me and november 18. 2013

9:43 a.m.

i am weighed and my temperature and blood pressure are examined. i take a seat on the other side of the desk and she goes through the questions. sometimes you have to be careful how you answer them. sometimes i swear i am five minutes away from being admitted to the hospital when i may not need it because i was an idiot.

are you taking your medication? every single day? any side effects? just the shaking? oh, yeah. you sure are. are you eating? how much are you smoking? any drugs? any thoughts about hurting yourself or others? when is the last time you cut yourself? do you  live by yourself? are you safe? are you working full time? what part of town? i love that part of town. do you like antiques? they have the best little antiques shops down there. the resell shops are pretty great too.

a smile. a sign of life. i’m no longer too worried but we’re not done.

are you benefiting from the therapy? you aren’t going? you need to make another appointment with him. any other medical issues i need to know about? okay, thank you, sean. wait in the waiting room until the pharmacy is done with your prescription. they will call for you. have a good day.

and now we are done.

i walk out into the waiting room that is full of people. i sit beside a skeleton thin black man who has a catatonic stare and drool falling out of his mouth and puddling on his leg. every couple of minutes the woman on the other side of him will turn around, mop up the drool, and then turn back to her conversation. it made me sad. i wondered how bad he was. could he walk by himself? talk? understand? does he shit his pants? can he eat potato chips and laugh at the television? is it just the walking medicinal coma and he was perfectly fine otherwise? was he suddenly going to grab my leg, turn to face me and start screaming as loud as he can while his damn drool flies into my face and i start crying?

i just want them to call my name, tell me my pills are ready and let me go. i can’t sit in that waiting room and pretend like the idea of ending up an old useless zombie who can’t wipe his own goddamn drool off his leg – i can’t pretend like that doesn’t scare me. i might be acting dramatic. i don’t care. it’s a possibility and that is enough to bother me. and with every new medication that doesn’t work, every new therapist that either i run away from or who runs away from me, every day that i wake up and find myself babbling at nothing, is one day closer i am to never getting better.

but there is today. i am awake and alive today. i am shaking badly, and i have the metallic medication aftertaste in my mouth. i am not hungry and starving at the same time. i am unhappy in ways that make me feel extremely guilty and ungrateful. there are people i miss. people i love. people i can’t stand to think about in any sort of way. my paranoia isn’t too bad right now. i am sleepy and my apartment is warm. i am drinking iced tea and watching old episodes of the office. i am aware and i am doing things and i can walk by myself. so i guess that is something.

5:27 p.m.  my monday.

Advertisements

~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2013/11/18.

10 Responses to “me and november 18. 2013”

  1. That is everything. Sounds like a good day. I loved this entry btw.

  2. Yes, that is something! I have been through the catatonic drool thing, as you know. The bright side is, sometimes you come back! Sometimes, there are miracles. As long as you’re able to feel that biting passion, even if it’s anger- that’s ok- you’re good. I remember that feeling well of sitting in the offices, hoping the “anti-crazy” answers match up the with the appropriate questions. One time, the doc asked me if I had any brothers and sisters. I said, “yes.” (Bingo! Good answer…good answer…) And then she asked me a trick question, that didn’t require a yes or no, but serious thought. I said, “Yes.” They locked me up…haha…I was pretty gone back then. Didn’t even know my own name or if I was human or not. Not pretty. When I look back, I can only be grateful. Every day I thank God for my sanity. I know it can always be worse. If you know your name, who you are, what you’re doing at the moment- be thankful. I think you should consider submitting some personal essays to publications. They pay over $500 if they publish you! Something to think about. ;0)

    • i am okay with temporary numbness, but what bothers me is falling into it and never coming back out. i’ve definitely felt worse, and been worse off, and so i do try and acknowledge those times and never take them for granted. i’m really glad that you found a way out of the darkest parts of the hole. maybe someday for me…

  3. I can’t say it enough, your writing is awesome! I know you are not making any of this up but the way you express yourself so honestly and vividly is a rare thing. Please never give up on finding the right meds, you need to be here. BTW I love the office and potato chips too 🙂 That is when I am feeling alive enough to appreciate them….

  4. Sean, you are not strong. You are strength.
    And you are extraordinary.

    (PS I was torn between “The Good Life” and “Why Bother”. You pick.)

  5. I should get back here more often. It’s always so good to read you, Sean. Wish I could muster up something encouraging to say. You are inspiring in the daily struggle to survive and the daily search for the hope of more than survival, sir.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: