Wednesday, May 25, 2011


The world didn't come to an end this weekend. But my world continues to evolve into a downhill spiral. My agoraphobia is back with a vengeance. I  cannot leave the apartment for love or money. I've left twice in the last fortnight- once to visit my parents and get blood work done. The other one was to go to the local grocery store, get a 25 lb bag of kitty litter, several 5 pound bags of kitty chow, and a case of wet cat food. (Tuna and salmon of course). 

I hate depression. I hate agoraphobia. I cannot think of too many things worse than these things. Even Brussels Sprouts are better, and that is saying a great deal. 

I know some of it is my making. First of all, Spring and Summer are the worst time of the year for me. I suffer from reverse SAD. I've never met anyone who has this- I am not even sure if it is a medical term. I've sat through countless support group meetings where people have said they have SAD, bought light boxes in an attempt to feel better. But to me- it's the long sunny days that bothers me- the heat; I am so much happier in the fall and winter when the leaves fall off the trees, when it snows and when it's dark more than it's light. 

I even told a joke to my doctor last week- I would be happy living in Antarctica where most of the year is in darkness and it's cold. Seriously. Let me move there with my cat and my books, and radio and I would be happy. 

On top of all that- I seem to be in a slump. I cannot write for anything. It's not that I cannot write- I cannot think of anything to say. The wells gone dry. I just want to lie in bed all day, cry and not do anything. Not go on line and check other friend's blogs. Not look at Twitter, not look at Facebook, not even to read the LOL Cats Cheezeburger site. I'm living on coffee and cigarettes. Food has no pleasure for me, I just want to eat sugar. So I stick with the coffee and three daily  menthol cigarettes. 

I've never been in a writing slump like this before. Not able to write, no ideas. Afraid to address the comments here, should I say something wrong. Just not doing anything other than sleeping, crying, and if I can get to the couch, watching hours of Red Dwarf on my VHS tapes. 

Once again, I'm not living. I'm existing. I don't care if I wake up in the morning or not. I need something to get me out of the bed, something to get me out of the apartment, but it's not there. It's my fault. I'm not looking for it. I need to do that. Soon. I fear what will happen to me when I just exist, not using my brain, or my heart. I'll be a Zombie, living dead, cursing the light every morning and praying, praying for something, anything to keep me alive. I don't want to be that person. I'm scared I am turning into her. To me that's a fate worse than death. This slump has to end.  I have to kill it or it will kill me. The latter is not an option. 

Out of the mouth of babes- Kitty has the right idea to end my slump.....

Thursday, May 5, 2011

My Miracle:Repost

I normally do like this time of year. Autumn sounds so much nicer than fall. Watching the leaves fall in my part of the country is the most beautiful gift that Mother Nature provides. All the magnificent hues of reds, yellows, and  oranges. But the leaves soon fall off the trees, withering, dying, reminding us of our own mortality as we watch children playing in the leaf piles. I watch the squirrels scampering around in a last minute of food collecting before the winter arrives.  It always makes me smile at their antics. And I must confess, I feel lucky to live in a town that has both black and gray squirrels. 

But with the change of scenery brings sadness.  This is not a depression, this is a sadness that is overwhelming.  It permeates my entire body, through each pore, worming it's way into my soul. I take extra care to make sure I am doing well, watching it carefully so it does not transmogrify into something more overwhelming and sinister.  It is hard. There are changes at work, and many of us feel our jobs are not as secure as they were prior to September 2001. Yet I manage to stay optimistic, I am fortunate enough that I have saved  up enough money that I could live for a year frugally and write if I lost my job. Not that many people have that luxury. Or perhaps it is me; I have once been homeless, so I watch my money carefully with a sense of dread that it can happen again. 

Despite the best measures, I found myself slipping towards depression around Thanksgiving. I do not know why,  after all, my heart's desire has always been two things, one of them  looks like it will happen next year. I have always wanted two things in life, one is to be a published writer. I have an agent. It may happen. I just need the discipline to make it happen.  The other heart's desire will not happen. That is to be a "normal" person, with a family. And real manic depressives should not be with other people, since we drive them crazy, as our moods washing over us and changing as easily as turning on and off like a water faucet , as mutable as the tides.  And perhaps that is where the depression came, from sadness.  A writer, like all artists, tends to be a solitary introvert. I find when I write, and I get on a roll, I do not want to be bothered. I take the phone off the hook. I walk around in a t-shirt that covers down to my knees, and just write. As a person with bipolar disorder, I find the bests writing I do is when I am slightly depressed, just somewhat sad, as you would feel after seeing a movie like  "Titanic".  Or slightly manic, just ever so slightly just as a normal person would feel after 3 cups of coffee. In these moods I have the discipline to sit and write for hours with a glass of water or a Snapple by my side. But no, this is down and out depression. I see the warning signs. Two days without showering. Three days without washing my hair. Two days without brushing my teeth. I tend to hypersleep when I am depressed. I am now sleeping 12 or more hours a day. I cannot concentrate. I cry at the drop of a hat. I take such things like St. John's Wort. This does not work. I call my shrink. He suggests I come back in to go back on meds after being off them for about a year. With trepidation, I do. I don't like meds, I really don't. But I have decided if it is between meds or suicide, I will take the meds every time. Suicide is not an option. I had Lyme disease so my body chemistry now does not allow some of the more standard drugs anymore. He and I discuss what options there are. He feels I am not in danger to myself, or others, so hospitalization isn't an option. So it comes down to lithium or Depakote. I've been on and off lithium for years, I personally don't like Depakote because it makes me fat. So I leave his office with a script for that and start taking it. 

My body does not adjust to it well. I go several days unable to sleep, unable to keep food down. I have nightmares. I am fortunate enough to have a good friend on the same coast who is a hypnotist, and he helps me through the drug induced nightmares.  I find as the lithium enters my bloodstream to normal levels, I get suicidal. Very suicidal.  I decide to do the unforgivable. I want to die. And being a Virgo, I have to organize it. I paid off all my bills, checked my 401K and my will, and made sure the cat was taken care of. This makes me feel good. It's a fail-safe in knowing that I can do this if I choose to.

Then one night it gets bad. Very bad. I wake up in a cold sweat. I try to get back to bed, and I cannot. I feel alone. I do not mind being alone, but this time I do. Maybe it's my hormones. I feel lonely. That is overwhelming. The sense of despair which has been my constant companion for the last few weeks is sitting besides me, it's arms wrapped tightly around me. I cannot breathe. I sense a panic attack coming on. And then it hits. The suicidal feeling washes all over me. I am not thinking clearly. All I know s I want to die now , right now and ease this pain. I feel like it's not going to get better And I want, no NEED to end it now, and fast. 

For my own safety, I have no sharp knives in my apartment, or razors.( I do shave but it is with a safety razor). I have no toxic things in the house like Drano, for two reasons, my safety and the cat's. There is no place in the apartment to hang a noose, unless I feel like hanging a stuffed anial. And I am on the 2nd floor, so if I jump, all will happen is broken bones. I took care of myself when I found a dwelling place. But then an idea occurs to me. Perhaps it was because I was reminiscing on a quote from Tolstoy "Happy families are all alike".  I live near the train station. Every hour a train goes from NYC to Washington DC. I can throw myself under the train. I get in my old green Ford, and drive to the train station. And just missed the last train, as luck would have it. I sit on the outside, on the cement ledge looking down on the train tracks,  my feet swinging  softly on the track, my feet making imaginary circles. I look at the train tracks and I know when I see the train coming, I just have to jump down, walk to the thrid rail and lie down. It shouldn't hurt too much, what ever pain there will be will be fleeting. I feel somewhat at peace, very calm, an emotion I haven't felt in a long long time. I am at peace,  knowing in less than an hour, I will be one with universe and the stars. I will be anywhere but New Jersey. 

It is an absolutely beautiful night, lots of stars in the sky, and a sliver of moon. the air is clear. I
find tears streaming down my cheeks. I do not know why. I do not feel alone anymore. I feel some presence near me. It's 3 am  and there are no other people around - cept for a cop.  There is indeed a a person next to me, a police officer. He sits down next to me, his badge and belt buckle shining in the moonlight. 

"Are you Ok?", he asks.


'What are you doing by yourself at 2 am here? Are you drunk?"

I assure him I am not drunk. he moves my blonde hair off my face, to get a better look at me. I am surprised that such a big man can do this so quickly I don't feel him do it.

We both look at each other with a hint of recognition in our eyes. 
We knew each other in college. He was in one of my Lit classes when I was a Teachers Assistant. He makes small talk with me, and realizes I am sitting on the curbside because I want to jump. And a miracle happens. He does not talk to me anymore, we both just hear each other breathing and stare at the beauty of the stars. I feel totally at peace. What seems to be an eternity later, I hear the train coming. I can see the light. I know the police officer's breathing is now coming harder, his adrenaline kicking in. He thinks, no he KNOWS I am going to jump.  I look at him, his brown eyes staring deeply into my blue ones. I get up, he is breathing real hard, staring at me. And then I offer my hand to him. 

"Can you walk me to my car, please?" I ask him as the train rolls by.

The smile he smiles would light the entire Vegas strip. "Sure", he says and it is over. I am safe, aI am alive, and in the end, that is all that matters. 

The suicidal feeling still stays with me, it's still here, it's overwhelming. But I am not going to act on it. I won't jump. And that, strangely enough gives me comfort.

Copyright- 2002, 2007, 2011

This has nothing to do with mental health. Please save this cat

Update: Precious was adopted today, Friday the 6th. It's a miracle. Thank you to all who reached out and helped to save the life of this cat. 

For those readers who have been blessed with the company of a dog or a cat, there is nothing like that. They give us so much love and happiness and ask nothing of us other than a warm bed to sleep in, food to eat and a litter box or walkies.

Pets are better than Prozac.

Here is the story of Precious. I cannot believe I'm posting this but cat has touched me and I do not want to see her put down because she cannot find a furever home. And she will be put down in a two days. 

Please if you can, consider adopting her, or if she is too far, another shelter animal. They will love you back with kindness and help you get through the rough times and recovery. And please put in writing what should be done with your animals so they won't suffer like Precious. My fur baby came close to being put down this past November because my parents felt no one would adopt an 11 year old cat that was considered unadoptable when I got her. I am blessed I have a friend who will take her should I have died or become unable to have her.

Here is Precious' story

I lived alone with my mama who I adored above all things. We had a very,very happy life. Then my mama fell to the floor and I went over to her but she was not moving. Her son came over to find her. They took her somewhere and she did not come back for a month. 
I did not want to go upstairs in the house where she was. I knew that if I sat on the hot water heater downstairs, I would have a better vantage point to see her car come in. I waited and waited and waited for a month and no one came, no mama. 
Then some people came and got me. They stuck me in a cage and I got sick in the cage because I felt like they would never let me out. 
Then a woman came to adopt me. She had me for three days and her husband got sick and now I am being taken back to the house with the prison bars and the people who will not let me out. I was a very good kitty at my new home, but the woman too was elderly and she said she would have to stay long hours at the hospital to take care of her sick husband and that was not fair to me. I am very worried. No body wants a 6 year old kitty. I am healthy though, except that I am not allowed out of the small cage and the litter box I have to use is where I have to sleep because it is so small. I am fully vetted, tested for FIV and Feleuk and spayed and have all my shots. 
My mama died, I was told. I miss her something awful. Everything was okay untill she fell on the floor that day and now I live in a small cage. 
Can you ask someone to help me please??? I am in Greenville, SC. 

Related Posts with Thumbnails