The things they don’t tell you and you have to find out on your own.
The past week I have been a train wreck. My life is a train wreck.
I cry for no reason.. *NO* reason.. I have thoughts that terrify me… horrifically and dangerously – organically all the way down to the very inner core of my soul. It’s like someone stole my bubbly, flat lined, overly-optimistic and obnoxiously energetic mind and swapped it with a cataclysmic, gory nightmarish scene from what’s the guys name that does all of the creepy Christmas movies? you know…what’s his name… Sigh
Like.. if that guy and the writer of American Psycho were to bake a cake, and then Marilyn Manson’s therapist and aspiring psychological thriller writer made the icing, then baked at 375 for 30 minutes and out popped a mind – that would be it. Then, that mind, then they viciously stole my mismatched fuzzy slippers, green and pink plaid pajamas, girlishly ridiculous giggle, lopsided smile, and stuffed me into it.
That… that’s what it feels like.
There’s dark times, and then there is insanity…… and I can confidently say, *nothing* is more chillingly petrifying than the idea of truly and utterly losing YOUR own mind.
Then, in a desperate act of denial and inability to accept that ‘this‘ monstrosity was actually me, I found an obscure article that cites long term, moderately dosed, subcutaneous chemotherapy combined especially with long term prednisone use causing extreme and magnified PMS symptoms of hormones to the lovely Pandora’s box that is the female reproductive system.
This is because I HAVE A UTERUS?
Well, on the bright side I at least know it’s not actually me – and my good lord in heaven the relief that came with that was like the raw and real and amazing feeling of the abdication of a man who was wrongly convicted of the most heinous, cruel, and monstrous crimes you could ever have imagined while he was standing on the gallows front.
Now that the euphoria of that has set in I realize… so… 1 week out of every month, I am going to have to put on proverbial armor to fight the most intensive war of my existence to defend my life against myself?
I realize that sounds overly dramatic, but all i can say is that it is a gross understatement… It’s something you truly can’t convey in words, let alone elaborate and explain enough to someone that has not gone to that battle.
It is haunting.
The realization that in an extremely calm, and terrifyingly clear manor I worked out my life insurance and property dividends to make sure my loved ones were cared for… that I have absolutely no emotion when I sickly and vividly fantasized about my car going over a high bridge over deep water in the beginning of a very chilling Canadian winter, and all in slow motion feeling release, and comfort, and peace in the moment before the car hits the water and I open the windows a crack to ensure it sinks, seeking solace in the cold and the predictability.
I can’t believe I just wrote that. I can’t believe *THAT* was a product of *MY* mind.
I have tears running down my face like newly formed and sporadic river streams.
Half the battle is knowing that it’s not YOU. It’s not YOU going crazy. It’s an artificial crazy. It’s a Trojan horse filled with crazy. A Trojan horse filled with barbaric, unearthly strong, foaming at the mouth and rabies filled, sinister crazy.
The other half, is using that knowledge to make you survive and cope through the week of crazy that inevitably will come and as I put on my armor I will whisper the serenity prayer… over and over.. and put my foot forward with my eyes closed and hope to god and anyone else that I make it to the other side, pushing forward with the knowledge and using that knowledge to know that at some point, it will end.
It will END.
I didn’t scrutinize the medical references used in the article that I read, I didn’t do any background checks concerning the scientific basis, and I purposely didn’t look at the credentials of the writer.
If someone gives me a sword and a shield before I walk into a battle field – I will not question where they came from or what they are made from. All I am going to do is use them to the best of my abilities and hold my head high because that sword and that shield is going to be my salvation.
Granted, I am also on 90mg’s of prednisone as well, so that could very easily also entirely be responsible.
Oh Prednisone. Damn you for rearing your ever ugly head yet again. Saving my life, by stealing my sanity.
I believe the greatest battles aren’t the ones we have against other people, or illness, or with worldly substance – it’s the battle we have with ourselves.
All. The. Time.
I heard the most incredibly raw and soul-striking lyrics that blew my mind.
“If you’re feeling small,
I will love your shadow.
And when the lights goes dark,
I will stand right beside you.”
“I know it’s getting harder… I know the lights have all gone dark on you,
So when you’re feeling small, I will still love your shadow.”
I guess I will leave it at that for tonight.
For anyone that is fighting a battle against themselves… please put your hand over your heart and listen to the harmonic thump of it beating, and please listen to it and realize that, that is purpose… and don’t give up.
Your heart and purpose haven’t given up on you.
Anyhow. I guess it’s writing like this that is the reason I didn’t give anyone this blog address.
If anyone stumbles upon it – I hope and wish you gain strength and know that you are not alone. It happens to the best of us, and even the most indestructible of us, and even the most infallible of us…..
Take care and hug your loved ones extra tightly.