And then again …


And then again I felt the pain, and then afterwards the delight and the joy, now the one and now the other, again and again. And in the time of joy I could have said with St. Paul: Nothing shall separate me from the love of Christ; and in the pain I could have said with St. Peter: Lord, save me, I am perishing.

Pg. 111 of The Discernment of Spirits by Fr. Timothy M. Gallagher, OMV


The beatings will continue until…

You can tell which of my posts I actually sit down to write on a computer versus the ones I throw together with grammatical vomit on my smartphone.  It’s a pretty noticeable difference.  Lately though there’s been a lot of “grammatical vomit” around me in my day-to-day experience as well.  Many different thoughts race through my head as I am continuing to experience withdrawal symptoms following my cessation of an anti-depressant medication.  More feelings of anxiety and uncertainty tend to creep in on an inconsistent basis which means even though I quit paying admission, I’m still riding the roller coaster.

Most of what I feel is physical.  I am still subject to the same headaches I would suffer when I tried to quit cold turkey last spring for the third time.  It didn’t bother so much if I could keep myself busy but since I changed jobs from blue to white collar I find myself unable to ignore the pain.  Wearing khaki slacks, a collared shirt, and sitting in a cubicle is bad enough.  When you add an embedded pain seated inside of your skull that feels like someone is squeezing the left hemisphere of your brain with a bench vice it makes it that much more enjoyable.  Really though it’s not as bad as it used to be when it felt like someone was yanking up on my eyeballs from the inside out.  (This is usually how I deal with things, latent optimism with a heavy helping of sarcasm.)

The other portion, emotions, is the easy part really.  Sure I tend to over analyze social interactions causing depressive thoughts and I because I physically feel like dog shit I tend to alienate my friends and family and spend more time alone but it won’t be like this forever right?  Relationships can always be fixed right?….Right?

All of this internal battle is really frustrating.  I keep wanting to be instantly gratified and freed from my suffering.  I feel like I deserve it after all the hell from within I’ve numbed over the last 9 years.  The medication sure did the trick by keeping me from offing myself but I really don’t recall a strong warning from my psychiatrist saying it was going to beat the functionality right out of my liver.  My parents do but all I could think about at the time was surviving.  Now that I’m on the other side of cessation I ask myself, “was it worth it?”  I cannot answer definitively.

I feel like I’ve been cheated.  Why can’t I be perpetually happy?  If I can’t be perpetually happy why can’t I take medication that doesn’t give me liver cirrhosis? If I can’t get such a medication why can’t I function without jitters and depressive uncertainty?  Nobody knows.  What I do know is that I’m not getting off the ride anytime soon so I had better get a tighter grip.

Theatre of pain

I’ve know this road. I’ve been down it before. It is hard to traverse and it is hard to carry on.  A lot of people like to look back at their lives on New Year’s eve but for me it only adds to the sorrow in my soul.  Ive said to myself and others before that if we didn’t have bad days we wouldn’t know when to be thankful for the good ones.
I had many a good day in my 25th year but I cant help but remember how many bad ones I had too.  The bad swallows the good.
I lie in physical pain as my body reacts to the drug withdrawal. It occupies the seats on my passenger train of thoughts and I struggle to relax enough for sleep. I know I will be free of it someday but for now I wish it would go away.
I lose ground in my belief that this war within will be over in 6 months when I feel as physically sick as I do. I should probably be more realistic in my estimation. 6 months to let your brain, liver, and lymph system recover after you’ve poisoned it for 8.5 years probably isn’t enough time.
I know this road. I’ve been down it before. One foot in front of the other.