a Scarlet D

Stealing the title and just a bit of my content from my travel blog here. So if you’re reading this getting upset at my self plagiarism, just read on. It’ll get better. Or worse.

On the 10,000 mile road trip I was lucky enough not to experience any tickets, breakdowns, or crashes. Settling back into home I faced a mental crash. The fact that I was dismissed from work and all that comes with joblessness has worn me away. An accident I could see coming and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

The accident, or crash, was. mental. I think we were all thinking the trip was great, but what about when I get home? No job, no structure, new money worries, and then there’s the good old fashioned depression, with a fleck of anxiety for flavor.

As for homebody, that’s been described as a person who likes to stay at home, especially one who is perceived as unadventurous. Unfortunately , I have gone from adventure of a lifetime to an extremely unhealthy solitude. My best friend is there for me, we go out to dinner and linger and chat, which helps. But that’s a couple hours of a day, and it certainly doesn’t cover the darkest of night.

The darkest of night being the hours from 10 pm to 3 or 4 am. Or 5. I’m not going to bed for the same reason I can’t get up out of bed. Hopeless and pointless. I’ve had a med change to help me sleep and help me be awake. But after 3 ours sleep I still feel the buzz and the density that makes it hard to walk a straight line. The increased stimulants help with that some, but no matter what you give me, three hours sleep is still three hours sleep.

I used to love solitude, and I still do. After the trip everything feels a little off. Being alone is good and all, but I feel like I’m drowning (nothing new) but now I’m reaching up for help. Which is ridiculous for someone who can only see one way to make the “curl up and cry” go away.

Speaking of crying. Until a week ago I couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t? And then something happened.

Our local coffee hours / bakery announced it was closing on January 1st. The whole family was sad. I was really sad. They had perfect eclairs. My sister initiated me into the eclair club back when I was in grade school. And I enjoyed so many eclairs at this place. Sad to lose the eclairs. I was fine, like a local Target was closing. I’ll just have to go to the one a little further away. My daughter and I decided to go one last time before the closed, for old times sake.

The retiring owner was by the register, doing something of a meet and greet. He looked at my 22 year olf daughter and commented on how much she had grown since we started going there. I don’t think I had forgotten we did it, but I don’t think I connected the place to the important memories.

When she was in grade school I would go meet her at school and we would walk home. Once a week or so we would stop at the bakery on our way home. It might have been a couple times a week, likely because I wanted a latte. We would sit at the tables by the sidewalk and talk about her day. When I think of her it’s one of my. most cherished memories.

I swear to god if I start crying in the middle of this coffee shop I’m going to be pissed.

Daughter teared up by the owners comment and memory of her. I was severely touched, but I can’t cry. We had our treats and drove both blocks back to the house. Yeah, I know. They actually were out of eclairs, which bummed me out, so on the last day I went down early enough and got two eclairs. My ex-wife did something similar but got eclairs for my daughter and me. We may have divorced but there’s an old growth love there that will always be there.

Great, went through that. Faked it quite well, then went home and spent the rest of the night wanting to die, as usual. Also spent 40 minutes looking at all the stuff Netflix has and not watching anything.

And then I had therapy. I was trying to explain the coffee shop experience, and did a pretty good job.. Right up to the part about spending so many afternoons having conversations with my daughter. Age 6 and upward. I knew that, and I knew that we did all that. But I have no real memory of it. Snapshots in my brain, but the soul filling time spent with her wasn’t there. I had been robbed of some of the very most important memories of my life, and it upset me.

Cue ugly sobbing. For a long time. When I regained my composure we talked about it but my Therapist stepped on a. huge landmine and took out a whole platoon. She attributed the memory loss to the possibility that I was getting old. That upset me but I didn’t say anything right away. A minute or two later I interrupted and voiced my issue and we talked about it, she apologized (therapy bingo square) and we continued on. It wasn’t something that made me want to stop seeing her, but I’m very sensitive about memory loss vs old age.

When I talk about my memory loss and my memory retention issues I often get “Oh I know what you mean, I’ll walk in the kitchen and not know why I was there, but I eventually think of it.:” – and I’m not discounting that. This morning I was ready to head out but knew I needed to do or get something from the bathroom. And then I’m just standing therein the bathroom and I know I’m not going to think of it. Three hours later and I have no idea. But standing there in that moment wasn’t a “derp I’m old” feeling. It was being stabbed ever so slightly in the soul. It was being reminded or my problem, and then reminded or the reason I had ECT, and so on.

So the fact that I couldn’t remember a key experience made me sad for forgetting it, frusterated there was nothing I could do about it, and finallly break down over everything happening and broken and densely sad. Straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.

Because I was seeing my Psychiatrist (drug doc) and spent the whole hour either crying or on the brink. I just couldn’t control it, and I think it freaked her out a little, as she sent a note to my TRD doc during the call. She tried the usual stuff`, set a schedule or volunteer somewhere etc. She asked if I liked animals and I replied that I didn’t want a pet because I knew that’s where I was going. I can’t take care of myself, eat, and I sleep so many hours a day my apartment would become a poop minefield.

I think seeing me that desperate and sad (and crying) might have freaked her out a bit. It was a good call, and we adjusted some meds, but really just another check-in call. WIth ugly sobbing.

I really wanted to get this out. I’m not sure if it helped, but maybe. It’s just that my little girl was so goofy and smart and interested in everything, so those coffee chats were always amazing. But I’ve lost the part that was my daughter. Like part of her childhood is just gone and I can’t find it.

Heartbroken.