a few days. That's the level of depression and suicidality I discussed today with my therapist Dr. D and my psychiatrist Dr. M. The depression stems from the pain but it's a deep seeded depression. I was at the sink the other day washing my hands and I just dropped my head and bent over into my arms. I couldn't put a finger on one specific thing, so I just call it battle weary.
I wrote a short something about my personal world decaying. That's what Master of My Ghosts is about. Its about looking in from the outside and seeing that I've fallen down. I've entertained the thought of giving in to a selfish desire - suicide. I've been trying to reach out, trying different things to help myself get up and walk out of this trench. Part of me wants to lie in it. Part of me just doesn't care anymore yet. I know that spark is there. I know I'm not dry bone and ashes. I want to function as well as possible. I want to think clearly. I want to stop obsessing and yet I must admit, there is a certain comfort with closing my eyes and falling in to myself.
Dr. D and I discussed Master of My Ghosts and a few other entries. During the next week I need to write a few things about the physical therapy which starts May 3rd.
I'm going to have to take a steroid treatment which Dr. M says will be very helpful pain wise.
During the first 5 days of a medication regimen, I'll have close observation here at home. I'll see Dr. M every week for the next 3 weeks. It's just a quick check in.
We talked about health stuff which is part of the reason I'm angry. I herniation in C5-6, a pinched nerve in my neck and increased arthritis in my shoulder. The anger isn't because of the news but the timing of the news. Nearly a year ago my general practitioner was told by the physical therapist he sent to my home that the main problem is in my neck, not my shoulder. Did anyone get xrays? Nope. He kept telling me that the pain I pointed out to him was more of my chronic pain. A year goes by with this injury and just now I have someone validate what I said and what the physical therapist said. A year of pain that was pushing me over the edge.
I remember telling the physical therapist that the added pain was too much. She looked down at me, I was on my back, and she said very gently that she could only do so much. She said it may get better but I might have to live with this pain. I told her, there's a point when it's no longer worth it and I've reached that point. I said, I'd rather be dead than add daily pain like this to what I'm already dealing with.
I had a dream you were real.
I saw you standing beside the dresser. You kept that spot. Your tears were as razors sliding slowly down my spine. To my amazement, you cried for me.
I was too heavy with sleep and admittedly afraid to look you in the eye.
I know that dress.
I know your voice and the training to utter no sound unless directly addressed. But what do I say, what do I ask that I don't already know?
What is your name?
Sometimes life is good. Despite the physical war, life is good to me sometimes.
I enjoy incense. I have a hanging incense holder which means fewer ashes and better distribution.
I'm better able to cope with anxiety.
The flowers are coming in and one of the trees has turned red.
I'm 30 min away from completing an amount of time I volunteered to give right here from home.
Snow and I talked a little about my therapy session on emotional abuse of self. The woman I see as elegant talks down to herself. Her husband So-and-so is quick to say, "Would you stop abusing my wife!"
I know self abuse is as common as other types of abuse. I personally feel self abuse is worse for me because I know which buttons to push and where to strike for the most painful, spirit slashing affect. When my head is spinning with personal insults I don't think to myself, be extra mean, push your own buttons, leave a nasty emotional bruse. I don't think ahead, I just do it, and well.
I had a decision to make. I made the decision. I explained my thoughts to all 3 people. Two agreed, one didn't.
My response to the third person was an internal one. Typical of me, my head started swarming with anger until finally I was like... No. Nope. Not today. I'm not doing this. Also typical of me is an exaggerated anger response. I go from 0 to 60 in no time flat. The other person has no idea because they can't tell by the look on my face that I'm ready to get ugly. My own therapist says it's difficult to tell when I'm raging that way because my body language doesn't show it.
I'm still struggling with the depression but I'm actively fighting it now.
I'm emotional. I'm raw and my fuse can be very short. It gets old apologizing for it, but I will because when the problem is me, it's me. I'm emotional, sometimes impulsive, opinionated and currently menopausal making me an even greater emotional mess. I feel strong sometimes and other times I feel as if I can't take another step. To ask it is cruel. I sometimes feel helpless and hopeless, defeated. I also feel a tiny little spark that wants to keep going. I don't have to guess as what my goal is while alive. I just need to stay alive long enough to meet that goal.
This depressive state and feelings of hopelessness are ones I have to actively throw off me. Yesterday I looked up several positive survivor stories where the person kept going despite feeling they had nothing but a tiny spark, if that. I need a little bit of flame for my spark. I need to throw off this depression because its so heavy.
One of the other things I'm doing is trying to stay out of my bedroom. My art studio is the other half of my room so I do need to be in there, but I don't want to live there like I did when I was almost totally bed bound. It was a hospital room. It's the room I was in when all I did was vomit, when all I did was cry and scream because my body would spasm and let go, spasm and let go. The light in there is different as well. I've got great windows in the living room and dining room. I love my windows. This spring the bedroom furniture will be adjusted, curtains changed out and the walls washed down. My feelings for the bedroom need to be washed away.
The furniture in the living room has been moved so I can sit watching the fish at night with my candles and tea, wine or brandy. There's an area arranged so I can paint facing the windows, facing outside. I can see my plants and Mary Jane can sit in the window and threaten the birds that fly by.
Dr. D and I talked about how I have a general practitioner who kind of reminds me of my sister. He acts like he doesn't even want to be in the room. The last time I saw him I was there about 5 min. When I came out Momma (Betty) stood up and said, "What's wrong?" I said, "It was a wham bam thank you ma'am kinda visit". He didn't look at me. He walked to the computer, had his back to me, asked me why I was there, signed a sheet of paper and sent me over to a orthopedic surgeon. Dr. D said, maybe he's like that with all his patients. I said, I heard he is, but I'm not talking about all his patients, I'm talking about me. He interrupts me while I'm talking, etc, etc, etc.
While talking to Dr. D I said that I'm afraid of him, of most people. I'm emotional. I cry. I'm shaking on that table. Fully clothed, shaking. And now I think to myself, maybe that's why he doesn't touch me that often. Maybe that's why he stands across the room.
Last time though, he shocked me. He was examining my shoulder and instead of asking me to move my hair back, that no good so-in-so flipped my dreads out of the way. Oh heck no!! I know you didn't!!! Ok. Do not...ever...touch....the dreads!! That should not happen tomorrow cause I have a feeling the Jordan will dry up and I will get ghetto. Oh...huh uh, I know you didn't. My neck will start moving, one hand will face him sort of limp like and ghetto Jordan will make a stand!
For awhile now I've considered wearing a sign on my upper body vest that requests that people please not touch me. I've worn the vest for maybe a year now and I'm comfortable doing so. Some people look at me like I'm a terrorist, others are bold enough to ask why I'm wearing the vest. Some mistake me for a policeman (stares blankly off in the distance). They think it's a bullet proof vest. I've commented, well, ya know, for a little bit there we were getting shot left and right. OMG. But the least of my worries are questions or being locked in the entrance of the bank waiting for the manager to clear me. lol. Oh ma lawd! My concern is what happened yesterday when I went to the store. A man did a back hand smack on my arm, twice, then asked if I was in line. I used the word smack because that's what it was, it wasn't a one, two tap. .......That was the moment when I realized something has to change.
I had a list. I stuck to the list. She suggested a stop at the bank which was not part of the original plan. The teller, a woman I know, asked a question about the Bible. I tried to explain and said I'd return with a better answer. When I got back in the car I asked Betty how long I was in the bank. Her answer? "Too long!" The way she said it hit like a slap in the face. It lit the fuse for the rest of the trip.
We went to the health food store and an employee asked if we wanted to try a juice. She said, "We can't, we're in a hurry." I asked why. In the tone ??? she said, "I told you...." I heard nothing after those words.
"I told you"
I started to walk to an item and she told me, "The spices are over here." I said yeah, but the honey is here." She said, tell me what's on your list and I'll help you.......