I’ve been doing a lot of putzing around since I visited here last, and I enjoyed some of it, some has been quite boring. I haven’t been writing much and I’m not really sure why, except that I don’t always think I have a lot to say. Then again, maybe I’m just being lazy. I know I do a ton of thinking, but it would be almost impossible to write everything I’m thinking down, because for one, I am lazy. That’s okay though, because that’s me. I know, you all thought I was perfect, but I do have that one little flaw. For another though, I just do not type fast enough to keep up with all I think. I need to take a keyboarding class. Remember when it was typing class? Well, some of you don’t, I’m sure.
My pursuit of a new life, and “My journey to freedom,” have not diminished so much as they’ve run up against reality. There are abundant signs that all is as it should be in my life, and as I’ve learned, the Universe responds to the energy I put into it, not in my time frame, but as the Universe and the Creative Intelligence behind it deems proper. So I can be satisfied with the way things are going even though I’m not rich or famous, or traveling the world. Yet.
I wrote in my last piece about my medical tests, and one manifestation of my positive thinking is that my carotid arteries on both sides are perfectly clear. One was supposedly partially blocked, and although it’s common in guys my age, I didn’t believe that there was a problem, and it turned out that there wasn’t. Another manifestation which I hadn’t really thought about until just now was that back in the spring, I went to my cardiologist, and my blood pressure was up a bit. He had me monitor it for a month or so, but when I did, it was always high. Sometimes way too high. Before the month had gone by though, I had to see the PA at my regular doctor’s, and she started me on a small dose of an anti hypertensive med. As soon as I started taking it, my BP was normal. Better than normal. I think I got so worried when my BP got so high that my negative energy kept it up there, and drove it higher. Thus, to me, there is a place for medications and sometimes they are absolutely necessary.
It has been a while now since Robin Williams’ death, and I’ve refrained from commenting about it because I needed to ponder it and consider, really, how I felt about it. I mean obviously I, like every one else who is a thinking human being, mourn his passing, but it has a deep meaning for me personally in my journey because I think I know exactly how he felt, and how desperate he must have been for relief from his pain that he decided death was the only option.
I’m incredulous still that there was a question of whether he was depressed or not. How could someone who decides to die by his own hand not be depressed? It was also disheartening to me to find that in this day and age, people can still be so heartless as to call him a coward for what he did, but then again, it just emphasized how little folks really do understand about what a horrible, black, all enveloping monster, depression truly is. I’m sorry that Robin couldn’t take solace in his knowledge of what a truly beloved person he was. Even if he wasn’t always the happy, joking cut up he always appeared to be in public. I’m sorry that he couldn’t have talked with me, or the many like me who’ve suffered the black pain and managed to come out on the other side alive and better for it. I’m sorry that his pain was so deep that he could look past the hurt that his death would cause his family, where the knowledge of the pain my suicide would have caused my daughters was all that kept me alive. We all knew though, as we read about his issues with alcohol and sobriety that deep inside, he hid the tears of a clown.
So. Forgive me if I preach a bit, but I still find myself getting upset at the routine use of “mental health” jokes and memes in social media. I really only use Facebook, and I’m amazed at how thoughtlessly people who are usually thoughtful, and would never consider posting a joke about having, say, cancer or a stroke, post jokes about being bipolar, depressed or even schizophrenic and think they’re funny! I am far from politically correct, and I can take a joke as well as anyone. I can poke fun at my own episodes of mental illness because it can’t hurt me anymore. Neither can other people’s jokes, but not everyone who suffers from this disease has learned what I have, nor can they always separate the joke from what seems an attempt to shame them. Especially if one of the symptoms the person is suffering from is paranoia.
I’m debating what I should do. I want to “stick up” for people who may not be able to do it for themselves, but I don’t want to appear as though I’m turning into the PC police either. I think, maybe, that just a simple statement of my opinion is called for, because this is something that is dear to my heart, and it really isn’t any of my business what other people think of me. For someone who’s in the black cloud of depression, or maybe in a hyper manic phase, or hearing voices telling him to die, and that person is thinking that death really will relieve the pain, the jokes must seem particularly cruel, and may even be the impetus for someone to take that final, irreversible step.
Once again, writing what I’ve been thinking has clarified some things for me, and given me an action plan. I’m not sure why this is so important to me at the moment, but it’s been on my mind for a while. Stay tuned. I’ll let you (and me) know how it turned out.