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| Am I a tourist? Or a vagrant? |
And this is just SOME of the stuff I take at night.
And I didn't include the stuff for my blood lipids, the severe GI problems associated with chronic opiate use, blahblahblah, ...
Today, I met with my therapist for the first time in quite a while, at least for me, though our last meeting was canceled by a horrible URI/cold that floored me for a week. She--the therapist, not the URI--noticed immediately that I have lost some weight. Normally, that gives the morbidly obese a mood lift but this time, it hasn't meant that much to me, probably because I'm "husky" and "broad-shouldered", not morbidly obese.
I still feel a bit self conscious when I solve a crossword clue that spells "o-b-e-s-e", as if simple acknowledgment is surrendering my dignity despite the fact that most of my life has been a battle against genetics, low birth weight, eating more than I should, and eating crap as well as eating for the wrong reasons. Thank GOD for socialized medicine and Shari'a Law to dispense it, huh? Imagine the mess we'd be in were it not for for those two godsends. AS I WAS SAYING...
There are times when I'm motivated to "do something", if not for me then for my wife and kids. For whatever reason(s), I can't sustain the effort. It's easier and more legitimate to blame it on my back and leg pain, but today's conversation with Kristin (the Therapist) forced a realization upon me. Imagine this is you--suspend reality if you have to--just do it: in the usually futile effort to appear youthful and strong and virile to my young, vibrant wife, I occasionally clean up by cutting my hair and trimming my beard. I even flossed my teeth, an activity I eschew for nor no discernible reason.
When revealing these intimate details to the therapist, it struck me that I had literally not looked at myself in the mirror for months. And that fact, not that I was ever a looker, is a sad indicator of the state of my mind. Kristen "suggested", as is her wont, that my unkempt appearance was a non-verbal way for me to tell my peeps that "The Abyss"* is edging closer. Upon reflection, her "suggestion", as usual, is spot-on.
*--The Abyss is my depiction of the Hell that is Depression, a deep, dark, scary hole that has the capability to swallow one whole. It's a one-way trip, there is no return once you've tripped over the edge. The trick is to know where you are in relation to It. Since this "trip" started 6 or years ago, It has surprised me in its tenacity and stealth. I never thought I was the "type". Now we know.
One time, in a picque of frustration at my shameful appearance (and it was really bad), Elle described me as looking "homeless", a phrase she regrets now because no matter how true it may have been, just like my odd aloofness with "obese", I felt as if I was a dollar value on The Wheel of Fortune and someone had started spinning looking to buy "an S". I was so disoriented that I desperately wanted to vomit and disappear at the same time.
In my mind's eye, never the most objective arbiter of one's appearance, I thought it was embarrassing for my family to be seen with or near me, and not just because one of them happened to be a teenager at the time. I pictured Saddam Hussein waiting in the carpool lane, gnats and flies buzzing around me, as the schmoops who, comfortably ensconced in their Mercedes and BMW SUVs, largely inhabit our son's elementary school, assassinate my character and judge my son and wife unfairly because I looked like some Special Forces soldiers just pulled me out of a spider hole.
But in a more serious note, I honestly thought I was doing "ok" until I recognized the warning signs, the first being my sister's nearly daily appearance. Silly me, I thought she was fleeing her own demons and poor A/C system, but now I know she was keeping tabs on me. The second sign was the picture shown above. It was taken while awaiting my brother and (step-)daughter's return from their parasailing trip on Clearwater Beach. I had a good time re-visiting my old stomping grounds, even having time to see some very close friends from the Army (Tina Heaton Aultman) and high school (Vicki Geoghagen Cyr), both of who are doing wonderfully.
I couldn't do much on the beach because of my back but the kids had a good time, I got to see my brother who lives in Tampa (Ross), and we had some scrumptious food. Even the flying didn't bother nearly as much as it normally does; nevertheless, one glance at that picture tells me that I was depressed despite my attempts to put on a game face if for no other reason to make sure everyone else had a good time, especially my Elle because of her demanding, stressful job (and husband).
I finally broke down when I related to Kristin what happened when Elle was playing with the iPad I got her for her birthday. Before we left for dinner, I synced about 800 or so songs I thought Elle would like from my iTunes account before we left for dindin at The Cheesecake Factory. Once we returned, Elle started playing some of the music that was prominent during the time we were "dating" and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Fortunately, because of the way I was sitting and the arm of the couch was hiding me, she couldn't see that I had tears rolling down my "husky" cheeks as she played Lucinda Williams' "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road", The Dixie Chicks' "Cowboy Take Me Away", "Come to my Window" by Melissa Etheridge, "Adia" and "Building a Mystery" by Sarah McLachlan, et al.
I'll be the first to admit to getting emotional with music and, depending on the circumstances, "Taps", Beethoven's Ninth or the 2nd Movement of the iconic 5th Symphony, "Oh Daddy" by Fleetwood Mac, "Learnin' to Fly" by Tom Petty, etc, can easily bring tears to mine eyes. But those are tears of joy, a silent kudos to the sheer brilliance of the musician itself. Nota Bene: I realize everyone recognizes the thunderous "Dun-Dun-Dun-Duuuun. Dun-Dun-Dun-Duuun!" of the 1st movement of Bethoven's 5th Symphony, few pieces of music can match that energy or drama; however, the next time you hear it and have access to the stereo, try to listen closely to the 2nd Movement. I guarantee you will be pleasantly surprised.
Last night, on the other hand, I was crying because I was sad. Or, better yet, sad because I was depressed. And for those of you who don't know, it's mighty frustrating when you're trying your damnedest to be happy for someone else's sake, but you can't help but control the volume or your "output" of emotion. It was my wife's birthday and I felt guilty because all I could do was loathe myself for not being strong enough for her, when it was her time to stand in the spotlight and enjoy a few moments of sunshine. And that reminds me, the most difficult song for me to hear was Sheryl Crow's "Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man", because Lord knows I wasn't and I knew it.
My Elle has the most devastating green eyes, and this is my tribute to her for all the shit she puts up with:
ps-I Love You, my green-eyed angel, and I always will. JJvdBnx
XOXO--Ernst
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