Monday, January 31, 2005
Fragile
Depression is a cancer. There's no moment in time when the doctor can declare that you're healed. One only hopes to reduce the relapse rate as much as possible.
It's been five months since I would have characterized myself as depressed. It was a year ago, almost to the day, that I started what was my most serious battle with depression, and so as of late I have been frightened. I occasionally see a psychiatrist who monitors the three different medications that I take, but since I am unemployed, I can't afford to see a therapist. I'm doing all right, except with depression nothing is ever all right.
Last night, I couldn't fall asleep because until three or four in the morning, I recalled all that I had been through over the past year. I thought of my suicide attempt--why I tried; why I failed. I thought of riding BART for hours, crying, realzing that I had become one of those crazy people on public transportation. I thought of all the ways I had wanted to immolate myself, physically and metaphorically. I thought of how the worst thing about suicide was that I would just die and there would be no moment, however brief, where I could just rest.
I thought of how I had no assurance that I wouldn't return to that place tomorrow. How can I be anything but scared?
It's been five months since I would have characterized myself as depressed. It was a year ago, almost to the day, that I started what was my most serious battle with depression, and so as of late I have been frightened. I occasionally see a psychiatrist who monitors the three different medications that I take, but since I am unemployed, I can't afford to see a therapist. I'm doing all right, except with depression nothing is ever all right.
Last night, I couldn't fall asleep because until three or four in the morning, I recalled all that I had been through over the past year. I thought of my suicide attempt--why I tried; why I failed. I thought of riding BART for hours, crying, realzing that I had become one of those crazy people on public transportation. I thought of all the ways I had wanted to immolate myself, physically and metaphorically. I thought of how the worst thing about suicide was that I would just die and there would be no moment, however brief, where I could just rest.
I thought of how I had no assurance that I wouldn't return to that place tomorrow. How can I be anything but scared?
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Testing
Just testing the blog format.
