POSSIBLY YOUR FINAL LOOK AT THIS TRAIN WRECK. (Are those crickets? Hello is anyone out there?)

I admit it--currently I am a bit of a train wreck. My latest episode of depression is raging. The leg pain that stems from my back problem is making my nights miserable. And, I truly wonder what I am all about when I spill my guts publicly for all to see. Am I really trying to help, or just crying out for it?
I started this blog maybe 18 months ago because I wanted fellow troubled souls to know they are not alone. So far, I have only six followers and .over 2000 page views. Several people read this blog consistently--if two is several. I hoped to reach more with personal stories about my battle with the beast of depression. The interest is absent and it costs me a lot of second-guessing? And have I really helped anyone?
Keep your eye on this spot because next time this blog comes out--if there is a next time--these personal confessions of mine may cease.
I wear my heart on my sleeve, in these blogs and on Facebook. Strangers, long-lost friends, family, and my local friends and acquaintances are privy to my innermost battles. This used to be the stuff I would discuss with my counselors or very close friends. For some--for me, this blog and FB has become a spot to tell all, or nearly all.
Again, pay attention to this part, because it might be your last glimpse at the destruction I have caused. Last year, in the month of August, I sat with a friend I worked with, but someone I really did not know that well, and cried like a baby. In the midst of recovering from a severe episode of depression, I spilled my guts. Some friends of mine know my issues, revealed to them via emails and messages. Some family members don't know about it though, yet I revealed these secrets to mere strangers. Why?
It is important to me to stay on top of my moods, but am I just sharing them because I am looking for help or for sympathy? If I share for sympathy, I may well never recover (or develop) my sense of well-being.
Often I feel like one of the nerds on The Big Bang. Whenever they meet up with one of Penny's old boyfriends, their inadequacies in the "Manly-men" department are apparent, not only to the audience but to the nerd characters. Am I manly-male? No, sorry, I am woefully inadequate. It's not that I can't pound a nail,  or run a chainsaw, but I am pretty self-obsessed. If any poor feminine soul were prepared to take me home to mother at this late date in my life, they would find a guy who likes to write romantic poetry, is editing a vampire novel that strangely mirrors more about his depression than his desire to possess the women in the book, and who needs a nap more often than his two-and-a-half year granddaughter. Any takers?
What comes from all this honesty then. It is that I embarrass my family and come out looking neither attractive, well-rounded, or even sane. I am some anachronism--an effete being better suited to a bed in Victorian England, dashing out poems, consumptively coughing, and awaiting death and a headstone in some London graveyard. Ah, sounds at least somewhat romantic, except I haven't written that famous book of poems or even a passable novel. Actually, such romantic artists were pretty rare even in Victorian England. The Pre-Raphaelite artists I admire so much, tended to be fairly long-lived womanizers who rarely allowed a setback to stop them. That ain't me babe.
Look, I hate getting old. I hate my friends are getting old, but I also hate that people just sort of go away and disappear. But one can't simply stop living because life is unkind. Where this leaves me is unknown, but I think it is time for me to pull back and share a little less than I generally do.

I GET SCARED SOMETIMES.

I am a sufferer of chronic pain who also suffers from depression. Consequently, I take medications for both problems. Recently, I began to get migraines, and, when they didn't disappear, my doctor gave me another drug.
My pain meds are pretty heavy duty, but I limit them. I take depression pills in the morning, and pain pills at night. One of my pain meds, I'm slowly trying to eliminate since I retired. After, I will try to get rid of the sleeping pills (it's a small dose.)
I take some pills because I take other pills. It's like chasing your tail. Nonetheless, everything I take, I try to take the least amount possible. It's hard to be ready to go in the mornings, when the pain often keeps me up at night. And if the pain doesn't keep me up, it's because I have nuked it with pain medication. There is no way I am up and at 'em to greet the day.
The worse thing is, pain drugs often exacerbate the depression. And now, we have added yet another pill to the mix. (Since the migraines are gone, I am skipping the headache pill tonight. I hope it helps. I think it is the cause of this new relapse.)

When I started taking the pills for migraines, they gave me an old-school anti-depressant in a small dose. It is a standard treatment. The docs aren't treating the pain, but trying to break the cycle.
This is how the beast re-entered my live! Since I started those migraine capsules, I noticed, I am getting those old crazy thoughts again, especially at night. Those "you should disappear off of the face of the earth" thoughts.
Depression, is a strange sort of disease. I can give you a very good argument for the futility of life when I am descending into hell. I will spare you this. I'm not looking for anyone to feel sorry for me, or to offer advice. I am a little scared though. I've been through this before, but just because I am familiar with it, hell is still terrifying.
That voice inside (this is an expression, I don't hear voices) tells me what a bum I am. It tells me that I'm a poor excuse for a human. The worse thing about it is this--I don't want to be fixed when I am in this mood. It's insidious. I don't want to be saved. I don't care to hear the arguments about the beauty of life. This is depression at its most evil.
I am one of the lucky people though. My novel needs finishing, and, I want to write another book after that. So, this ego that needs to be fed keeps me getting up in the morning. I love to write, and I want to be heard, so, before I can check out, I've got things to do.

I don't suppose I have much of a point in this piece. My ego keeps me alive, even though at some moments, I think the world doesn't really care if I live or not. Here's the advice to people who suffer from the beast of depression. Find something to do. Write or draw or pet your dog or go be nice to someone you don't know. Volunteer if you can. Kiss your children. Do something. Your life depends on it.

God bless you all. I really am okay.

Even the Rocks Change

I used to surf at Sunset Cliffs in San Diego. Days at the beach at the Cliffs or Ocean Beach turned into early evenings, walking to the car in the parking lot, or parked along the street, the sun setting over the Pacific.
I remember a day spent there, one spot, all guys I knew, John Belik from Hoover (he lives in Maui now,) Rick G. who lived in OB, Paul, and some other guys. All along the Cliffs, one place was breaking that day, but oddly, it was breaking at five-to-ten minute intervals. We sat on the beach, waiting for the next set, and when we saw it, we paddled out, caught waves for maybe ten minutes, and then the waves quit, and we sat and waited for more. I swear this is true. We were there probably three hours, just our crew. I surfed naked that day. Ugh, better not to think of it. It is not something I will never do again, surfing naked, but that day, thanks to our surf scientist, John Belik, we had this idyllic day along the Cliffs, all to ourselves for awhile.
Two of the guys I surfed with that day are blind. One of them, got beat up one day at the top of the Cliffs after arguing with another surfer. At the time, he had been a regular at the Cliffs for over 20 years. Someone younger and stronger came along, and well, there you go. We are not all that removed from the law of the jungle.
There is only one problem with this scenario. It is that the law of the jungle was written when people didn't live very long. Women died in their 30's, often from complications of childbirth. Men, well, if the wars didn't kill them, something else would--disease, violence, their jobs. During the day at the Cliffs I describe above, we had our own war, Vietnam. I had worked with guys who had been injured in the war. I'd gone to school with them, drove them in my taxi when I drove a taxi. Surely, I went to school with guys who went to Nam and never came back.
Now we have a war, but no draft. And short of finding that 40 or 50 year-old guy who beat up my friend, and doing a dozen-guys-in-their-60's beat down on him, I haven't any plans. Wait, I am meeting some old high school chums in San Diego in August. I do have plans!
Today, while thinking of seeing those folks in San Diego, I thought about running naked about the Cliffs. Not once did I consider doing it again, so Hoover High chums, no worries. But I thought, even the rocks have had some 25 or 30 years to wear away since I last surfed the Cliffs. I bet that little footpad at Abs Beach is worn away. I fell off that once, long ago. I hated it then, and though I got over my fear of heights long ago, I probably would feel no more comfortable there today. But imagine, the freaking rocks have changed. How old does that make a person?

As you all know, I write what I please here. So, I thought about falling off that perch at Abs, actually I slipped down the face of the rocks with my big green surfboard. Recently, I read a book--a very basic book I might add, about quantum theory, and I have decided, because I spent so much time on top of that damn slippery rock, waiting to inch my way down to the beach, I had like a billion more chances to fall down that thing than most of the guys.
Let's make "R" the rock at Abs. "F" stands for me, at the top of the rock, not wanting to go down the slippery thing. We take "JD" for the regular John Doe. So, R x JD x milliseconds spent at the top of the rock, squared... Then take R x F x MS squared. Holy crap! You see what I mean! I couldn't help but fall down the rock! Where was the tunneling effect when I needed it?

Bless you all. Watch out for slippery rocks.