I’ve been mental. A mental case. One foot in crazy town, the other in “everything’s fine.”
A few weeks back, I went to see my doctor. My regular doctor, not my shrink, and like every doctor visit, they weigh you and take your vitals before you actually see the doctor. Well I stepped on the scale (those scales are pretty darn accurate) and I went into a kind of shock. I was probably frozen in denial for a few hours – maybe until I got home and thought to weigh myself on my scale at home, which read about four pounds less than the scale at the doctors, but still heavier than I had ever seen that scale go. Then, from that moment forward, a dark mass began to move into me, like the worst thunder storm just before it shoots out its first bolt of lightning, only it was not cold. It was warm and comfortable. Familiar. Too familiar.
I’ve heard some people talk about depression and how they can take a walk, take vitamin D, or warts on Saint John’s nose, or whatever. They don’t know depression. I’m talking serious, wanting to die, self-cutting depression. That is foreign to them. It would be nice just to have a bad day, and when I am correctly medicated, I do. But my medication is in transition right now and it SUCKS!
Now, not only am I on an SSRI, an anti-anxiety, and an anti-psychotic, but now an antidepressant is added to the mix too. That’s not counting the light chemo, the MS and Lupus meds, and pain killers. I think it’s amazing I was able to produce this new painting last week that I actually really, really love. I call the top part, “In My Dreams, I Fall Apart” and the lower half is titled, “Dick Boat with Feet.”