30 April 2007

Utter Confusion

Once I found solace in my work routine
An opportunity to escape from the isolation at home
But the seclusion from home is carrying over to the office
My door stays shut and spurns all spontaneous pop-ins

The customary workload has not changed
But the depression is not alleviated by the focus
The lines between home and work has become blurred
I fear the impact this will have on my performance

This depression has become the driving force of my day
I can’t help but wonder if it’s in the weaning from Zyprexa
But this drug’s propensity to cause me to gain weight
Has become an equally driving force to be taken off the drug

It’s been a frustrating road to travel
The drug, especially at the higher dosages, proved reliable
As I continue the weaning process, I see a marked decrease in my stability
And I am left with quite a quandary as to the best treatment

This lack of interest in my time focused on my career
I fear will carry over to my overall effectiveness
I am so drained by battling this itinerate depression
A depression that is becoming more the norm

I listen to others’ advice in combating the seclusion
But all of the offerings require energy levels that cannot be summoned
Instead of looking forward to coming into the office to escape the trappings of home
I instead prefer the desolation experienced at home—a familiar territory that exists

Will my bipolar ever come under control?
Am I doomed to be classified as treatment-resistant?
It has often been said that I never do anything half-assed
So why should this experience be any different?

I am grateful I have a door to shut in my office
Passersby are less inclined to pop in with the commonplace news bites
I find myself leaving my headset on to deter the would-be drop-ins
Leaving the impression that I am occupied on the phone

I’ve become the clock-watcher all of a sudden
Eagerly looking forward to the forlorn environment of my home
At least here, there is a comfort zone that is all too familiar
Despite the fact that the environment is far more bleak

When forced to attend social gatherings lest I appear noncommittal
I have become the master of the great fa├žade
Where, once at church I decided to be real without the mask
Even there I find the ease to retreat inward

I’ve been informed that God works on his own timetable
And encouraged that when the time is right, He is always on time
But I grow weary of all the distractions that bring me down
What is considered “Right on Time”?

And it isn’t always circumstances that spawn the depression
I can wake up after a night’s rest and only want to stay curled up in my fetal position
It is most difficult to have nothing to blame the despair
What was once an ephemeral occurrence has become the norm

I wish wholeheartedly that Zyprexa was not such a weight-gainer
But after losing 250 pounds I am unwilling to give any ground
It’s enough that I’ve gained 25 pounds in an eight-week period
Which just fuels the depression with an incendiary force

Along with the depression I’ve managed to entertain the mania once again
Hence my ability to be creative once again with my words
To the world these poems my appear weak and without form
But it is I who derives the benefit from such expression

I am not tottering on the brink of suicide, at least at the moment
My focal point has been isolation and introspection
It is within this self-inventory that further feeds my segregation
A vicious cycle I am doomed to repeat relentlessly

In a perfect world, I would never need to leave my house
I would be devoid of all human contact that only drains my energy
The internet has opened up sufficient portals to conduct all my business
Even contact with the outside world, but at my choosing

I have one fatal conundrum that conflicts with all that I have expressed here
I am realizing that I do not want to have to face the rest of my life without companionship
A partner that I am equal to that can share my innermost self
However, with this self-imposed seclusion, chances are slim to none

I have been out of the closet for more years than in
I’ve enjoyed a rich life replete with partners that complemented my life
However, with the outrageous and heart wrenching end of the most recent
I sought solace wherever I could find it

For a while I forged this relationship with God
And came upon a peace I had yet to experience
But this was the same time my bipolar meds were most efficient
So, what was the source of this peace—God or the cocktail?

So, just who exactly am I at this given moment?
An answer as elusive as a butterfly’s dance
Will I ever know who I am, and if I did, would I like what I see?
Only time will tell—a concept and reality that I have in abundance.


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