"weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning"
I attempt to believe that.
Some of you will not recognize this kind of agony. For the rest of us, check out the best description of a manic depressive's depression I've found anywhere. Notice the all-or-nothing attitude? The anger?, despair? Isolation? But through it all, he knows tomorrow will be another day.
Gi' Me Wings
(Rod Stewart, Steve Harley / Chen, Savigar, Cregan, Grainger)
Driving in my car
There's nothing on the air
Play a song that'll ease my pain
D.j.s telling me
That this is what'll be
Help me I'm depressed again
My best friend disappeared
With the girl I had for years
My life's going down the drain
The skies are crying
Everybody's lying
Oh God I'm depressed again
Give me wings I'll fly away
Magnificent and free
Far away from the madding crowd
There's gotta be a place for me
The boss is on my back
I know I'm gonna crack
Looks like I'm paranoid again
Can't do nothing right
See only black and white
Oh God I'm depressed again
Give me wings I'll fly away
Magnificent and free
Far away from the madding crowd
There's gotta be a place for me
How can I plan ahead
With this hanging round my neck
Looks like I'm coming down again
Thought about it well
Analysed myself
Yeah, I'm depressed again
Give me wings I'll fly away
Magnificent and free
Far away from the madding crowd
There's gotta be a place for me
I'm down, I'm coming down again
I'm down, looks like I'm coming down again
I'm down, I'm down
Looks like I'm coming down again
I'm down, I'm down
Looks like I'm pissed off again
Now, why am I in this swamp? I'm being a butt-head, immature and HONEST! Most of the time I work really, really hard at finding all the ponies in the piles of horse shit that make up my life. Most of the time, I almost believe my rose-colored approach. With it I ignore a few basic, hard facts. (Please don't comment about self-pity, I already said I'm being a butt-head).
I'm living alone because I have found it impossible to successfully live with other people.
Most of my "friends" are people who I've never met, in the flesh. We either speak to one another over Skype, or text message one over Adium or Firefox.
I have one (sort-of) close friend, when I remember to not tell most of the truth about who I am, or what I like, or feel. But, I do know her in the flesh.
I have an amazing capacity to ignore reality and replace it with fantasies I "live in" and add to as I go along. This works great until someone reacts differently then I'd imagined they would act.
I'm getting along better at my present church, then I have anywhere. But, I am VERY careful to tow the "party" line so as to be accepted as "one of us". When depressed I want to laugh at all things religious. I want to laugh as I fill out a form as #153,724 on the Berkeley Housing Authority's "Housing Voucher Wait List". (to let them know that I still want to hang out on the list and continue to wait.) To wait for housing with people I dread being around in an area I pray I never have to live in again. The area I dread, namely a drug-infested ghetto. But the one good thing about crashing into a depression like this, is I get angry and scared enough to act like the disabled, impoverished and wretched (it helps for the workers to see me like that) person I am.
When I get upset enough to throw more begging papers at the government, Mick Jaggar captures my general sense of how life "really" is.
Out Of Focus by Mick Jaggar
I saw a glittering moon
I saw a beautiful morning
Shining on the hill
And I grabbed the cat by the tail
The future with my finger nails
But now I live in fear
It's all out of focus
It's all, baby, so unclear
It's all out of focus
It's all, baby, so unreal
I saw towering spires,
I heard beautiful chimes,
I heard them peal
I saw visions of grace,
I saw heavenly place,
then it disappeared
Maybe I lied a little bit too much
Maybe I cried a little bit too much
I saw the future just shatter in glass
It's all out of focus
It's all, baby, so unclear
It's all out of focus
And nothing is revealed
I was walking on clouds,
yeah and talking so proud,
but I did not hear
Voices singing so loud,
said you're tumbling down,
to the streets of tears
It's all out of focus
It's all, baby, so unclear
It's all out of focus
It's all, baby, so unreal
Sometime I lied a little bit too hard
Sometime I cried a little bit too hard
I saw the future just vanish like glass
It's all out of focus
It's all, baby, so unclear
It's all out of focus
And nothing is revealed
A while back, a friend declined my offer of a birthday gift. This caused me a great deal of pain because for most of my life people want to give to me, but don't want anything I want to give to them. Somehow, an e-card feels so empty. Why don't I like e-cards by themselves? Only contact between my drunken father and myself , once I moved to California, was through letters. Then my relatives saw fit to block even that small communication. But, that's me and not my friend. He says he's happy with an e-card.
So, I figured I'd try it again at Christmas. No dice, same reaction and a polite request not to send a gift certificate. After I protested I got the: "fine, do what you want," (oh, no, I know what THAT means - 'scuse me, I'm out-of-here!) I had to let it happen. I couldn't not cry. I loathe it when I cry. I had to get to the bottom of this.
Here's my warped view and the screaming agony I'm in at the moment. It is not my friend's doing. He is just "another one" in a continuing series. I'm having trouble with the "series" aspect. The real problem is I want to be a part of his life at a level he is not comfortable with and therefore, blocking. I've done the same thing. Pushed some folks back to where I was comfortable.
I had a whacko, homeless guy bringing me all sorts of gifts. I flatly turned him down, why? I didn't want the involvement. In his case, when he found out I wasn't going to come across with the sex he wanted, he took his trinkets with his passion and moved on to the next "girl". I've also refused gifts when I felt I couldn't give anything back, usually a money issue. I like to give gifts because it is one of the ways I feel like I'm a part of something. The mail, or an e-card is like paying a bill, or trying to have a deep emotional involvement with say, my bank.
Here's the really, really irrational part. He takes gifts from his mom, his wife and kids. See, I have to face it, I ain't a part of his family and will never be a part of his family. Not like I want to be. I am not finding total relief from this maddening drive, even though I am moving farther and farther into "sanity". The other maddening drive which is not lessening is looking for a father-figure. My Pastor is stuck with that part of me. I just am having to face the reality of being alone.
Oh, I have a physical family, but just after I got married, my cousin flew into a rage when we gave her a Christmas present because:"Oh shit, now I have to buy you something. I don't want you to give me anything anymore. I don't want to have to buy you anything." I finally gave it up and have had nothing further to do with my relatives. But, hope still springs up from time to time (damn!)
I guess I still can't accept all the pain of not being wanted by my parents, my aunt or my cousin. My x-husband wanted me because he thought I was "good breeding stock". Before he discovered I refused to be a mother. Our marriage also proved (for awhile) that he really wasn't a homosexual.
I just have that sickening feeling of being "out". Oh, sure, I'll meet you, your family and I'll act appropriate. We'll engage in simple small talk. I will be so very careful. I will pass myself off as more-or-less normal. But, I'm "out".
Problem is I still long to be "in" somewhere. God is cool, but its a bit abstract. Somehow snuggling with my bedding and talking to God, at times, feels a bit empty.
The reality is when you come from severe abuse you will over react to stuff like this. Some of you may not like this post. It may upset your carefully constructed denial. You may realize that you aren't as "happy" as you thought. Give it a read in a couple of months. This blog is to document the crazy-quilt patch-work of recovery. Some days are better then others. Right now, I don't feel so good.
"But, you must have FAITH! God will..." Pardon me, right now, I say: "put a sock in it!"
I keep hearing how we Christians are to prosper and all of that "abundant life" rheetoric. Somehow I don't recall the Apostle Paul having a condo with a hot tub. He had so much crap to deal with, he openly toyed with wanting to kill himself! Now, he decided to hang around for the benefit of his "flock", but he was really, really not a happy camper in a few places.
I prefer not to do to much looking into the future. It is all I can do to keep from being in this kind of down, tantrum-esk state more often. Because the reality is I'm disabled enough that the Government has deemed it okay for me to live off your taxes until I die. (or until they change the rules - sarcastic giggle). I'm on housing lists because there is a very real chance that I won't be able to continue to pay my own rent, without help. I used to buy my own insurance, until I had to go begging to the system for help. It is only a matter of time before I'm forced to return to the world of the "drug-house in the ghetto" life-style.
I'm a tither, I am dedicated, try to be honest and not totally bullshit my church. I do, however lie about my extra income. I know what would happen if I could even find the office to write to, in order to "declare" my income. I'd be "punished". I'd have to pay out 250% of my extra income in paying my own insurance again! I played this game when I was working part-time. I even tried to declare a lousy $70 and the letter was returned. Even the Post Office couldn't find the office address I was given to write in for my "declaration"! Screw it. I am going to keep doing what I've been doing and if I end up in prison, I'll end up in prison.
I will survive and even thrive. Pastor really got on me for "lying" until he attempted to talk his landlord into taking a 50% rent reduction to "help me out". She sold the property and ignored his pitch for the "less fortunate". If I don't say anything, nobody else will say anything either.
The only time I take crap from people is when I dare to act like I might be able to get off the system. Maria knows what has happened and what will happen if I try to play by middle class rules. So, I work part-time, under-the-table and everyone (including the bureaucrat who manages all my files) is happy.
When I come face to face with how isolated and "out" I really "feel", I get a bit crazy. I'm bone tired of a whole lot of things I can't change. So, I choose to take my anti-depressants and put a happy spin on things. I am still gagging on not having that damn imagined closeness of being "in" somewhere. My friend actually admitted that "family isn't always so great". Yeah. I'll be able to ignore all of this in the morning. But right now, Neil Diamond captures my mental state.
Shilo by Neil Diamond
Young child with dreams
Dreaming each dream on your own
When children play
Seems like you end up alone
Papa says he'd love to be with you
If he had the time
So you turn to the only friend you can find
There in your mind
Shilo when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shilo you always came
And we'd play
Young girl with fire
Something said she understood
I wanted to fly
She made me feel like I could
Held my hand and I let her take me
Blind as a child
All I saw was the way that she made me smile
She made me smile
Shilo when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shilo you always came
And you'd stay
Had a dream and it filled me with wonder
She had other plans
Got to go and I know that you'll understand
I understand
Shilo when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shilo you always came
Come today
So, here's the deal as I see it. From time to time "reality" will bring you up short and drive you to your knees. I have always felt rootless, abandoned and rejected at a real deep level. No human being in your life can ever really fill up that hole. Sometimes God seems to be able to provide real comfort. But you will continue to chafe at the holes which still cry out, but aren't getting filled.
This is what makes the "holidays" a living hell for many of us. It is the one time of year when we get a real in-your-face, reminder that we "know" no one and belong "nowhere". Even though I'm a Christian, this song still speaks to me when I'm grappling with all of the above.
Wandering Spirit by Mick JaggarAnd now, I want to show you a song by Bob Dylan that captures better then anything else I've found, why living in the ghetto is so bad. This is a raging hard-rock blues tune. Truly a work of truth.
When all the twelve Apostles try to ring me on the phone
Take a message but I won't return their call
For I have no eyes to see him and I thought I lost my way
And I know I've lost the keys to your door
And I climbed the highest mountain and I looked down on the sea
And I saw a ship a-sail to the shore
I took a passage to the East and I journeyed to the West
I made love from Battambang to Baltimore
I said, oh, am I running in a race
I said, oh, am I getting anyplace
I said, oh, can I make it
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit, yes I am a restless soul
I'm a wandering spirit, there's no place that I can call my own
I was a glutton at the banquet and I spilt the finest wine
Trod the pyramids and ruins of Angkor
I kissed the Mona Lisa and I breakfasted with kings
And I touched the nerves of nature in the raw
I said, oh, am I running in a race
I said, oh, take that smile right off your face
I said, oh, I can't make it
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit, no escape, no parole
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit, there's no place that I can call my home
I said, oh, am I running in a race
I said, oh, take that smile right off your face
I said, oh, I can't make it
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit, looking for a place to go
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit
I'm a wandering spirit, no escape, no parole
I'm a wandering spirit, I'm a lost and lonely soul
My friend is still my friend and the wonderful Dylan lyrics are beginning to pull me out of the worst of my mood. It does pass. I wish it wouldn't come at all, but at least I'm not spending months in a depressed and self-absorbed state. It really is getting better. My natural denial is coming back, which means I can sleep tonight and be civil with the world tomorrow.
The Groom's Still Waiting At The Alter by Bob Dylan
Prayed in the ghetto with my face in the cement,
Heard the last moan of a boxer, seen the massacre of the innocent
Felt around for the light switch, became nauseated.
She was walking down the hallway while the walls deteriorated.
East of the Jordan, hard as the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the page, Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.
Try to be pure at heart, they arrest you for robbery,
Mistake your shyness for aloofness, your shyness for snobbery,
Got the message this morning, the one that was sent to me
About the madness of becomin' what one was never meant to be.
West of the Jordan, east of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage,
Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.
Don't know what I can say about Claudette that wouldn't come back to haunt me,
Finally had to give her up 'bout the time she began to want me.
But I know God has mercy on them who are slandered and humiliated.
I'd a-done anything for that woman if she didn't make me feel so obligated.
West of the Jordan, east of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the cage,
Curtain risin' on a new stage,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.
Put your hand on my head, baby, do I have a temperature?
I see people who are supposed to know better standin' around like furniture.
There's a wall between you and what you want and you got to leap it,
Tonight you got the power to take it, tomorrow you won't have the power to
keep it.
West of the Jordan, west of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage, Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.
Cities on fire, phones out of order,
They're killing nuns and soldiers, there's fighting on the border.
What can I say about Claudette?
Ain't seen her since January,
She could be respectably married or running a whorehouse in Buenos Aires.
West of the Jordan, west of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage,
Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.
Copyright © 1981 Special Rider Music
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