Tonight, for the first time, I don’t really have a topic. This entry is as free-form as I get. I’m writing this just to get it out. And I’m probably baring myself more than I should. I’m exposing my soul, my emotions, my words, for all the world to see. My own desire for complete and utter candor scares the hell out of me, but stoicism and fear be damned.
I’m sitting up at IHOP drinking coffee and listening to depressing music. I’m reading my friends’ blogs, I’m contemplating the nature of humanity, of death, of pain. I’m…
I’m feeling depressed again.
To clarify what I mean by “again”. In high school, I went through a several month period of severe clinical depression, almost ending in me taking my own life on two seperate occassions.
One cannot easily express in words the pure emotional pain that pushes one to consider this option. The feeling of unresolvable hopelessness, maddening despair, and downright overflowing sorrow at… everything. I honestly don’t believe that I am a good enough writer to even consider being able to convey the emotional state that someone could be in where they would rather not wake up in the morning.
Fortunately, this is not what I’m going through. I learned quite a bit from this experience, and I believe it has honestly made me a stronger person because of it.
I refuse to allow myself to go through that again. Chemical imbalances, stress, personal tragedy, all of it, be damned. I am no longer that person, I have learned the lessons that needed to be learned, and I will not allow myself to slide down that slippery slope again.
Because I know that I might not survive it again.
With all of that being said, my current emotional state is temporary. I will wake up tomorrow, I will hang out with friends, I will enjoy the day that I have been given, I will get some of my mountain of work and projects cleared out of the way, and through it all, I will be, at the very least, content.
But not this dark night.
The links I have on this site link to what I would consider good friends, at the very least. My hierarchy of friends is very clear in my mind, and follows a Bell curve. The average friends, or “People I can handle in small doses (some doses larger than others)” actually contains a rather lengthy list of people. Actually, now that I think about it, Uncle Bubby, Aunt Murry, Droogie, and others as well, you all fall under my category of soulmates, my highest, most respected, and most cherished friends.
You are the ones that will listen to me bitch, whine, cry, laugh, and rant. You are the ones that I feel I can trust implicity. You are the ones that I believe would be there should my world crash around me and there was simply put, no hope for me to hang on to. You are the ones that I have, as I have described before, twined with in a very real and meaningful sense. Not to scare you or anything, but as I’ve said before, there is very little middle of the rule with me. My friends are probably my most valued asset, and I will protect this asset with great expense to myself. Without my friends, I am nothing. No, I am worse than nothing. I am back where I was in high school, dreading waking up every morning.
And so, as you are there for me, I am there for you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that what I mean to you is even a fraction of what you mean to me.
But as I read your blogs tonight, I read about nothing but loss of those that are more vital and important to you, and I stand by, unable to take away the pain, the uncertainty, and the tears.
I just want to make all of the hurt go away for you.
Because of our friendships, because of my empathy, and because of my nature, I, quite literally, feel your pain. But…. dammit, DAMMIT, I am unable to do anything about it. I feel absolutely helpless being only able to listen. And even then, I feel weak in that if I get to close, to involved, it will utterly destroy me emotionally, as it has done so often in the past.
My father came to visit me today. My father, for those of you who do not already know, has been battling illness for several years now. He did have colon cancer, which was successfully combatted with radiation and chemotherapy. Unfortunately, the treatment weakened his immune system, and he has had trouble with his lungs since the cancer went into remission. About 18 months ago he found out he had a rare form of turberculosis that attacked those with weakened immune systems. The doctors have been trying a variety of drugs and treatments to combat the infection, but to no avail. Recently, he went on a trip to a Denver to visit a clinic that specializes in difficult to treat diseases for a battery of tests, and has been given new forms of medication, and has already begun feeling the effects of these medications. That is, to say, he is having more good days than bad once again, as opposed to vice versa. Last week, he was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, which oddly enough, has only recently manifested itself, even though he is in his mid 50’s, and has shown no signs of being severe. However, the effects of the C.F. and the infection appear to be cumulative, and this, according to the doctors, is probably why they have had such trouble battling the infection.
He will begin therapy for the Cystic Fibrosis, and has already begun his new medications. The doctors really aren’t that worried about the C.F., since they believe that since it has begun to affect him later in life than usual, and it’s only really shown up since the infection, that it’s a very mild case, and the therapy should considerably improve his ability to battle the infection.
This is all good news, in that we now have a plan to deal with this, and he is already beginning to feel better.
I’ve watched my father go through hell the last several years, and for the life of me, I simply couldn’t take it. I was too damned weak. I couldn’t be there like I should have been because it was all I could do to simply keep myself from losing control of my emotions when he needed me to be there to be a rock.
And now, I feel as though I’ve been doing the same to my friends.
I want to make all the pain and suffering go away, and I have no power to do so. So, I rationalize. I tell myself that, as I titled this entry, to everything there is a season, but telling you this will not help.
I have words of wisdom, cliches, and other little quippy phrases, mantras if you will, that I can utter to myself when I have to deal with the crap of life, and I can share these with you, but I doubt they will help.
So, I will keep uttering this phrase to myself, to remind myself that you are not weak individuals, and you have your own, personal, and better suited methods for dealing with the tragedies and dramas that life has been dealing all of us recently, and I will be here for you, in whatever way I can be, but you have to tell me. I am a fool, and I am weak, and I don’t know how to help. I barely know how to be a stronger person without detaching myself from a situation, which is my mechanism for emotional survival. Please, please tell me what to do to help. And if that is, simply, standby, and just wait for when you ask, then tell me that, as well.
I have another particular phrase lately that’s been keeping my emotional state in the positive. It kind of amuses me, in a “What an idiot” kind of way, that all it takes is a pithy sentence to placate my personal pain.
So, I will utter my phrase. I’ll go ahead and tell you, as well, just in case it helps. It’s simple, it’s cheesy, it’s even a little humorous, in some contexts. But here, lately, it’s meant all the world to me.
“Everything really will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”
Until the end, whatever that end may be, or however we may get there. But, if you will let me, weakness and all, we can get there together.
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