Sometimes I get sad. Sometimes that sadness gets deeper. Sometimes flesh wounds are amputations in disguise. A smile over a thousand tears. Sometimes the world becomes heavy. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have thoughts. Those thoughts I will not share. Not now, not here. But these thoughts carry significant weight of their own. All this weight and pressure, it builds. I stumble. I cry and scream and never make a sound. It builds. I fall down. It builds. I break. This is not a good place. This is the place that anything can happen. That can be anything good, or anything bad. The word stability does not exist in this place. Every extreme and nothing in between. This place is full volume, and the air is thick. This place is being lost in a mall as a child. A mall that constantly shape-shifts and forms around you so you’re always far from any visible exit. This place is anxiety. This place is terror. This place is suffering. Sometimes I visit this place. Sometimes it is for an extended stay.
When I go to this place I need a preserver of life. This can be measured in milligrams or decibels. Often both. I have found that even as a small child music has calmed me. It brings me to my center. It gives me focus. I have a form of tranquility with music that I cannot achieve otherwise. Sometimes that tranquility is synthesized, at best, in pharmaceutical form. I really do not like taking drugs of any kind. Especially those that alter how I perceive my own thoughts. Alter the reality around me, fine. But fucking leave my mind alone. It can be my worst enemy at times but also my greatest asset. I mean it really is for everyone. Nothing else would be possible without it. This bad place that I sometimes go to, it will tempt me to return. It will hide as a good place. My head has the signals permanently mixed. When I listen to happy music, it makes me very very sad. I cannot explain this. The only fathomable explanation I can muster is that because of traumatic events and the overall nature of my childhood, in-which I had first heard the happy music in question, I have tainted that part of my brain.
So what now? Never listen to happy music again? No fuck that. I’ll deal with the sad feelings. I can’t avoid them forever. How boring would that be? I’d kill myself out of sheer boredom alone. But seriously, I’ll deal with feeling like taking a razor to my skin when I hear “You’ve Got A Friend in Me” from Toy Story, or the music from the movie Matilda. I don’t know why but those two pieces of music are strong triggers for me. It’s kind of stupid. It’s good music, some real talent and work went into it. And I can’t fully enjoy that because of my head. Such is life. I know I’m not the only one dealing with mental illness. And this is probably not going to be my last post about the topic. Maybe my next will be more on the manic side. I could use more of an upper of a topic for this blog. The drugs are just as tricky as anything else when dealing with these issues. What to take, how much, how often, and when? Also the side effects. Gaining weight is never fun. Neither is a lowered sex drive. Plus the 4,000 other side effects they throw at you at light speed in those commercials. But when you find the ones that work, stick to it until it doesn’t work anymore.
That’s what I have the glory of dealing with. This treatment will work only until it won’t. My illness can sort of outgrow a medication. So the pills I’m on now could work fine for 30 years then one day be as effective as a sugar pill for no apparent reason other than fuck him. It’s kinda shitty. But I look at it through the same lens as you can be alive and live a good life until you die. And that really can happen at any fucking time. So why get all bent over the drug thing? For now I remain on a positive keel and introspective of my journey thus far. I advise any of you to do the same if possible. I know it can be hard. Stay strong. 🙂