Give a Shit

Recently, I read a post by Mark Manson called The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck.  In it, he argues that fucks should be conserved and not given over especially trivial things. Fucks are valuable, and should only be given to things that are truly worthy of being given a fuck over. Essentially, he is saying “don't sweat the small stuff.” I urge you to read his piece, even though it makes my writing look very amateurish next to it, but I don't give a fuck.

And while I think he is right, to get ahead and make something of yourself, you have to let go and just not give a fuck. But you SHOULD give a SHIT. While fucks are precious and limited, shits are filthy and should be given, expelled even.

Not giving a fuck means plowing through the hard times, putting your shoulder to the grindstone (whatever) and just getting on with it. I guess the Brits would say “Carry on” right after advising to “Keep Calm”, but they always were more civilized than we 'Mericans.

Not giving a shit, though, means you have just given up. “I just don't give a shit” is what you say when you DON'T do something you should: The snow is piling up on your side walk, the grass is 10 inches tall, you haven't opened your mail in three months, etc. You don't do these things because you just don't give a shit anymore.

I can't remember when I first started not giving a shit. Certainly, there were certain things at a very young age I just didn't give a fuck about, such as the kids reaction to my proclivity for tweed caps in jr high. But at the same time I didn't give a shit about my things, and would often mistreat them through negligence. It just wasn't important to me to whether or not my Star Wars action figures were in pristine condition 20 years in the future when they would be worth something. To me, they were worth something then, when I played with them and enjoyed the hell out of them. I didn't give a shit about books. Books were to be read, spines were to be broken. Because of that, I never got nice hard cover books. But I sure as hell tried to keep my records in pretty good shape, mostly I guess because otherwise they would be unplayable.

Certainly, as I grew older, I started giving a shit much more often. I would pay attention to things like getting the part in my hair just the way I liked it. I started taking pride in how well my yard looked after I mowed it. When I first bought my house, I tried to keep it neat and organized. 

My niece complains about my "walls of text", so lets

take a moment and enjoy this quality product advertisement. 

 

 

But, as you know if you have been a long time reader (okay, long time being 6 weeks or so)  of Missives and Mischief, I have had some issues with mood disorders. Mostly mine, but other peoples' too, from time to time. The worst of it happened after I first sought help, though. I was put on meds designed to “stabilize” my mood, not on anti-depressants. They were afraid to prescribe those, as it might push me into a manic phase. Many bi-polars that quit taking their meds do so because they miss the manias. But stabilize me they did. I didn't feel depressed, and I was so relieved to not feel depressed that for a very long time I didn't realize that I didn't feel anything.

Over time, I became apathetic about almost everything. I just didn't give a shit anymore. I didn't give a shit about my yard. I didn't give a shit about my house. Nor my dishes. Nor whether or not I took a shower or had particularly clean clothes. I stopped writing my blog, sure, but I also stopped writing rants and raves on Facebook. I stopped posting at all, or even checking it. That doesn't sound so bad, until you realized that was my biggest social outlet.

I stopped giving a shit about my girlfriend.

That one I really didn't notice. I failed to notice it so much that I argued with her that I was improving and doing better. But really, I just didn't give a shit. When she left I acted pissed a bit more than I was, cause you're supposed to. I wasn't even that pissed when she stared dating one of my best friends. I was hurt, I felt betrayed, but I wasn't exactly pissed. However, it did depress me even more, even if the drugs didn't let me feel it.

I so much didn't give a shit that I didn't check my mail for months, and missed an appointment. I didn't see the letter saying I had to contact them by a certain date or I would be dropped from the program until the day after the deadline. That I really didn't give a shit about. When I ran out of meds, I just stopped taking them.

Again, my niece doesn't like so much text.  Kids these days, amiright?  

Some things changed a bit after that. One day I noticed that something sad and moving on the TV actually moved me, just a bit. On another day, I noticed I was actually happy for like five minutes. Slowly, my moods were returning. But I still didn't give a shit about anything that I should have.

Last spring I finally started to come out of it a bit. I started to engage with friends, and found some purpose in just being there for others, to be a support in my own humble way. I even discovered I had acquired some wisdom, but I'm not sure how the hell that happened. I wasn't recovering enough to save my house from the bank or anything, but maybe a new start in a new place would be the ticket.

To some degree it was, but not enough. I was still on auto-pilot for many things. The depression came back big time, and I knew I had hit bottom. There simply was no other place to go.

As I've mentioned elsewhere, I have sought help again. I am on anti-depressants, I am exercising, I am looking for work (and have found part time work) and I am taking better care of myself.

I tell you, dear reader, all of this for one reason only. Its not for you to feel sorry for me in anyway. Its so that you understand where I'm coming from, and that I know of what I speak. I am telling you all of this in case you are going through something remotely like what I am, so that you know you are not the only one, and that there is hope for a change for the better. (okay, that's more than one reason, but I don't give a fuck)

It is not only important to give shits, it is vital! If you keep all your shits, you will be full of shit and a complete shithead, and eventually you will be a piece of shit.  

Give a shit about yourself. Give a shit about what you put into your body and in your mind. Give a shit how you treat your body and your mind. Give a shit about the people you spend time with, not only about the way you treat them, but the way they treat you. Give a shit about your environment, how you treat it and how it treats you.*

When you give all these shits, you will feel much, much better. Just remember to wipe!

 The Beatles need no reason.

As usual, please leave comments below.  Once again, I seem to have at least some occasional readers in the UK, Ireland, and other ports of call in Europe.  So, where ever you are, I'm curious who's actually reading this stuff.  If just bots, so be it, but if actual sentient beings are reading it, just drop a one word (or more) comment about where you hang your hat. 

*I'm not talking about the hippy tree hugging sense of environment, although you should give a shit about that tool. I'm talking about your personal environment, your home, your work station, your car, whatever. You figure out the details.

Limb by Limb

Really, the cover art is the worst thing about this album. 

I've been talking a lot about my experiences with cyclothymia lately. That hasn't been my intent, but if you remember my post about the mania part of bi-polarism, there is (at least for me) some amount of obsessioning that goes on. (If Bill Shakespeare could just make up words to suit his needs, then I can too, dammit!) In fact, I had intended to write a whole series of music reviews of albums that came out in 2014. I even have extensive notes on one of them. But since I have the notes, I don't have to worry about forgetting what I wanted to say, and thus it can wait. The ideas for these more personal blogs seem more pressing, and also possibly fleeting, so here we are.

As is often the case, the idea or inspiration for how to say what I have to say came to me from a song. In this case, it is Limb by Limb by Phish. It's off their 1998 album The Story Of The Ghost. Most Phish fans will say all their studio works pale in comparison to the live jams, and of their studio albums, this is among the least liked. So, of course, it is my favorite of theirs. Not only that, taken as a whole artistic unit, it is probably my favorite album released between 1974 and 2002. (It was a rather low period for the album in those years, IMHO).

Anyway, the track Limb by Limb has many bits that I find exceptionally relatable, but I'm going to concentrate just on the chorus here. It reads:

Drop me off the Chinese Wall

And peel my fingers off the rim

I come unglued while in mid-air

And land to reform limb by limb

I think this describes exactly how what I have been going through in just four lines. Two lines, really. Maybe you can even boil it down to two words, unglued and reform. The functional part, though, the part that really helps to understand the process, is Limb by Limb. One step at a time is how you do it. Sometimes very, very small steps.

I've learned some important lessons recently. Part of what I've learned is that all those busy body know-it-all optimists that tell you to “just do it” are right. Sort of. What they are missing, at least for me, is specific instructions. That is what this post is in the end all about.

If you are anything like me, when you are in a depression, it is no exaggeration to say that EVERYTHING looks impossible. Nothing seems worth doing, nothing seems like it could possibly do any good, and most of it even seems undoable. What you are fighting the most is yourself and the excrement covered spectacles that you are seeing your life through. How can this attitude be changed?

I am living proof that it can change (at least in the short term. I'm sure I have a lot of work ahead of me to maintain it in the long term). However, I am not a writer of self help schlock, nor to I buy into hardly any of it at all. What I am about to reveal is what worked for me. I suspect it will work for many others, too, but who knows? I also know that I can't even begin to give you the whole story, that it is much much harder to get started than it appears to be here, and that everybody knows that Round Room is obviously the worst Phish album, period.

Really, the cover art is the best thing about this album. 

Here was my situation. My depression had contributed to me loosing yet another job, and I was living on the edge anyway. I had just recently learned that I had had a heart attack sometime in the past. This would explain why I had no stamina at all and would lose my breath after just a few seconds exertion. I had no self esteem nor confidence. I wasn't quite a hermit, but I was definitely pre-agoriphobic. I felt no sense of place or purpose. I hadn't created hardly anything in years, and worse yet had no ideas at all about how to fix any of it.

I essence, I only had to rebuild three things from scratch: my body, my mind, and my for lack of a better word, soul. To say the least, it was an overwhelming transformation I saw before me. That was in October. Today, less than 3 months later, things look much different. I have not fixed everything yet to be sure, but now it doesn't seem so daunting. I have made much progress.

For my body, I have lost 20 lbs and a few inches (!) round my belly. I can now exercise for about an hour with gym equipment, and I can lift some weights. On New Years Eve, I was able to dance for about 20 minutes, and could have gone on longer if the band hadn't quit. So, big improvements!

My mind: I have written several blog posts in the last month, and created three videos as part of an experiment in teaching myself video editing. I have even come up with a five year plan on how to start my own business. A lot has to happen first, but for the first time in my life I have an answer to “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

My “Soul”. I feel great. I have the confidence to imagine my business. I feel like I could be successful once I land a job. But beyond that, I am building an idea of who I am and where I fit.

Now, for the actual advice. How did I do any of this? One step at a time, limb by limb.

My first piece of advice is to recognize what you have done. Don't so much look at all the shit you haven't done. You know what you haven't done. But what you may be missing, what I was, is the acknowledgment of what you did you. Look, if you wash you dishes, or organize a book shelf, or give your shoulder to a friend in distress, then tell yourself so. Acknowledge that you did it, and give yourself a moment to enjoy that fact.

In order to maximize the likelihood of this acknowledgment, start keeping a list of things you want to do. Keep it simple at first, don't write down big long term goals like “lose 100 pounds” or “get a 50K job”. No, make it just a list for tomorrow, and make it concrete, things that YOU have to DO. Like, for example, make breakfast and take your pills. Those are the first things on my list every day. Then put what you actually want to do tomorrow, such as clean bedroom, do laundry, apply for three jobs, go to the store, whatever. The very last thing on your list should be to write the next day's list.

The beauty of the list is that it helps you to stay on track, but most importantly, it lets you cross things off. Every time you do cross something off is a chance for you to say, I did that! Great! Pat yourself on the back!

One of the hard things about this is that it seems too small to matter, and even if it did matter, it can be almost impossible to know what exactly to do. In essence, major depression totally messes with your ability to make decisions. If this describes you, my best bit of advice is to find ways to take the decisions out of your hands. Find deciders for you, and just do what they tell you to do for a bit.

There were a few times that I let this happen, and it has always been to my benefit recently. Because somebody told me to ask about my heart at a doctor's visit, I found out about my heart attack. My best choice then was to insist to my cardiologist that he get me into a rehab program, because I knew if left to my own devices I would never get off my ass. I also knew that if I had an appointment when I just had to be there, I could do that. Once in the rehab gym, all I had to do was follow directions.

Another time was when I was about to become homeless. Maybe I could go live with mother, maybe my grandmother, maybe my father. I really couldn't care any less at the time. I was at bottom, and had no higher cognitive abilities at all. I just told my mom to deal with it. I eventually was told that I would stay with my dad, and that there would be “rules”. Rather than be put off by the revelation, I was relieved. I knew that I could benefit from structure and supervision. I now keep things around me cleaner. I am doing laundry more often, and all my clothes get properly put away. I clean the bathrooms every week. I clean up in the kitchen right away, and a bunch of other things. I'm doing all these things because my dad wants them done, but I know that they are habits that will serve me well in the future.

After a week or two in his house, something occurred to me, and it struck me like a bolt. It was so profound that I printed it up in bold large font letters and hung it over my monitor, so I see it all the time. It is one of the best lessons I ever figured out on my own. The sign simply says this: Some things you have to care about simply because others care about them.

One of the best things my dad has done for me is to put me in charge of his e-Bay project. He inherited a few dozen never worn wrist watches and some other things two years ago. He hasn't had the time to sell them on e-Bay, and asked me to look into it. This project has allowed me to use writing skills, photography, and organization. It's also given me a lot to cross off of to do lists.

The last example of just following orders I want to mention is that real early on in this process, a friend of mine got real frustrated with my attitude. She told me to tell her every day three things that I did that day for myself. I forgot about it right away, of course, but she asked me the next day. After that, I was forced to think about things I had done each and every day for about two weeks. That was the start of the first step I mentioned way back up there. All these things happened because I was smart enough to see that for a time at least, I was much better off listening to other people's commands rather than my own.

My last bit of advice is to seek professional help. I really don't know how much of my recent improvement is from the exercise, from the doing of things, or from the anti-depressants I'm on. I'm sure each of those things have had some impact, so I can't discount the drugs at all. Be careful about what you let them put you on. Or, at least, monitor exactly what effects the drugs seem to be having, and if they are bad, then let somebody know! But that's later. First, make the call. If you have a doctor, get an appointment. If you don't, or you have no insurance, call the crisis center in your town and get into the system.

So, in summary, do things no matter how small. The best small thing is to make a list. Next, cross things off that list and KNOW that you have done something. And if you can't decide what exactly to do, find somebody that you trust and do whatever they tell you to do. After a bit, and in less time than you think, you will have come farther than you thought you could. While the journey is long, it probably won't seem as daunting. You will get better, step by step and you will reform, limb by limb. 

For part one, go to Cyclothymia

For part two, go to I Don't Know and I Don't Care 
For part three, go to I Get Up I Get Down.

I get up, I get down

It was the day of my 19^th birthday, mid March 1989. It was a cold, drizzly, rainy day. Not at all unusual for my birthday, unless of course we get snow. It just so happened that there was a used record sale happening at the K of C, and for once I was connected to the world enough to actually know about it. I think I got L.A. Woman that day, and I know I picked up Close to the Edge by Yes. Even after a quarter of a century, the three songs that make up that album still quicken my heart and transport me to a magical place. But with lines like “A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace and rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace,” the lyrics didn't exactly connect with me.

However there is a refrain in the song: “I get up, I get down”. For years I sang along with this part, just like the rest of the song, only thinking about it as a lyrical line, notes to be sung with words just because. But recently, I've been thinking a lot about my metal state, not grace, and certainly not my liver rearranged by a seasoned witch. But with cyclothymia, “I get up, I get down” is just about the most succinct way of putting it. In one of my recent posts, I talked a bit about what it is like in the down phase, the depression of bi-polar light. Today, I want to talk a bit about the upside and the cycles.

To recap, cyclothymia is on the bipolar spectrum. It is sometimes called bipolar III or bipolar light. I introduced it here, and talked about the depression aspect of it here. Wikipedia describes the manic phase this way:

Hypomanic episodes. Symptoms of the hypomanic episode include unusually good mood or cheerfulness (euphoria), extreme optimism, inflated self-esteem, rapid speech, racing thoughts, aggressive or hostile behavior, lack of consideration for others, agitation, massively increased physical activity, risky behavior, spending sprees, increased drive to perform or achieve goals, increased sexual drive, decreased need for sleep, tendency to be easily distracted, and inability to concentrate.[2]

Around Thanksgiving my mood started to improve a lot. That week I had to vacate my apartment (that I had just moved into the previous May) and move into my dad's place. I had been working out at cardiac rehab three times a week for about a month by then, and I had been taking anti-depressants for just over two weeks. So, why did my mood improve? A change in environment? External chemicals? Exercise? Internal chemistry? Getting out and being proactive (the act of moving itself) about something? I don't know. It could have been any of those things. I believe it was several or all of these factors playing together. Maybe it's as simple as having reached bottom, and having no other place to go.


So, now that I'm up, am I in a mania? I don't really know. Of the symptoms listed above, I have or have had all of the first five in the last few weeks. For example, I actually had this exact thought as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at rehab: Send me to Mars because I am just too damn good looking for this planet! Now, I don't actually believe that, but I did think it. As far as the other signs go, I've experienced most or all of them in the past, and a few of them recently. But, here's the thing.... remember that Doors song, I've Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me? Are my symptoms at the level of mania or just what normal people feel like from time to time? I mean, does my mood feel extra elevated because it is or recently has been, or because its just so much higher than it was?


A lot of bipolar types go off their meds because they miss the manias. As I stated earlier, I became very zombie like on my original meds, and just didn't have the vocabulary to express it to my care giver. He told me that I was just experiencing what it felt like to be among the mortals now like a normal human being, where as before I was more like Superman. I don't know if I was ever Superman, but I do know I am much more productive sometimes and much less so at others. One of my NPC's toyed with the idea of putting me on anti-depressants, but he was too concerned about pushing me into a mania. I really wished he had.

Seriously, though, that is a concern, and one that I am on the look out for right now. Manias can be very, very destructive, including huge spending sprees and gambling losses. Luckily, I have never gambled, and I have no money or credit with which to spree right now, so I guess that's good?


Just like there are different levels of the down side, there are different levels of up, too. I started trending up around turkey day, and by mid December, I was most definitely at a recent high point. By a few days before Christmas, I had leveled off and mellowed a bit, and just the last two days now I think I am rising again, but not as fast. This move from depression to happiness is at least the third major mood shift this year.


What's it like for me to be in the up cycle? Well, there is both good and bad, but (naturally) it feels a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

• My brain is much more active. Maybe too much so sometimes. Ideas and inspirations come a lot easier. Not only do I feel like writing more, I feel like I have so much more to say. Topics and angles on the topics just come to me. I have much more productive dialogs my head. So creativity is way up.
• However, that can lead to racing thoughts. I can't always concentrate on just one thing at a time, and I can get easily distracted. Boredom sets in a lot easier. This can make writing or even reading much more difficult. A task has to be just the right amount of hard. Too easy, and my mind wanders, too hard and I get frustrated and seek something else to focus on.
• Speaking of focus, this leads quite easily to obsessions, both major and minor, if an obsession can ever be called minor. Once a thought get stuck in your brain, it can just stay there, played on a loop for minutes or even days at a time. In my case, the thought is usually a word or phrase that just gets stuck on a loop. It is a very non-productive use of brain cells. However, sometimes a task or objective becomes the obsession. This could lead to great things, such as 12 hour long writing sessions where a planetarium script goes from a vaguely researched topic to a well constructed and logically laid out nearly final product, or combing through hours of band rehearsals to edit down a half a dozen songs to present to my guitar player.
• But sometimes the boredom wins and I can't find anything to satisfactorily sink my teeth into. The result looks just like what happens when I'm down: lots of TV and web surfing, but the causes are very different. When I'm in a funk, the TV and Youtube provide a distraction from my negative thoughts and life, and let me exist. When I'm up, I am just seeking input to occupy as many neurons as possible.
• Of course, this means I can't really control my thoughts unless I am concentrating. So, falling asleep is an issue. I've learned to keep reading material in my bedroom at all times. Of course, finding the right thing to read is sometimes problematic (see above) but at best it calms my brain enough to let me drift off to sleep. At worst, I get a lot of reading done. The other thing I usually need is music all night, as that can also let my brain focus on something and calm it down.

And finally, I just feel good. I have energy. I don't loath going out or talking with people (as much?). I get stuff done. Granted, it's not always the stuff I was supposed to be doing, but still, it's stuff. And it gets done. That's better than a poke in the eye. But there is such a thing as feeling too good. A swagger can turn into cockiness. An eagerness to interact with others can turn into carelessness about what you say and how you say it. In other words, it can lead to social disasters.

In the end, everything is so much better on the mania side of neutral than the depression side. I have confidence to try things. I'm much more productive and creative. I take much better care of myself. There are dangers, though. Things can be taken too far. Feelings can get hurt. Recklessness can wreck things. 
 
My goal here is to stay on the daylight side of my moon terminator as much as possible, while avoiding high noon if I can.

As usual, there is so much more that I wanted to say, but I am now on page three of my draft, and that's long enough (too long?) for any readers I might have. As most any creative person knows, projects are never “completed”, just abandoned when time runs out. I really want to post this yet this year, and have to edit it and make it look nice before I get called out to be a taxi service tonight, New Years Eve. So, if I make it, and this has a date of 31-Dec-2014 on it, congratulate me on a successful abandonment, and have yourself a damn fine New Year!

For part one, go to Cyclothymia

For part two, go to I Don't Know and I Don't Care 
For part four, go to Limb by Limb 

I Don't Know and I Don't Care

The other day I posted a blog about my being diagnosed with cyclothymia, or bipolar light. I ended it with a link to The Doors' “I've Been Down So Goddamn Long That it Looks Like Up To Me”. I never really knew how true that could be until just a few weeks ago. I had just started cardiac rehab (details about how my life has pretty much hit rock bottom in a later blog, just roll with it for now) and they screened me for depression. I scored high (or low?) enough that they had me take a follow up. It asked questions just about the previous 7 days. Now, I felt that I had had a pretty good week, mood wise. Not wonderful, to be sure, but I was feeling much better than my recent average. It was a self tally quiz, so I added up my score. Anything over a 16 was cause for major concern. I scored 30.

Yup, on what I thought was a good week, I nearly doubled the “holy shit get yourself some help” bar. I laughed my ass off! For like five minutes. It was the best damn belly laugh I'd had in years. To me, this was so funny, but funny in the sense of it's much better to laugh than cry kind of way. So, I made an appointment with my PCP and got on some anti-depressants. Maybe they're working now, maybe its the exercise I've been getting at rehab, or maybe its just my chemistry, but I am feeling much, much better now. Good enough to write again.

In this blog, we are going to talk about what it's like to be in a low. For me, at least. I can't say what others go trough, exactly. It isn't going to be terribly fun, nor is it a feel good piece. So, to soften the blow a bit, here are some cute cat videos. 

(Note: parts of the following are in the 2^nd person. I'm sure my English teachers and any editors, professional or amateur, out there would berate me for the switching of perspective like that, but it happened naturally, and I like the result. Maybe I did it to distance myself from the memories, but I think it also has the effect of putting the reader into my mind space a bit better. Whatever.)

Older Man to HS Kid: Are you ignorant or just apathetic?

HS Kid: I don't know and I don't care. (ba-da-dum)

So, what's it like to be in a low? Its a lot like being that high school kid, but in like a BAD way. On a good day during a down period, you just sort of exist. If you're lucky, you can ignore most of the terrible things in your life and in your head and just sort of.... make it through to the next sleep cycle. But even in a low, there are fluctuations about how low it can go.

I used to think I was just sort of a down person. For 20 years I would see the commercials about depression and think that maybe I had some of those signs, but it just never seemed that bad. I would hear about the people who could not even get out of bed to get to work, or that tried to kill themselves. Well, I wasn't there, so maybe it was just me and I needed to learn to deal.

Let me tell you this, if you think you may possibly maybe even a little bit need some help, you can use the help! Not all help works for everybody, but trying is a good portion of the battle. Really, ask for help, and get started into some system or program or buddy system or whatever. Just reach out to somebody. PSA over.

So it doesn't have to be like what the ads say, or the “worst case scenario” or something drastic. After a while, and maybe with some negative things happening in life, the best of us just sort of... break. Looking back, I know I've been broke for at least a decade, maybe much longer. Maybe I was never unbroke, but life just hadn't entirely caught up to me yet. After 2003, life and I were neck and neck, and then in 2008 life went right past me. In 2012 or so, life lapped me and bitch slapped me on its way around for good measure. By this year, I wasn't even running any more. And that brings us to what that's like, the lowest of the low.

First off, there's the apathy. Now, this happened after I first sought treatment and was told I was on the bipolar spectrum. They could only give me drugs that still had company sponsored handouts, due to my lack of insurance. I don't know if that was the only reason or not, but I ended up on a few different anti-psychotics that were given to bi-polar I and II patients, as well as schizophrenics. They were all described as “mood stabilizers”. That they did. At first, I was happy with the effects. I was much calmer and could handle things easier. But after a while, I just sort of disappeared. I ignored everyone I should have payed attention to. I stopped cooking, I stopped cleaning, I watched each and every single episode of Star Trek ever made.

Somewhere in there, my girl friend moved out.

I stopped even checking my mail for months at a time. The money I was making at my driving job just wasn't enough to pay everything that had to be paid, and so that got ignored. I stopped reading. I even stopped listening to music. When I was driving nights, I had music on in the car, but never tapped my fingers, never sang along. When I started driving days, I had NPR on all the time, just to have fresh new information to digest, and take my mind off of, you know, existence. I also stopped taking my meds in hopes of regaining some small modicum of interest in things, in people, in myself. It took a while, but things improved until the next major setback, and I was right back to the apathy.

The apathy is destructive enough on it's own, but the much more painful problem is the blackness. We've all heard of the blues. I can live with the blues no problem. But a few times in my life I have hit black. Once, in early 2009, I thought I had gotten as black as I could get, but I now know that was just a dark gray.

The Blackness is much worse. It has a lot to do with self image, and world view, and just pain. Not physical pain, but existential torment. Just being alive, aware of time passing, is intolerable. It's one thing to know you are a failure by many of life's metrics, but it's entirely another thing to feel that you are a failure; to feel it in your bones. On the way down, you feel so terribly lonely, isolated, maybe even abandoned. But then you shun company, you don't seek out others. You only leave your house when needed, and you find any excuse to not need to. You are just barely above a shut in.  The only thing separating you from a hoarder is the time it takes to accumulate 3 feet of junk in your home. When the depression is this bad, you can not even remember what it feels like to have ever felt joy. You can't connect to that happier person you were at some point, even if it was just days ago. In the pit, you are so low you don't even think about killing yourself, you just deeply wish that you had never been born. You come to even resent existing.

And of course, there's the dealing with life.  Or, that is to say, not dealing with it.  Maybe its the apathy, maybe it's the zero sense of self worth, but what ever it is, the effect is that you are paralyzed.  You see the train coming right at your stalled car on the tracks, but you can't move.  You can't even open the door to save yourself, because you are just stuck.  You don't know what to do, or even how to form a plan

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

It seems like there is so much more to say, but I have rambled on for too long already. I'll just leave you with this: in the last few weeks, I am on an emotional upswing. I am feeling much, much better, but maybe even too good.  My situation hasn't changed much, but my mood has. I can't say for sure, but maybe I'm in a manic phase right now. But more on that later.

For the first installment, go to Cyclothymia. 

For the third installment, go to I get up, I get down.  

For the fourth installment, go to Limb by Limb.