Hiromi_X
40 days in the desert
At a meeting last week, this goofy guy with goofy hair in a goofy shirt was just RAMBLIN'. Then he stopped, paused, and said, "I don't know why I said that, but I said it." That is my new motherfucken motto. I said I'd do this before, but now I'm really going to do it. I have to do it. Just say something.
So... Last week marked a new low point. I'd been spiralling downhill for about two weeks. I know that if I start using again, I will die. I know this like I know the earth revolves around the sun. The question is not do I want to stay sober, but do I want to live. Last week I didn't think so. And it didn't help that when I was on my way to a meeting, all these other people were on their way to Austin City Limits. And isn't that the story of my life, I thought. There's everyone else, everyone normal, and then there's Freak Hiromi.
When I was little, I used to watch the other kids forming and reforming groups, mixing and interacting, and it was all without effort. I was never excluded, or bullied, or anything like that; I simply could not achieve that effortlessness as they could. Although I valued solitude, and didn't really want to be in the thick of things, I nevertheless wished I could do that when I needed to.
I know what I need to do when I start sinking like that. I need to reach out, but I can't. So I endure it, the long black fucking midnight. I place a great deal of importance on thought and intellect, but those things don't help you at times like that. I look at the books on my shelves and the things I've written, and they're wonderful things, but they aren't going to lift me up. You can't think your way out of despair. I know that the possibility of things getting better exists, in fact it's quite probable, but math like that is cold comfort, as is the knowledge that I've survived before.
At those times I need God or something, but I don't have that. Instead, what often saves me is my sense of humor. And detachment. As I sat in my apartment in agony, it occurred to me that monks used to sit in cold stone cells and flagellate themselves. Mystics used to wander out into the desert with no food hoping for a vision. Japanese ascetics would ascend mountains and perform feats of endurance. It occurred to me that they didn't have to go through such trouble; they could just live my life. Why go out into a desert when you can live in a self-imposed desert in the middle of a city? Why mortify your flesh when you can excoriate yourself with the past?
I needed a metaphor, to cast myself in a story, and I've found it. Until I learn the behaviors that will help me survive, I will think of myself as a monk in a cell, a mystic in the desert, an ascetic in the mountains.
Comments
Wow, that's intense, yo. I had a very good month this summer, Depression Wise. I was having the time of my life in fact. Then, the sadness came back: I felt so sad it was physically painful. And the thoughts I had about suicide weren't the crazied, desperate ones I've had before. I actually thought that if this was what my life was going to be like, I might not be able to live it. It was fucking scary. And then, two med adjustments later, I feel human again. Which is scary, too, in its own way.
1. Posted by Timory on September 18, 2006
Timory, that's the sort of thoughts I had. I couldn't stop thinking of the enormous effort, and the time, it would take to make my life better. I was also dismayed by my own paralysis. I honestly thought that maybe I was meant to die. But that tiny sane corner of my brain tricked me again.
And I know what you mean about the meds. The pain is very, very real, and the meds somehow render the pain ersatz.
2. Posted by Hiromi on September 18, 2006
All my life I've felt alone, like an outsider in so many different ways. The total detachment works to my advantage in many ways, but it isolates me as a person, too. Even with anti-depressants working very effectively for me, I still feel the moments when I know I'd be totally depressed if it weren't for the meds. I'll often lie awake at night for hours, unable to sleep because of the thoughts just running around in my mind.
As for ascetism, try something incredibly spicy hot. I've had a few peppery moments of endorphin rush that were near-religious experiences.
3. Posted by tskathy58 on September 18, 2006
Hiromi,
I feel like I should write something, but all I can think of is to give you advice...and we all know how good THAT makes you feel...so here's this:
Pretty much anyone who has ever been up against problems like we've had has the same feelings (even after we've had the shit medicated out of us). So take comfort in the fact that you DID reach out. We heard you. You heard yourself. And that's worth missing Austin City Limits for (unless maybe your favorite act is on) any night of the week.
So saddle up the octopus, grab the Super Mixer, and put on the mask so you'll feel better for Austin City Limits another night. They'll always make more.
4. Posted by Omnipotent Poobah on September 18, 2006
At times like this, I always find it useful to have an inspirational quote to hang on to. So I will provide you with a quote from one of the most respected and wisest sources in the entire literary cannon.
I'm speaking, of course, of Tyne Daly on "Judging Amy". Quoth she:
"Everything turns out right in the end. If things are not right, it's not the end."
(Overheard this afternoon while preparing my lunch. Sometimes even crap daytime TV has its moments.)
5. Posted by Miss Syl on September 18, 2006
Tskathy said: The total detachment works to my advantage in many ways, but it isolates me as a person, too.
For me, the detachment helps me pull myself out of my head. I've been told that I shouldn't be alone in my head -- since I'm unable to reach out, one thing I can do is to detach, and see myself as in some kind of narrative. It's not ideal, but it'll help me in the short run.
Omni, thanks. And actually, I do like hearing suggestions from people who've had similar experiences.
Syl, I've found that how a particular truth is worded matters. Different perspectives will resonate with different people, so one person's trite is another person's profound.
6. Posted by Hiromi on September 19, 2006
Hiromi,
As you can see, you're not alone. The intellectualizing, the difficulty reaching out,[surely fed by a disdain for morons].
Sums me up all right. "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." You may not be
headed for Austin City Limits but you're singing your song!
Geoff
7. Posted by Geoff on September 19, 2006
When I am in bad straits (straights?) I often use narrative to help me through.....this is the chapter wherin the Goose must battle the evil car repairman etc etc. There was a point a few years ago, when I was pretty near suicidal and writing a mental story of how to get through really helped.
Thinking about you lots,
Goose
8. Posted by Goose on September 20, 2006
Sometimes having a good metaphor is almost as good as having God or something. Maybe even better.
Found you via Ray and Miss Syl, and I'm blown away by your honesty and courage. I know I don't know you, but I think you have what it takes to survive 40 days in the desert, and more.
9. Posted by Mu Ling on September 20, 2006
Take what that man said to heart. You are smarter and cuter then 99% of the people out there. This is a FACT. The proof of this is in all of us ogling your pictures and reading your writings.
Next time you find fault with yourself for something, rememember that!
10. Posted by ron on September 22, 2006