Analyze This

Since my post yesterday, and after reading the link in its comments, I’ve been thinking of how to describe, for myself, what my mental status is like.

Depression seems so black and white.

Anxiety seems so alarming.

Let’s see…

I am the kind of person who is unable to hear or remember or absorb much of anything other than the negative comments made to me, about me, within me.  I will obsess for weeks over a grammar flub or a misplaced giggle during someone’s venting.  I can’t turn that off.

So, then I try to turn it out.  I focus negativity on those around me, people on the road, at the grocery store, my husband, my kids.  But that just makes me feel even more like a horrible person, and so I just retreat altogether.

Through reading, writing, drinking, watching TV or movies, sleeping, eating…  Anything that will blank out my own thoughts and feelings.  I’ve always had an elaborate fantasy life (and I don’t mean that I play RPGs or that I have a closet full of fetish gear).  I mean that since I was a little kid with imaginary friends, I’ve been taking day dreaming to an art form.

I think that’s what most writers do, and it makes so much sense to me that so many writers suffer depression as well.  It’s escapism. 

This doesn’t mean that I don’t find enjoyment in those things, because of course I do.  This doesn’t mean that I don’t put on my best Scroogy Face and interact when necessary, even doing a fairly passable job at socializing.

It’s just a shell.  An act.  Like I’m on autopilot.

Soon, I look around and realize it’s been a week since I’ve swept or vacuumed and my laundry remains unfolded in the basket and my kids are running rampant and my husband barely says a word to me.

I realize that I haven’t been there. 

That’s what I mean by dark, lost, shapeless.  Undefined. 

Unreal.

I know that this too shall pass, that there will be brighter days.

But in case yesterday’s post was less than clear, there ya go…

 

 

I’m tired

I’m tired of being…  of being…

Um…

I am tired of being…

Yes, that’s it, I guess.

I’m just tired of being.

No, I’m not suicidal (I’m WAY too nosy to kill myself).  I’m just not sure how to end that sentence appropriately.

My brain mind soul psyche sits ready to unleash a stream of vitriol to end that statement- words that feel right, but are just wrong.  I know LOGICALLY they are wrong.

Mental health is so puzzling.  I was feeling pretty good just this weekend.  And now, I feel so lost and dark and shapeless. 

Yeah, shapeless.  Undefined.

I’m tired of being undefined.

 

Medicated Mommy

*sigh* You guys.  *sigh*

I’ve been in therapy for a couple of months and my therapist suggested I see a psychologist for a medication evaluation.  I knew this day would come.

Part of me is like, “Sweet!  Finally!  I can be a functioning member of society again!”

Another part of me is like, “Nooooo!  I am Scroogy!  I can handle this ON MY OWN!!”

A third part of me is hiding under a blanket and refusing to acknowledge it.

I’m trying to just let the idea sink in a bit.  Trying not to have unrealistic expectations for pharmaceuticals.  Trying not to feel like I’m surrendering to the big, bad, Dark Side.

I have an inkling that I’ll have more motivation to get out of the house, off the couch, to step away from the TV or my laptop and really live.  I hope that I’ll be a better, more present and focused Mommy.

But what if I don’t, Peeps? 

What if it’s NOT clinical depression and it’s just that I suck as a human being?

What then?

Clear

Last night I watched Sunday’s ep of TWD (The Walking Dead- not to be confused with TVD or The Vampire Diaries…  Keep it straight, will ya Peeps?  Geesh).

The episode, titled Clear, was so emotionally moving and interesting that I almost didn’t miss sweaty dirty Daryl Dixon.  (Mmm…  Daryl…)  One sec:

Image

Whew…  okay.  I’m good now…

This day in the zombie apocalypse found Rick on a supply run with his bad-ass little boy Carl, and the even more bad-ass Michonne.  The title of the episode came into play almost right away when they passed a hitch hiker on the road and didn’t even slow down.  Their compassion for strangers clearly gone.  See what I did there?  Ha.  They didn’t even blink as he yelled for help, begging, pleading.  No reaction.  What a difference a year makes.

They pass a typical zombie car pile-up, and, in trying to avoid the wrecks, Rick gets the car stuck in the mud.  (or was Michonne driving?  Gah…  I need to start writing stuff down.)  Anyway, they have to kill a handful of walkers and then get out and use a really ugly dress and some rocks to get the tire clear of the mud.  See….  again…  I’m tellin’ ya.  There’s a nice father/son moment where Rick shows Carl how to get out of the mud, and it’s almost normal.  So many dead zombies around, but there is still father/son time.

Eventually they make it to town.  Now, I have no idea how I missed this, if it was discussed beforehand, but the town they go to is the one that Rick, Lori, Shane, and Carl all came from.  This seemed really deep and heavy to me.  I would not want to go back.  It would break my heart too much.  Ugh.  Imagine…  Oh there’s where we went for ice cream after Carl lost his first tooth.  There’s where Lori and I had our first date.  There’s where Shane and I used to pick up chicks…  All burned down, crumbling, or run over by zombies.  I’d rather keep my memories intact.

They head to the police station for weapons and ammo to find the place has been cleared out.  I’m not even trying anymore, it just keeps happening, I swear.

So they start walking to get more supplies and find a block of the town all jacked up like some crazy mouse trap.  Spikes and pulleys and cages of rats and pigeons…  They snake their way through, and nearly get killed by a masked gunman on a rooftop.  After some sneaky quick Michonne maneuvers, Carl ends up shooting the masked man in his wooden bullet proof vest and knocking him out somehow.  This part wasn’t clear.  I totally did that one on purpose you guys.  Rick takes the mask off and its…  drumroll please…  MORGAN!!!!  Gah!!!  We’ve been wondering what happened to him since the first season.  Yeah!!!  Morgan was the first person Rick found when he woke up from his coma to find the world was ending.  Morgan saved his life.  Rick has so few good memories these days.  Morgan represents the first hope he ever had during the series.

Michonne & Rick argue for a minute, but he convinces her to help carry Morgan up to his apartment.  Not sure exactly how they found his place, but I’m thinking it had to do with all the color coded arrows and warning messages leading to his lair.  Before crossing the threshold, they cleverly avoid the dagger pit under the Welcome mat.  Smarty pants.

Once there, they lay him on a cot and start looting his place for weaponry.  Michonne takes a chip break.  “The mat said ‘Welcome'” she snarks between crunches.  Love it.  She’s a woman of few words, and that was an amazingly funny line.

Eventually, Carl whines enough about being sufficiently kick ass to go on a run on his own.  Michonne goes with him.  Mostly because I think Morgan’s crazy wall writing is causing her more than a little concern.

All over the walls, he’s written words and phrases about doorknobs and knives and guns and so-and-so turned or this-guy cleared.  This is where I start to think, hm…  What could Morgan mean by Clear?  Does this mean he saved the person from the walkers, like he’d saved Rick all those many moons ago?  Or something not so heartwarming…?  I’m thinking the latter.

Michonne and Carl leave and of course he tricks her and runs off, or tries to.  I was glad to be able to finally utter last season’s catch phrase, “Wait… Where’s Carl?”  *Drink*

Michonne is, like, ninja fast, so she catches up with him and is all, “What the eff, little dude…”

He sort of gets all Rick on her and basically tells her she’s not one of them, and that he doesn’t need to listen to her or need her bad ass sword wielding help- neener neener.  She doesn’t take his shit and just shrugs and keeps following him.  “You can’t stop me from helping you.”  Neener neener.

It was actually a pretty great scene.  The interaction between them in the entire episode is fantastic.

Back at Morgan’s lair, Rick is reading the psycho wall and realizes that Morgan’s son Duane was turned.  He’s wracked with guilt when he finds Morgan’s walkie talkie.  Ya know… the one he gave him and told him to turn on every day at dawn so he could help keep Morgan and Duane safe…  yeah, that one.  I don’t remember Rick using his walkie talkie since they left the CDC.  Do you?  Nice going there, Sheriff.  Dammit.  I blame Shane.  Why?  I dunno.  Just because.

Anyway…  I’m getting bored recapping this so thoroughly.  How do those folks at TWoP do it?  Pffttt…

Three more big poignant moments:

1. Morgan goes all apeshizzle on Rick when he wakes up.  He stabs Rick in the collarbone shouting something about how he will “clear him”.  This is when I am certain that Morgan means that dying without coming back as a zombie is “clearing”.  He intends to not only kill all the walkers, but kill all the people he sees in a way that they cannot turn.  They will die clear.  He also snaps back into reality enough to realize who Rick is and to share what he’s been up to since they parted.  His son was killed by his Zombie Mom.  He’s hella bitter that Rick never had to see Lori or Carl as walkers.  That he has been cleared of that burden.  See, so many meanings you guys…  Rick tries to talk Morgan into coming back to the prison.  Morgan looks at all the weapons they are looting and is like, Um, no… I’ll pass.  Thanks…  Besides, it’s his destiny to clear.  Right?  See?  He intends to keep killing people and destroying zombies until he can’t anymore.  Clear the world.  Scary and sad and poignant and telling.  All wrapped in one.  This part of it really got to me, as a person who suffers from depression.  Wait, hold on… I don’t want to murder anyone.  But, sometimes you feel so lonely, so lost, that all you know how to do is clear the day.  Whatever it takes to just get back to sleep.  I can really relate to Morgan’s isolation, his fear, his pain.  I think Rick does too, and realizes that he’s not quite that far gone.  That he has more to live for.  That was really powerful to me too.  So many layers, TWD, so many layers…  😉

2. Carl’s whole mission is to enter some walker-ridden cafe to steal a snapshot on the wall of Rick, Lori, and Little Carl from happier days.  He says it’s for Judith, so she knows what her mom looked like, but I suspect it’s also for himself, and for his crazy ass Dad.  Michonne is actually wonderful and not only doesn’t tell him he’s taking a foolish risk, but she helps him retrieve it.  Once by setting rat zombie traps to distract the walkers on the way in and hacking their way out with her swordiness.  Then next by using those sneaky quick Michonne moves to slip back in to get the pic and a cat sculpture while Carl kept the zombies attention at the cafe door.  It was pretty sweet.  Not just like sa-weet, but like, awww…. how sweet.  I think Carl and Michonne are gonna be BFFs.

3.  On the way outta crazy Morgan-ville, Carl stops and apologizes to Morgan for shooting him.  Morgan tells him to NEVER be sorry.  (Um… Carl… back away from the crazy man, mmkay?  Good boy.)  No, really, I get what Morgan was saying.  It’s kill or be killed out here.  And Carl has made it farther than many many adults.  He should never be sorry for having mad zombie apocalypse skills.  But my favorite part of this episode came next.  Michonne is helping Rick load the last of the supplies into the trunk, and she confronts him for his Crazy-Lori’s-Ghost-Chasing-ness.  She says it’s ok, she used to talk to her dead boyfriend.  It’s the new normal.  He smiles and asks if she wants to drive.  “I mean, I see things…”  They chuckle.  Aww… Rick’s making friends!  Yeah!!  Everyone has mental problems!!  You are not alone!!!  See…

At the end, they pass what remains of that hitch hiker at the beginning.  They back up, stop the car, and someone hops out to get his back pack.  That shit is free and clear…  See?

Ahh…  I can stop now. 😉

My Two Cents

Yup.  Another Scroogy Soap Box post.

This one has been brewing in my brain since that dark, dark day in December when Adam Lanza took all those lives in Newtown, CT.

I don’t want to talk about Sandy Hook.  My heart still aches for those families.  I don’t want to talk about Columbine, or Aurora, or even the shooting here at Perry Hall High School.

I don’t really even want to talk about gun control this time.

What I do want to talk about is some things we need to work on, as a society, that may help prevent tragedies like those, might bolster gun control efforts…

We need to become a community again.  A real one.  People who participate in each others lives.  People who belong.  Not strangers behind closed doors blind to who lives within yards of our homes.  Not friends or family members who cover their mouths or whisper in corners about the problems we see instead of doing something, anything, about them.  We need to be able to reach out when we are hurting, and not fear repercussions or embarrassment.

After Sandy Hook, I read an article about a study done about these violent incidents.  In the study, people who knew the shooters were interviewed and noted that these shooters had told people of their plan.  Or they acted distraught.  Or they became interested in violence as a solution.  And when asked why these friends, family members, co-workers, or neighbors never told authorities, why they never intervened, the answer was that they worried that if they “tattled” it would ruin that person’s life.

This is more than just “if you see something, say something.”  This is “if you know someone is disturbed, don’t just gossip about it, don’t just roll your eyes and ignore it.  DO SOMETHING.”  Or “if you need help, ASK FOR HELP.”

Look, Peeps, I’m as guilty of this as anyone.  I’ve turned my back on family members.  Not in cold detachment, but in fear of making things worse.  I’ve looked away as loved ones were hurting, unsure of how to help.  I’ve talked about these problems with anyone who would listen, except of course, the people who need help or the people who could help.  I’ve hidden indoors wrestling with my own life, feeling isolated and alone.  Dealing with my own depression and anxiety.  Unable to make friends, keep plans.

I know I’m not alone.  It seems to be an epidemic in our society.

We don’t want to seem nosy.  We don’t want to get in anyone’s business.  We don’t want to hurt anyone’s pride or reputation.  We don’t want to seem crazy or be laughed at.

Know what?  BE NOSY!!!  One of our neighbors has shunned us because my husband is constantly watching out for the neighborhood.  He insists we keep our shades open, day or night.  He always wants to see what’s going on.  He’s the guy who will knock on your door and say he noticed your flat tire.  He’ll make a note of strange cars on the block.  He knows the faces, if not also the names, of our neighbors and their usual visitors.  That neighbor I mentioned before said that he should mind his own business.  Well, that’s what neighbors do.  They watch out for each other.  Or we should.

GET IN THEIR BUSINESS!!!  If the friends of Adam Lanza’s mother, the ones who said they noticed she was stressed out about Adam, that they were concerned about him, that her gun hobby was worrisome… if those people had said something to her, to authorities, to her ex-husband/Adam’s father…  all those lives would’ve been saved.  But they all respected her privacy and swallowed their concerns.

FORGET REPUTATION!  DO NOT BE ASHAMED!  We are all human, all flawed, all dealing with one problem or another.  Why is there such shame and stigma attached to asking for help?  I’m guilty of this myself as well.

As I’ve mentioned in this blog before, I have finally decided to seek mental health treatment.  My therapist made a note at the end of our first session that I was careful to match my outfit, down to my shoes, to look outwardly put together.  I wasn’t aware of the reasons that I did this.  But she was right.  I wanted to project an image of a person who isn’t falling apart.

Why?  I mean, I know that we have to hold our selves together to a point.  We have jobs to do, kids to raise, homes to care for.  But why can’t we show our cracks, be vulnerable and open?

Especially since so many others are dealing with such similar issues?  We’d all be amazed if we just admitted out loud how we are feeling.  So many would say “Oh My God!  Me too!”

I don’t know the steps that need to be taken to change the world in this way.  I only know that I am working on it on my end.

Yes, I am trying to live out loud.

For the first time ever.

Thanks for being my sounding board.  You’ll never know the impact you have.  Don’t forget that.