Appt with Psychiatrist #8

We’re still doing psychotherapy for 50 minutes weekly with phone calls interspersed. He’s concerned over my profound depression. I made a half-hearted attempt to commit suicide Sunday night. I say half-hearted because I didn’t drink any alcohol which I know would seal the deal. I think halfway through, once I swallowed the pills, I realized I didn’t want to go through with it. My consequence: well, I did sleep for 4 hours, but felt very groggy. That morning tried to drive my self to group and got sideswiped by an 18-wheeler—my fault, I veered into his lane. Luckily, I self-corrected and stayed in my lane. Unfortunately, my car has the scars to prove it. Moreover, I fell asleep during the whole first session of group (no I didn’t snore, but no one woke me up either). At the break, I guess all of the noise woke me up, but my therapist wouldn’t let me drive home, so I called a friend to pick me up. I guess some of the drugs I had only taken a few hours earlier had not fully metabolized.

Well, back to my shrink, he has increased my Lexapro to 30mg. I found out that the normal dose is 10-20mg. I sure hope this helps me. I am on so many medications. Maybe once my Thiamine levels get within appropriate range things will start to change.©2009

Despair of Loneliness

Today is another off day for me. I actually set a goal last night. Laundry. Well, I’ve done that, along with moving all my summer clothes to my armoire. Winter, what a dreary thought. I hate the fact that we go back to standard time zone on 01 November. Crap, that’s this Sunday. Sunshine is important to me. There are periods of time when I will spend huge gaps of time on my front porch. Before I started working for my current company, I also worked from home. I can’t tell you the advantages of being able to work from home. Think about it: dress code (I am always in a tee w/sweatpants and barefoot), I can smoke (which probably explains why I am up to two packs a day), and talk about multitasking— I can pop in a load of laundry during the day, etc.. Anyway, at my old job, I did not have a company-paid business landline coming into my home. So, I snaked a patch cable under my office window that looks out onto my porch. I’d take my laptop, cordless phone and cell and just sit out there all day. It was wonderful. Whenever I had to unmute my phone during a conference call, the damn birds or a siren passing by would always give me away, but no one ever made a big deal about it. Hell, the birds were a pale intrusion compared to some assholes who worked from home and had constant barking dogs or a damn baby shrieking in the background.

I digress. I don’t even want to talk about work while I am on medical disability leave (for how long has yet to be determined). Getting back to today. It’s absolutely beautiful outside. Do I go anywhere? No. I can’t think of any place to go. I have no friends I can call up with whom I can make plans. I had one friend with whom I thought I could be upfront about my mood swings and I made the huge mistake of admitting to her during my last crisis earlier that afternoon that I was so depressed that I was feeling suicidal. BIG MISTAKE. She started crying and going on and on about how she couldn’t bear to lose me; think about all the people I’d be leaving behind who love me and care about me (I had no idea who she was talking about); how could I possibly do that to everyone. She never got it that she was my only friend). Then she told me that she wasn’t leaving me alone that day. Boy did that piss me off. As I got out of her car I told her that she could sit in my driveway all damn day, but she sure as fuck wasn’t coming into my house. Ultimately she calmed down and I finally got her to leave. (She was the one I thought had called 911 later that night). Then, not too much later she texted me and wanted to make sure that I was still OK, followed by a phone call which I did not answer. I texted her in all caps to leave me the fuck alone and not call back. Needless to say, I ended up with a bunch of texts and missed call entries that I had to delete.

I have quit going to my church (I’ve now missed three services in a row—something I’ve never done). One person had called and left a vm the other week that I just deleted. (What is nice about having an actual answering machine at home vs having your vm as part of your landline package is that you can screen your calls.) But, no one ever calls me. I’m serious. I have no friends. I had to use that one friend as part of my “safety list” upon discharge from the psych hospital to indicate that I had a support system. I actually used her and one person I knew at the church. I had to put in at least two names and phone numbers (no, they didn’t bother to call them to verify it; otherwise, I imagine one or both would have tried to contact me specifically about receiving that type of call). It’s ironic that, after three weeks now, she pinged me on my cell only twice (which I ignored) and hit my facebook account once (and I immediately blocked her). She actually hasn’t tried to call me. I hope she got the message finally. I don’t want someone around who feels they have to "fix" me.

So I am sitting on my couch once again (now listening to U2, the Stones and Jethro Tull) and there is absolutely no one I can call with whom I can talk. No one. I never understood just how much loneliness could hurt. I don’t have to worry about intentionally isolating myself. There is no one from which to isolate. And the most desolate part of all of this is that I have been like this for so long. Even looking at my past blog entries, I can see going back to April 2007 I made this entry.  So here I sit. All alone. Why bother?©2009

Yet Another Decision

Today is a day off for me. No appointments with anyone. Yesterday evening I made another decision, diametrically opposed to this one only made here.

I had nothing but time on my hands yesterday after my first encounter with my therapist. I spent much of the time playing catch-up in reading the many blogs that I follow and reading comments made to my posts, along with some personal emails I actually received from truly caring individuals. As the day progressed, I did feel the intensity of my rage lessen somewhat (certainly not from anything purposefully done on my part, I assure you)

I had already made the decision to come back and see the therapist for a second appointment—a commitment that I didn’t think I was capable of making, much less caring about. Early evening it occurred to me that if I am going to make an effort with this therapist, I should at least be responsible enough to go back on my meds (a value judgment?). I went back to my bedroom and lined up all the containers (three of which are for blood pressure since it seems I’m having an issue there as well and swallowed them all (I always feel I have to add the caveat: as prescribed LOL). With my history, making the statement “swallowing them all” takes on a whole other connotation!

Went back to my living room and spent the evening listening to some really fine jazz (John Klemmer, Stanley Clarke, Chick Corea, Miles Davis, Jean-Luc Ponty, Al DiMeola). As the evening rolled onward, I made a concerted effort to also start trying to structure the time I try to go to sleep (an ephemeral experience to say the least). Even though I felt far from tired, I took my bedtime meds, crawled into bed and tried to read a book. I am so frustrated with this last action. I opened up to where I had last read (just the previous day) and I had no memory of what this book is about (I’m only about 12-15% into the beginning). This repeated problem really pisses me off, because, if given the chance to be focused enough to read, at least concentrating on that action temporarily quells all my racing thoughts. *Sigh* I return to the first page and start over.

After a few minutes, I realized that I had made an error with one of my blood pressure medications, a mild diuretic (hydrochlorothiazide HCL, hereafter referred to HCTZ). This one, for obvious reasons, taken once a day, should only be consumed in the morning—certainly not just before going to bed. When I hopped up to hit the head, all of a sudden I did not feel so well. No, I wasn’t dizzy per se, but I felt as if I couldn’t catch my breath and also somewhat disoriented. It occurred to me that perhaps the blood pressure crisis I experienced while incarcerated was indeed situational after all. Was my blood pressure now too low? I walked around for a little bit and found myself having to sit down. Very weird feeling.

So, as potentially stupid as this action could result, I decided to drive up to the nearest CVS and use their BP machine. I had much difficulty driving; it required far more dedicated concentration and focus that what I am used to. When I walked into the store, the lights were too bright and there were too many people milling around. Without asking, I blindly walked to the rear by the pharmacy and found the machine.

Now, mind you, when I was first put on the initial does of medication, my BP had skyrocketed to 228/156. When I was released 11 days later, I immediately saw my primary care physician and my BP was still elevated (165/110). What was eerie in both measurements was the fact that my heart rate was only around 56. My PCP decided to alter the medication I was discharged with from the hospital. He effectively doubled the dose of one (clonidine HCL from 0.1mg to 0.2 mg, but dropped it from, 3x/day to 2x/day), increased to dose of another (lisinopril from 30mg to 40 mg 1x/day) and added the HCTZ at 25mg 1x/day).

I sat in front of the machine and it turned out that my BP had dropped to 137/61, HR 72. The diastolic measurement concerned me as I thought that was a bit too low which might have explained how I was feeling. I drove back home, still trying to catch my breath and thought about calling my PCP in the morning. Went back to bed, read a little and actually experienced the feeling of being sleepy (hooray for me). Perhaps adding the Geodon to my bipolar cocktail might have made the difference. I actually got about five (count ‘em FIVE!!!) hours of uninterrupted sleep. I cannot even remember the last time that happened.

When I woke up, I decided to get my BP measured again before calling my PCP. Weird. It was back up to 150/95 HR 61. (I decided to purchase a BP wrist monitor while at CVS this morning to save on having to drive each time. The first reading, while still at the store, calibrated closely to their BP machine, so I was at least on a level playing field) Knowing it was still slightly elevated, I decided not to call my PCP and took all my meds this morning as prescribed. It has now been one hour. My BP is 112/66 HR 71. Perhaps my BP meds are stronger than they need to be. I’m going to take the rest of the BP meds today and monitor this closely and then possibly call my PCP tomorrow and ask if I should perhaps reduce my dosages.

Speaking of tomorrow, I have my second appt with my shrink. As far as he knows from the phone call he received from my therapist yesterday, I have been off my meds since last my discharge. While I did fill the scripts the shrink gave me on my first visit with him post discharge, I never bothered to take any of them (still in the “I don’t give a damn” mode). I am sure his first response is going to be along the lines of “Why won’t you help me be a better doctor to you?” What can I say? I am now willing to take my meds, continue with this outpatient program for this week and next, and then pick up with my individual therapist the following week.

Is this progress? I don’t know. I still feel resistant. I’m still in my “don’t give a damn” mode. I still face abject loneliness, utter sense of no worth, absolute pain over all the consequences arising from my actions throughout my life, and above all, I have no reason why I should be forced to continue this existence from which I want to be finally relieved. Nevertheless, in reality, what do I have to lose except my life, upon which I still place no value?©2009

Coping Mechanisms

I was suggested to use my various coping mechanisms when I get in these headspaces. I thought about some, and either they don’t work for me, or else, I don’t want them to work. Scalpels were often coping mechanisms when I was cutting, but that has long since been proved ineffective.

I have no recourse but to let this phase run its course—just don’t know for how long to prepare. Yes, it is true that suicide is more an upfront thought process with me lately. I spend more time grueling over the plan, if only to bolster my resolve. No, I am mot afraid to go through with it right at the moment; I rather like the idea—being anal-retentive that I am. It’s enough for me to just know that everything is ready to go when I come to this inevitable discovery.

I spend way too much time inside my head these days. That’s a very dangerous place to be as the thoughts come in racing so fast, that they just compound all of the thoughts that already existed.

My new coping mechanism: drinking enough to catch a buzz. The other day, I bought large bottles of 100 proof Southern Comfort, along with Ketel One Vodka, triple sec and Rose’s lime juice. I have always fancied Kamikazes and Vodka Gimlets. After just a couple of drinks, I was very lightheaded. My tolerance for ETOH is rather low. I’ve never had a drinking problem; in fact, I hardly drink alcohol very much at all. I wonder if this won’t yet be another harbinger of what is to come. I’ve known too many alcoholics that started out just this way; I want to avoid any possibility that the drinking could get out of control.

So, here I sit on a Sunday afternoon just waiting for the time to pass. Monday is looming too close for comfort.©2009

What's The Point?

I don’t even know why I bother with anything anymore. I’m getting so sick of always having to be the one who makes the calls, sends the birthday cards or other type of “thinking about you” type of cards. With the exception of only one other person in my life, my one friend, no one ever calls me.

After not hearing from my son for almost a month now (we used to talk2-3 times/week for about an hour each), I finally decided to call him. It was such a non call. Hell, he’s 26 and lives in Mesa in the same city as his father. All he talks about is how much he and his father gets together, how much his father supported his endeavors with the band. I’m just second banana these days. He dropped a bombshell on me by telling me his is no longer in the band, something he has, to date, invested all of his time and money. I never knew him to be happier. I asked him what happened and he said it was a serious of things and now they are looking for a new bass player. I asked him exactly what happened and he just repeated the same thing, so I said, “Is that all you’re going to tell me?” and he that was pretty much it. I was bothered by the fact that he had just plain quit calling me all of a sudden, and now he just doesn’t want to talk to me about the one most important thing in his life. So, I guess I’ve just been trivialized down to just a “somebody.” I’m tied of dealing with the way he treats me. I figure, I called him after not hearing from him for a month and now he won’t talk to me. Sounds too much like how the rest of my family treats me…like I don’t count. My son never even bothers to ever take the time to actually ask me how I am doing when we do talk, or take any interest in me whatsoever. Well, I’m not going to intrude in where I’m not wanted. I’ve pretty much already resigned myself to not having any family to count on, reply upon, or even pretty much to have a relationship with.

So much for being manic. That cycle lasted just over 36 hours. Now I’m downward spiraling again. You know, to just be plain blunt, I am pretty fed up with the way everyone treats me. I just seem to be an after thought with everyone. About the only one I can count on is myself. It’s ironic, if and when I do decide to end it all, there won’t be one fucking person that I would have made a difference enough to that would actually give a damn that I am no longer around. So what’s the point in going on. I hate my life, because I don’t have one. I work 10-12 hours a day alone in my home, and then just gravitate to another room in my house. I never have any plans to do stuff with anyone. I just sit home and stare at these four fucking walls. Is that the way my life is to be? Because that’s not what I call having a life. With the exception of one other person, I really don’t have any friends. There is no one for me to even call to make plans with. And my concept of family has disappeared.

I am damn tired of always being all alone. I’m just stuck with all these stupid thoughts in my head. It’s a pretty sad state affairs to realize that I don’t make a difference to anyone. I haven’t made one single contributing effect on anyone’s lives that I can remember. So, what’s the point of even dealing with others.

Went to church today. Snuck in right after the service opened up and scooted out the door before anyone could flag me down. Hell, if anyone was so damn interested, why the hell don’t they just pick up their fucking phone and call me? I missed last Sunday and no one bothered to even ask why. Well, I take that back, my pastor’s wife texted me just wondering where I had been and hoped I was doing OK.

I have no one to lean on, no one in my corner, no one who cares. And I’ve reached the point where I no longer give a damn. If I mattered to someone, I’d know it. And I don’t.

When I get into conversations with people about suicide, those who have never been in that space, can’t comprehend the multitude of reasons why someone would resort to that. They always seem to take a selfish stand. They always comment on how their actions were selfish because of what their actions did to everyone else. Well, fuck everyone else. It isn’t about them, it’s all about the person who is in that space.

Why have a seriously contemplated suicide before? There isn’t one exact answer, but it basically boils down to not caring about anything any more. I’m sick and tired of living this stupid life, such that it is. I really just don’t see the point of wrestling with these emotions any more. Nothing is ever going to get better; nothing is ever going to change. Hell, I’m 52. I can certainly see the handwriting on the walls. Nothing has changed for far too many years. The last time I recall actually being happy with my life was when I was in a relationship with someone. I wasn’t alone ad I had someone I could share my life with. That’s all gone now.

Having God in my life should be sufficient enough for me, but right now, that just doesn’t seem to fill that needed hole. All I’ve thought about today was just chucking my relationship with God and returning back to my old life. I already know that the two are mutually exclusive. I can’t imagine that God would want me to be as miserable and alone as I am, but there is nothing he can do about that, unless the bible is re-written removing any references to my life being an abomination before him.

I question everything in my life right now: what’s important, what counts, what makes the difference. I’m just so tired of being all alone with no one with which to share my life. No one to come home to. No one to make plans with, being with one person who knows me better than anyone else. Face it, I’m damaged goods. Who in hell would want to be saddled with someone like me anyway. My BP has become all-consuming and I am no longer capable of riding out these storms. And I would have to be a rapid cycler. At least if my cycles would last two-to-three weeks at a time, I could settle into a groove, but this time around he BP is all off the map.

Even going to church today meant nothing to me. The ironic thing is the topic the pastor was preaching could have been specifically for me considering what I’ve been wrestling with for the last four-six weeks, but the scripture references really didn’t do much for me. After we finished praise & worship, which is such a special part of the service for me, I just sat down and stared ahead counting down the time when I could get back home. And here I sit, back inside my four walls staring at nothing.

So, why bother any more? What’s the fucking point? ©2009

Suicide Watch #1

Please note, this carving action discussed in my earlier post was not a harbinger of things to come. As with past attempts of suicide, I would never cut my wrist. I know many folks who’ve survived. When I decide to end it all, I’m not going to simply OD on pills (note to self, I have well more than is needed to finishing it all off (which can theoretically be intervened with forcing that patient to down activated charcoal which causes many of the toxins to be immediately absorbed.).

No, this time, I a plan that is fool-proof (once before I was faced with these options and saw the red flag for what it was and called my physician which resulted in my immediate confinement to a psych ward). I’ve obtained injectable potassium chloride (KCl) which is third component of lethal injection (followed by Sodium Thiopental, a short-acting barbiturate, and then Pancuronium Bromide, a paralytic agent). I have also horded injectable insulin. Both of these drugs will certainly allow me to obtain the results I desire…with no turning back allowed. The upside is, if I prep everything just so because of the sudden reaction to the KCl and insulin, these drugs would not show up on a standard tox report if I were ever posted. No suicide action = life insurance policy for my son.


My suicide ideation is becoming a finely-honed. When the time does come, Ill be ready go. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I have severed all ties with the gay community and my family. My answering machine at home is off and I’ve disabled the vm feature on my cell. I’ve never had someone just pop over to my house; I only get one call from a friend of mine (who knows I am entering into this BP zone) from time to time. I work from my home office. Frankly, initially no one will miss me. My son hardly calls anymore, and since I had left the gay community, I have no strong social networking base. I could be dead for a week before someone would notice. That is what I am shooting for. No one will miss me except for one friend who had seen me through thick and thin this year. Yet, despite her many pleas to call her whenever I hit this crisis mode, I won’t. What folks don’t realize is that once your mind is made up there is no turning back. And the last thing I want to do is argue the unarguable.


It appears as though I am already embracing the task to end my life. I know in my heart that I can no longer handle the roller coaster ride and the abject despair and loneliness. This time I am going to be bold and set the motion is in play, whenever that moment comes to pass.©2009

9 Days In the Hole

Well, it’s been 9 days since I’ve been off my meds. Oh, yeah, the red flags are just awaving’. At first thought I’d bounce right into a manic phase, but that was short-lived. I am in a persistent mixed-state for the time being. The is the horrible catch-22 of BP. Racing thoughts accompanied by utter desolation. My sleep cycle hasn’t been affected except by voluntary action on my part. Late in the evening, I grow weary and should take the opportunity to just call it a day. However, I push back the eventual bedtime farther and farther back. It’s as if I don’t want to surrender even when I can barely keep my eyes open. I finally crashed at 0200 this morning and awoke at 0830 feeling sluggish and blurry. Certainly not refreshed. And, with me, once I’m awake, I’m outta bed. No snuggling in for me.

So, it’s Sunday morning. My day to go to church. I go because I need it for myself, but I’ve grown weary of having to put on my Ms Feelgood façade and interact. I will arrive about 5 minutes after the service should have started, but sometimes I am caught by surprise. The pastor doesn’t always start on time, and then sometimes I am forced to actually say something to someone. I wonder just how adept I will be at scooting out the door afterwards in my attempt to escape yet another interaction ordeal. I can’t, in all good conscience, be rude as I do care for these folks. However, they just don’t understand how badly I have to escape even 5 minutes of dealing with someone else. (well, I avoided Church altogether this morning. I had forgotten that today was their Fall Picnic. Too many people to deal with and I am so far out of my social skills that it would only create too much anxiety for me to actually socialize for 1.5-2.0 hours).

I should have seen the warning signs even back then. I was self-mutilating back then in my own attempt to mask the incredible pain I was feeling. And that time I really did quite a number on my arms I Am Bipolar, So Who Am I? I simple could not wrap my head around the desolation that led to self-mutilation. The pain I was experiencing was so very real, yet couldn’t handle it. The upside to self-mutilation allowed me to deflect the overwhelming, abject pain stemming from my emotional pain. Looking up-front to the horrific carvings, my mind no longer fixated on the emotional pain I could not understand and process.

My doctor raised a red flag of concern and I wouldn’t discuss it, so he quietly slipped me a script for an ant-depressive med (well before being diagnosed with BP). Little did he know that the anti-depressant would only open yet another opportunity to catapult me into my manic state) and upgraded my tetanus vaccine.
 I feel fortunate that my whole approach to this carving process was anal-retentive as it was, with my medical background for some years before, I searched and found all of the sterile scalpel blades and holders that I had accumulated over the years. My initial though process was that these blades would make excellent exacto blades. The day I was compelled to carve on my arms (winter time…long sleeves), these were the first instruments I sought out. Mean, face it, these blades (#11 and #15 specifically). Even a that moment of insanity, I chose a solution with minimal side-effects (e.g, no infections!).

I still have acute reflections of that whole process. I’d laid out the various blades still wrapped in their sterile wrapper, took of my shirt (heaven forbid I get one bloody) and prepped all of my forearms. You still see the hesitation marks that slowly built upon a level of determination to begin slicing and dicing. They were in parallel lines first, then went back to cut back crossing those brand new cuts now from a perpendicular fashion…I knew that these would be deep and sure. It simply did not phase me to see so much of my own blood. It was almost all I could to do to keep up with the pooling of blood.  In order to have a sense of control over this horrific direction I was headed. I called my then-counselor and asked her to come over my home so I could get rid of my instruments of destruction. I explained that my house had to a free-zone for me. Thus ending my illustrious history of the self-mutilation.©2009

Unimagined Sense of Loss

I sit here, unable to sleep even though I need to get up at the crack of dawn because I am so far behind in my work. And all of sudden I am hit by such a profound sense of loss... At the end of the day, I can take stock in my life and it really adds up to one big zero. I guess I’m not getting to experience the manic phase after all. Seems as though I am sliding right into the pits. It’s actually a mixed-phase for me. I can’t sleep, yet the wholly encompassing envelope of loneliness engulfs me, while at the same time of fighting off all these racing thoughts that never amount to anything. It’s as if my brain has been stuck in 11th gear with nowhere to go. The utter randomness of the racing thoughts are probably most disconcerting. It’s absolutely amazing that I can be in a room filled with people I know and still feel so estranged.

I feel that when I am in a room of people, especially those with whom I have a relationship of sorts, I am always on the outside looking in. I feel invisible. This is the beginning of my downward spiral, and I never know each time just how bad it will get. Suffice it to say, that now I am in this space, I will do nothing to extricate myself from it. I will only continue to burrow further down, keeping everyone at arm’s length. My rather cognizant brain has the capacity to tell myself that I can remove myself from this environment by choosing to engage with those around me. But, the sad fact is that there just isn’t anyone out there with whom I can engage. I really do not have a real friendship base.

The walls slowly begin to close in; my options slowly cease. I am left with nothing but the four walls of my house. Is this what I really have to look forward to as my life as I know it? I don’t know if I can survive my life like this one more time. I’ve been in this spot before and the solutions presented then to help me crawl up to the land of the living really didn’t offer me much hope. The majority of me is quite content to just sit in my four walls and never venture outside or interact with anyone else. And, at the same time, that realization causes me so much emotional pain. To feel all alone can be the most frightening feeling. Every day I find myself just slipping a little further from reality. My reality is what is inside these four walls and nothing else.

I feel myself slowly shutting down—distancing myself from everything. My answering machine is off; my cell phone vm is disabled. I have effectively begun to build my walls where I can keep everyone out. I have completely cut myself off from my family of origin to even include my son. I just simply want to be left alone. I find it to be quite an oxymoron. When there are those who are hurting at church, it’s all I can do to just want to take them into my arms and show them God’s love. In those moments, I want to give of myself to help someone else.

But my disease is invisible. No one can perceive the profound loss and sadness I feel. No one understands bipolar for all its implications and trappings. I just want so much for someone to see the pain I feel and reach out to me, but part of the façade is to never let anyone in. Catch-22. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Maybe I’m just a phony. Maybe I really don’t have anything to offer someone who is hurting. I want to, but would it ever be received? As I sit here tonight, I feel hopeless, unable to help myself, unable to help anyone else, and most importantly, totally unable and unwilling to receive anything from someone else. What can they offer me? No one knows the dark corners of my mind, and the room dims with every growing minute.©2009

Yet Another Stab

       It’s been over two years since I made an entry. Why now? What thrust me in this direction? I just spent a couple of hours re-reading all of my entries and viewing the various comments. Some of the comments really surprised me after all this time. Evidently, with some of my entries, I hit a chord with some people. After reading them, there was a part of me that wished I could email them and ask what they had been up to since reading my blog. I wanted to ask them if they ever came back to my blog at a later time only to discover that I had stopped writing.

       Why did I stop writing? In 2007 I wrote furiously. There was this thirst inside of me that could only be quenched by putting words to all of the raw emotions flooding through me. Did I stop having emotions? Why did I shut down? What happened that suddenly quieted my frenzied thoughts? As I look back, I simply realized that I no longer felt creative; I had lost the desire to capture my experiences, thoughts, feelings in words. What fueled that torrid fury of creation just suddenly disappeared. I lost the impetus—the drive—to write.

       So why now? What changed in my life to draw me back to my keyboard? I guess everything. Did my life stop for two years? No. But I didn’t feel I had anything worth to say that merited the energy. In fact, I only have hazy memories of the intervening time. Yet, today, a simple phone call immediately pulled me into a downward, hurtling spiral that opened up so many other memories—emotions—from my past.

       This year has been, perhaps, one of the most difficult times in my life. In response to the general downward-trending movements in the economy, my company decided to reorganize in February. All that meant to me was entering into a frozen period of time just waiting for the Sword of Damocles to fall upon me. There is nothing so stressful than going to work each day just waiting to get “the phone call.” For three months, every single day, I had no idea if I would live to see another day of employment. Then the wait was over. My phone rang. CallerID told me it was my manager.

       You see, I work for a huge multinational company. Everyone in my area worked from a home office. Our teams were scattered all over the place. For two years, I worked like this. It was strange at first. I no longer had an office to which to report. Technology made this venue occur quite insidiously. Being able to VPN into the corporate network allowed all of us to be connected. We all were a simple ping away. Who needed phones when you could just ping someone online and get an instant conversation? Integrated audio and data conferencing allowed all of us to come together and work as a team. We could all join a meeting and share documents via a collaborative sharing application. My manager was so not a micro-manager. He left us all to our own devices, as he knew we were all good at what we did. We kept him in the loop when needed (as he put it, often enough just to keep him out of hot water); otherwise, I never had much one-on-one contact with him. He rarely initiated personal contact with me. In fact, when we did talk, I usually called him.

       Then he called. I let it ring a few times, quite hesitant to discover the purpose of the call. Needless to say, my worst fears were realized. There was no build up to the announcement; he simply told me that he had some bad news. There…the cat was out of the bag. My mind was reeling. I didn’t hear anything else he had to say. I had lost my job. Whoa, slow down…take a breath. I needed to pay attention. He told me that I would be given a 60-day grace period with which to find another position at my company if I could qualify.

       He said good-bye. I remember placing the handset back on the cradle, just staring straight ahead. I had been continually employed since 1993. I hadn’t job hunted in 16 years. I had no idea where to start. My head was swimming. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the rest of the day was a complete wash. And, to add insult to injury, I received my official notice from HR via email. The subject line: Surplus Notification Letter. They were kind enough to notify me that, due to the recent reorganization, there was no longer a position for me at the company. The document was actually 25 pages long (it’s quite amazing how the corporate entity cushions itself with legal trappings). Forms to fill out, pages to sign and notarize, specific steps I had to take to ensure my severance package (and that, in itself, was quite a joke). Gone were the days of putting in your 20 or 30 years and then retiring with the gold watch. No such thing as loyalty. What a cost-savings measure to make sure a company never held onto any of their employees long enough to invest a sizeable pension.

       I was numb for about a week. Then I pulled out my résumé. Fortunately, I had been keeping it up-to-date, so there was not an inordinate amount of work to prepare. But the employment landscape, I soon discovered, had altered quite dramatically during those 16 years. What the hell was a “functional” résumé? All of a sudden, I was attending workshops in how to “strategically” look for a new job. I laughed—quite inappropriately, I might add—when I realized just how crowded these workshops were. I was stuck in quicksand. I was so ill prepared for this journey, and my tank was absolutely empty.

       The weeks flew by. There was nothing locally. Hell, there was nothing nationally. All of the positions posted on my company’s Intranet were totally out-of-reach. What was actually rude was to find my title out there posted (one of 47 positions in that category). But when I read the description, all of a sudden my job description required all of these new technical certifications. I had become obsolete. That directly affected my marketability across the board as I faced this same situation with every other company that had openings in my area. It had become an employer’s market. Companies could now command top-notch requirements at high school graduate’s pay. Oh, I was very qualified at what I did and was damn good at it. But everyone changed the rules. Despite my college degree and years of experience, I was reduced to barely even qualify for a glorified secretary position.

        Those 60 days were speeding by. I had nothing to show for it. However, not all was lost. I actually had a friend that had worked for the company for 30 years (started right out of high school and worked her way up). With two weeks to go, she called me up and told me that her department had just been authorized by HR to open up two positions. She encouraged me to go online and view the posting and said that she felt I could do this job with my eyes closed. It was true, I had all of the necessary skills, but it was in an arena vastly different from where I came. What the hell, I had nothing to lose. I posted for it. In three days, that hiring manager called me at 1600 and indicated that he read my online résumé and asked me if I was interested in interviewing for the job. Like I’m gonna say no??? He said that he would have to interview me later that day as he would be going out of town the following day and would not be returning until after I was off the payroll. He was on the West Coast, so he said he would call me at 1900 my time.

        At 1845, I brought a large bottle of cold water into my office and just stared at the phone. I hadn’t been in an interview since 1992. During the time leading up to 1900 I put pen to paper to justify how my experience spoke to the specific job skills they were looking for. I even came up with a few important questions. While I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, I wasn’t willing to take a job for which I was not prepared and qualified. It turned out that I was going to be tag-teamed interviewed with another manager (ah, the glory of the conference call feature). The interview went surprisingly well. I had a solid answer to all of the questions and received thorough answers to my questions. I was intrigued. All of a sudden, I did want that job and I knew I could exceed their expectations. 45 minutes later, I hung up the phone.

        I leaned back in my chair afraid to breathe. My heart was skating across my chest. Here it was approaching 2000 and there was just no way was I going to calm down and relax by my normal bedtime. As 2200 approached, I was sufficiently relaxed to sleep, sort of. When I walked into my office the next morning and logged in, I felt as if I was in limbo. Only three more days to go before I was unemployed. There really wasn’t anything for me to do. I had already turned over all of my responsibilities to other folks. The phone was quiet all day and the only emails I received were the inane corporate-wide announcement-type memos. The day crawled by unmercifully. After the requisite eight hours (at the height of my job, I never worked less than a ten-hour day), I logged off.

        Do you know what the first thought I had when I walked out of my office? I just simply wanted to roll a fat number and get high. Hadn’t thought about doing that in quite some time. Ever since the employment environment changed to requiring random drug tests, I quit smoking pot. What a sad state of affairs. Well, the point was moot; I certainly didn’t have any stash. At that moment, I fondly recalled what I told my son he had to give me as a retirement present—at least a quarter-pound of fine golden buds (oh, excuse me, my son once corrected my vocabulary on this subject. It was no longer buds vs. shake; it was nuggets vs. shwag. Gone were the four-fingered lids, and certainly gone were the four-fingered lids for $20…LOL. Anyway, I digress).

        The next morning my manager called me and let me know that HR had contacted him. That hiring manager decided to extend me the job offer. I was as much in a state of shock as I had been almost 60 days previously when he announced my lay off. I could finally exhale. My new position would become effective the day after my 60-day grace period—a seamless transition. I would begin a serious training program almost immediately. The amazing part was the fact that I would continue to receive the exact same salary and would still be an at-home employee. With the exception of a completely new job experience, absolutely nothing would change.

        Well, I have been in this new position now for seven weeks. It’s going to be an intensive job—a lot of hard work and long hours, but what a joy I feel in being able to get up in the morning and look forward to walking down the hallway to my office. The sword has been removed. No, the market has not suddenly changed for the better—there are far too many people without jobs. But I can face each day with a little bit more security than I had before.

        Oh, and about that phone call I received today that started this writing frenzy—recalling this incredible experience gave me a chance to put those all-of-a-sudden tenuous emotions welling up inside of me on hold. That story will have to wait for another day. Suffice it to say, it feels really satisfying to be able to sit at my keyboard again and be able to tell my story.©2009

Crossing the Bridge

You’ve made a decision, one you thought was correct
And honored it with every thought, word and deed
Although the process was hard, steep and rocky
You stuck to your guns and dug your heels in

At first, once the deed was complete, all seemed fine
You knew in your heart it was the best thing to do
You surrounded yourself with what affirmed your position
Which bought you protection you knew you would need


You dove yourself in your new world with a fervor
With that very same passion from that which you left
You were supported and provided with compulsory tools
For this transformation from the old world to the new

Well, life comes at you hard, the tools must be used
But leaving the life you once only knew
Spelled a series of troubles that came unannounced
And set yourself up to rethink your position

You’ve lost your old life and the new one’s too fresh
With the exception of two, do they know who you are
You’ve lifted your veil and removed the façade
But all of this pales to the life you once had

You’re alone charting waters so foreign and distant
You suddenly realize you want what you had
Those relationships and friends that held you together
And your old haunts are tugging for all your attention

Immediately you struggle back to the top of that path
And are standing so squarely at the fork in the road
You look down that broad side so cleanly and crisp
And teeter so slightly at making that step

It’s oh so inviting this choice to be sure
That will ease up that heartache with nary a thought
Those friends that can surround you and regale you with ease
The very same ones you left in the dust

The anguish you feel at the end of the day
You’re much alone with no one to share
The minutiae that life bring into your being
The void that is created is too much to bear

So which way do you turn at this fork in the road
Do you follow the truth and head down the hard path
Or choose the familiar of that which you knew
Whatever the choice there will be consequences for sure

©2007

The Price of Peace

The flowers melt in the field
Their colors fading into the background
Carried by the wind

The grass turns burnt umber,
Just like in the 64 Crayola crayon box,
Eaten by worms, grubs and crickets

The trees shrivel into gnarled knots of wood
Their branches splitting and falling to the ground
Swallowed whole by the evil trench around the trunk

The sounds of laughter are quickly clipped like fingernails
Replaced instead by discordant pitches of wails
Crushing the eardrums and painful to hear

The hopscotch squares are empty—its marker left alone
The marbles are scattered everywhere
With its cat’s-eyed shooter off in the distance

The jump ropes lie dormant by themselves on the ground
Just empty sneakers tangled in the lines
And their laces flung in every direction

The mind is hollow
No thoughts to fill its empty void
The holocaust of war—its price has been paid
©2007

Abject Uselessness

Ire
Bile
Fury
Rage
Spite
Angst
Anger
Wrath
Hatred
Vitriol
Frenzy
Malice
Cruelty
Enmity
Disgust
Temper
Anxiety
Ferocity
Brutality
Intensity
Hostility
Violence
Agitation
Revulsion
Irritability
Bitterness
Animosity
Fierceness
Aggression
Detestation
Destruction
Vehemence
Resentment
Abhorrence
Viciousness
Antagonism
Repugnance
Belligerence
Malevolence
Confrontation

They say that bipolar patients deal with depression
Quite the contrary, depression is but the open door
To the invitation of this list of nouns
Note that depression is not listed once

At the height of my depression
I experience a wild and rage-filled range of emotions
I am capable of behaving with quite a wide option of choices
All of it dependent upon where I am at the moment of fracture

Depression for me is not an emotion I simply ease into
Like a lazy pair of fluffy bedroom slippers at the end of the day
Rather, coming down from my manic high, it is something that I snap into
Like a well-oiled socket into a large textured wrench

Ever vigilant at work or in public
I can seethe quite effectively behind closed doors
It’s when I am in the confines of my home all alone
That these attributes can solely be exhibited

I’ve destroyed prized possessions and memorable pieces
Annihilated relationships with friends and family alike
Even most recently demolished my most precious attachments—
My son and my immediate family

They don’t understand the voices in my head
That dictate to me when and how to demolish the intended target
All they see is the abject anger directly pointed at them
And, in return, reply in kind by cutting me off at the knees

At this point in my life I truly am all alone
I choose this state voluntarily
Oh, I know there are spiritual venues I could travel
But I don’t go down that road—it only sets me up for heartache

In one fell swoop I can be filled with praise and worship and at the drop of a hat
Be filled with the most incredible anger and resentment
Feelings because of the unknown
Feelings because I’m tired of the state my life is in

I have simply had my fill of all the crap I can take
No manic phase is going to change the facts of my situation
I’ve tried to be faithful in this so called wilderness—my storm
But all I get is a closed door that is slammed in my face

It’s the anger that keeps me going, fueling my passion for repulsion
There is too much energy invested in this emotional upheaval
What some would say could be a precursor to suicide
Is simply my outlet to destroy all that is within me

Suicide is the easy way out. One can’t vent the enormity—
The extent—to which these emotions rise to the back of my throat
No, I want to feel each and every one
And savor the pureness of the moment of absolute desolation
©2007