Intervention

Just had a long talk with my immediate family about the next steps in attacking my depression. (I like how “attacking” sounds. Like, “fuck you depression! This shit is over with! Come at me, Bro!” Then again, can you really fight fire with fire? I mean, depression is so nasty and violent, maybe I need to gently apply cool water to my depression until it has no more air to breathe—wait, drown my depression doesn’t sound any better. No, actually it sounds worse. And dangerous, frankly.) Anyway, the point is, we all gathered to make plans. I’ve tried it all before. In-patient, Outpatient, counseling, prescriptions, 12 steps, 2-steps, masturbate. None of it ever seemed to last much longer than a few minutes. I guess, that’s the point, you have to devise a complex netting of various fail-safes that each bounce you up in the air just long enough to keep you the float. Still, it’s not a great motivating to get ready to do something you have already tried before. Everyone is pushing me toward the option I’m most afraid of, 1-2 months in a psychward—all day, all night. Everyone keeps asking me questions I’ve answered a hundred times, which really gets my shit boiling like lava on a hot stove. After someone asks me how am feeling, I yell out, half angry, half crying, “I feel like shit! Why the hell do you think we’re all here?!?!” 

Two things happen. My sister explains, “That’s the first time you’ve actually told us that—It’s been pretty clear, based on what’s been going on with you, but that’s the first time you’ve actually said it. You always just say ‘I’m fine’, ‘I’m alright’”. I’m pretty sure I’ve said it a hundred times, maybe a thousand times, or, maybe I’ve never said it. I honestly don’t know. The love of my life once told me, after I had cheated on her, that she just wanted to know I was sorry, and similarly, I was annoyed to the point of anger—“I’ve told you a thousand times that I’m sorry! I don’t know what else I can say!?” Maybe I didn’t really divulge how terribly sorry I felt. Maybe I just told her, that I had told her? It truly never occurred to me until this moment, that I never said a lot of things, that I thought I said. That I should of said—like, I Love You, and not just reciting those three words but really fully saying it. Or even saying how unhappy I was and not knowing if I want to be in the relationship anymore—at least that would have been honest and fair. I’m so scared and resentful and in my head, and nervous about how I feel, I tend to think I’ve told someone something a hundred times, and I have, but only in my head. Anyway, That’s how I ended up losing the love of my life.

The other thing that happened when I whooped out in pain…my grandmother began sobbing and hopped over to hold me and pet my arm, which of course pushed me over the edge into cry myself a river town. This was a bit of a surprise, not that I didn’t expect her to be in pain by seeing her grandson in pain. She constantly showers me and every sole she meets will love and unbelievable compassion, like a little Mexican Buddha. It’s just that she is from the fix-it generation. She didn’t grow up with Oprah and Dr. Phil—You got a problem, solve it. When a problem arises, grandma’s first question is usually, “who do we call?” So I guess I wasn’t prepared for break-down just yet, but we both lost it instantly. Which was a good thing. Quite cathartic. It was much easier to move our family’s conversation forward from there. I certainly wasn’t any easier be in those emotion, in that place, but it was possible to finally give some meaningful, healing exchange. 

Another variable now enters the fray. Many of my family are also my ‘friends’ on facebook and a frustrated post from earlier that day is now being texted to my immediate family, with whom I am now entangled, and it’s not making the conversation any easier. That’s a good thing though, because tough is where the growth comes from. Although for a while, the conversation did devolve for a solid fifteen minutes of my phone ringing, followed by grandma reading the name of a doctor from the phone, followed by a family member getting a call, “how about Doctor Johnston?”, “Grandma, we’re trying discuss how we feel about..”, “There’s a psychologist on Pulaski…” ring ring ring…

But we all got on the same page and were able to build a very productive plan. Just because something doesn’t work the first time, doesn’t mean it can’t work—I didn’t land the first kickflipped I ever flipped. I’ve heard it is darkest just before down…The only way out is in…you got to be in it to win it…well, that last one may be from the lotto—I can’t remember—either way, I am definitely in it now, and that’s a good thing, cause I am gonna win it. A huge thank you to everyone who’s holding my hand as I keep walking.

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