Carpe What Huh?

The recent death of Robin Williams shakes many of us to the core, but to the core of what?  What is at the core that rips us of a blanket of security that shields us like a blanket.  I look at the quotes which have been posted, I posted right along with them.  It was not until I was in the safety of my car this morning, did I pause a moment to mourn.

What?  Why could I possibly have to mourn in the death of a star with whom you have never met, yet was soooo impacted by his story relived on the movie screen.  When we laughingly toss  Carpe Diem around believing somehow we have our crap together. How am I supposed to seize the day when I dread going to school?

What, you?  You have so much going for you>>>>   Ah, you don’t remember or encountered me during some of those hellish years.  I remember I used to walk around the block that our elementary was located.  I remember so many trips around there, singing and talking to myself.  I spun the pourings of my heart, of how I knew that I would never be accepted and that I was somehow “weird”.  I knew from a young age that I would never go to prom, (I wasn’t) or to be asked on a real date (it never happened).  I knew in my heart what I thought was real, was in fact real.

I hated everything about myself.  I used to look in the mirror and tell off the reflection that stared back at me.  I hated her.  I wanted her vanquished, I wanted her dead.  Yup, I said that.  I wanted her dead.

That is so hard to write, some believing that at almost 40 I have it together..I don’t–none of us do.

Honestly if you had told me to Carpe Diem in high school and much of college I would remarked some deprecating slam and “beat them to punch”  I knew they hated me, why not beat them to the punch and throw out the comments as bitingly as possible.  If I could turn it so the response was mine, they could not touch me.  Sure.  I beat em to the punch.  You know what happened?  No one, I mean NO ONE wanted to hang with me.  High school classmates would never invite me to their homes ( that changed a bit my senior year..they were wonderful peeps to me)  Collegiate theatre majors dubbed me weird and cautioned anyone who might be a friend that I was not someone to be accepted.  This did nothing but make me hate that girl in the mirror even more.  Trying like hell to see at least 1 production in which I was cast…it never happened.  I still feel the pangs of hurt and rejection in both those scenarios

I remember my junior year especially, it was a  fairly good year.  I faked most people out and those I didn’t I severed those relationships with a biting  remark that left them shaking their head.  I lost many a friend, I still mourn those people.  Senior year spawned hell in every sense of the word.

I did not qualify for Nationals like I had the year before–gotta do it one more time–  In January I lost the one person I had looked up to and idolized from day 1.  They washed their hands of me, refused to acknowledge my existence.  They were friends with my friends ( the same ones I had severed ties) .  They were so damn talented it sickened me…I knew I would never reach that pinnacle of greatest.  But, damn I tried hard.  With every fail, with every second place finish I hated the girl in the mirror that much more.  I scored up a stash of blades, I wanted to be gone…I stashed them and there are still scars that dot my right and left arm.  I am ambidextrous you see.  I could go both ways.  I had bottles of sleeping pills–I worked at a grocery store, no one thought anything of the purchases I made.  Hell, no one thought much about me anyone..I knew it and it hurt like crazy….still does once in awhile.  I remember the night I had not qualified, almost but not quite.  The general smirk of the one who had seen my victory the previous year now watched me lose.  That one stings badly.  That night I also received a letter from the state college to which I had applied.  It was a letter negating my acceptance into their college.  The work that had to be done just to get me there….Finally a scholarship in theatre was awarded so that I could attend…See, if a dept. offered an incoming freshman a scholarship there was little else the Adminstration  could do to negate it.  In hindsight, I think I got it for the sake of another freshman coming in, talented and pretty–so pretty.  I never ever fit the bill, no matter how I tried.

That night I went outside, sat with my big Labrador (who i had spilled most of my life) and held the massive bottle of aspirin in my hand and the sleeping pills in another.  In a fit of anger, I downed a good share of both of them….then fear hit.  An all consuming fear spread over me…..I still do not know what caused me to throw them up–you see I was a talented Binge and Purger, I knew all about taking care of unwanted food—you throw it up.  There were members of my family who watched me do this…it was not to first time…I lost a lot in those years, years I will never get back as hard as I try.

You see, to declare to a person, Carpe Diem…well, that hurts in a place so deep and dark they can’t explain.  How can I seize the day when I so hated and loathed the person I saw staring back at me?  How can I be  joyous when I hated going to school where there are relationships were cut to the quick so that no one would even talk to me…You see, I did it first before any of them had a chance…I held that manipulation like a banner—ha ha ha ha,  I hurt me first before you even had a chance to…ha hahahahah.  The thing is, I wanted them to hurt as much as I did.  Silly me, it hurts worse than I can imagine.  Sometimes the dark rears its ugly head and I wrestle with depression, loneliness, hurt and self hate.  I often see that girl staring back at me.  I see her amid all the good and wonderful people in my, in those who were watching from afar…(they know who they are), amid a successful career and the beginning of some great connections and respect.  I look at her and wonder…what the hell are they thinking…me?  I dunno.  The dreams that I hold are so jam packed with concepts of redemption and reconciliation are as near and dear to me as breathing…..the writing, the speaking, the moments to speak for those who can’t.

Carpe Pencil?  Seize the pencil?  Write the words, speak….ah, if only I were not so terrified of the person I see in the mirror.  There parts of me that grieve–losses in family, friends, opportunities–(prom–you who giggle probably had a date and the stories from them) I don’t and I knew it all the way back to 3rd grade.  Could I rewind the clock?  Many times I say yes ( and tell the one in the mirror to go to hell, I scream it and pray it transcends to the whole of me), then again I think of all the students I taught, the people I speak with, and those who allow me to journey with them—showing me a glimpse of their reality.  Not sure where I stand ( no pun at all Captain)…that is an ever present fight.

Today instead of Carpe Diem, I challenge us all to say Carpe Rogare!  Seize the Question–How are you,and wait, wait, wait for the answer.  You may be surprised at what you hear.

 

Shalom my friends

I am an Addict

There is no way to sugar coat this reality.  I am a drug addict.  I am not ashamed to admit this, but am not addicted in the way you may be thinking.  I am addicted to drugs, that is the truth.

I have taken anti-depressant medications coupled with anti anxiety meds for quite some time now.  As anyone who takes medications like this will tell you, sometimes it takes a bit to get the dosage and the combination correct.  What worked months ago, may not work in the present, for whatever reason.  Constant awareness of body and mind has to  be a top priority as well as continual conversation with the doctors in charge of care.

It became clear this past fall that the meds I was on were not doing the trick.  In order to make a move to a more stable med regimen, I needed to wean off of one med in order to take another one.  There are a number of meds that cannot and should not be quit “cold turkey.”  Extreme care and caution has to be taken to make sure that there are no big time reactions.

Cymbalta is one of those meds which cannot be quit rapidly…one that has to be monitored with dosages lowered at a rate that the body can handle.  No matter how slow you go, the impacts are still there.

I had been on Cymbalta for quite some time and really had no idea how I was supposed to feel.  I felt no different than any other day.  The decision was made to do some tweaking…first I had to wean off of it.

I have never thought myself addicted to anything, not really.  I mean I like my Diet Coke, but I choose to drink that.  If I decided to stop, I could and would.  This was a a purposeful removal of something the body was using and something the mind knew it needed.  Whether it was working to its highest level is inconsequential.  The body had it, needed it, and wanted it.  To deprive the body of this would prove harder than I expected.

I was instructed to wean off at a slow pace, but was also warned that some days would be tough.  Oh my goodness.  Never have I felt more at a loss and on the edge of a dark hole than I did at that time.  I felt constantly agitated, irritable, on edge, borderline bitchy all the time.  I could hear myself saying things, thinking this was not me saying these things, and I could not stop.  I screamed in my head…STOP STOP STOP, this is not you!  Then I would feel bad for saying and doing things I could not control.  There were times I could not stop the thoughts in my head…could not tell whether I was coming or going or how I was going to feel hour-by-hour.

Physically I felt worse than I had in a long time.  My stomach ached all the time, headaches were worse than ever, nothing tasted good, I did not want to eat, could not sleep…the list was endless.  I look horrid, I acted worse.

As my body continued to release the medication and my body attempted to reset, the cravings kicked in full force.  These were not food cravings.  These were the intense desires to feel leveled out..to feel normal-at least the normal I felt when I was on the drug.  I would hold the remaining pills in the bottle, my hand shaking, willing myself not to take one….I attempted half doses….and yes.  There were times I told no one and took one to make it through.  I felt guilty and sneaky for doing so.  I hated the fact that I could feel so out of whack by the removal of one med. I was angry that my body needed it, my mind demanded it, and it felt like I was powerless to stop what I was feeling.

After the physical, the mental mess I was in was not something I anticipated.  I could not form a coherent thought and did not want to.   I wanted to scream and yell and throw every kind of temper tantrum known to man…and in some ways I did.  There were times I did not recognize the person looking back at me, I know others felt the same.  knowing that made me hate myself and how I felt even more.  I could not control it.  I craved to feel level.  So, I caved.  I gave in…then some light broke through.

I was under the watchful eyes of my doctor, her staff and nurses were incredible to me and for me.  They kept close tabs on me, asking my symptoms, let me talk some frustrations out and told me that I would get through it.  I wanted to quit many times.  I wanted to swear and tell everyone around me that I didn’t give a damn about anyone and I would say and do what I wanted.  There were times my skin itched, my mind ached, I could not tell if what I dreamt was real or hallucination….it was hell.

A couple of people finally asked what in the world was happening.  I had told no one except my dr what was happening.  I broke down and told them I was going through a med withdrawal and I could not tell when it would be over.  They looked at me with such relief and concern…I did not expect that response.  I expected them to hate me, I certainly did not like the person I was becoming.  Out of care, they asked why I had not said something before, why did I think I had to go through it alone?  Why did I possibly think that no one would care or want to help me.  Instead of making me feel small and weak, they were there to bolster me, to lend me their strength and love.  They loved me no matter how nasty I became.  In fact, they showed me more grace, knowing that what was happening was temporary.  They checked in on me, they asked questions, they did not leave me alone.  I made it through.  I could not have done it without that collective care.

Sooooo many people do not have that.  I have never been addicted to alcohol or other recreational drugs, painkillers, gambling, or other addictions.  I do not know what that feels like….but I do.  I do know what feeling deprived of something the mind and body needs to feel normal…or at least the normal I understood.  I know what it feels like to be alone, or at least feel like I am alone.  I know what it feels like to sneak around, to have almost every waking moment consumed with how I could get a hit.  What could I do….how can I get it…will anyone know if I sneak one?  Will it matter?  Maybe this is not that big a deal.  Maybe they are wrong, maybe I do need this.  How can I possibly be addicted, that happens to “those” people.

Those people, indeed.

I was sooo lucky.  I had people, when I let them in, who rallied in and around me and saw me through that time.  There are tons of people who suffer silently, never saying a word and beat themselves up for what is happening.  They continue muddling through.  Or they refuse to admit that there may be a problem, unable to take steps to remedy it.

I was so lucky.  I do not know what it looks like to battle an addiction that has been there for decades.  I  do not know how it feels to try and try again…hoping that this time it will work.  I do understand how quickly an addiction takes hold, how strongly it grips mind, body, soul.  I know what it is to feel powerless, succumbing to something stronger than myself, forgetting that I am stronger than this drug.  I do not know what it means to sacrifice everything and lose everything to keep a norm.  I am so thankful I have not had that experience.  My heart breaks in a new way for anyone wrestling with any kind of addiction…it does not matter what it is.  I know what dark and twisty feels like and I know what it means for people to pull me through.  I am lucky.

I am also lucky to know this side of me.  I am thankful to catch a glimpse of what a world encased in addiction looks like.  It is not a place I would wish on anyone.  It is not a place anyone would want to camp.  It is not a place that people hope to get to and remain, no one wants to lose control of themselves.  I think most of us would just like the chance to escape or dull a pain that exists, for whatever reason.  I think many of us wonder what it feels like to feel good…laughingly, lovingly, ridiculously good.

I do not have the answers, but my eyes are open, my mind is cleared….I understand…if only for a moment.  I will remain today and always, Addicted.

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