Month: December 2009
Flashback Weekend
Posted on December 17, 2009 in PTSD
The rain-bound weekend brought vile epiphanies. Little stories of my failures and my crimes, the times when I felt the blood boil. Old arguments and old confrontations blanked out my existence. My eyes would not see what was in front of me. The near-visions would be spawned by the slightest suggestions: a word in a book, an ad on a web page, a sentence in a conversation. They would cause me to shout out “Stop it! Stop it! I hate me!” And, I learned from my psychiatrist today, there is no pill I can take to end their reign of terror. These are flashbacks from many crimes and many horrors.
Crime is a relative term. I feel I must be punished for the stupid things I have said. Here I live in a world filled with charlatans who push their snake oil on the desperate, chief executives of insurance companies who skin their clients so they can give themselves salaries in the millions, and worse — but I feel that the cross is to be affixed to me. Then there is the rage — the demand of my spirit that those who hurt me in any way be punished. And behind that came the Final Guilt: that to feel angry was akin to an act of violence, the most abhorrent act I could possibly commit.
I do not have to be wholly the thrall of these emotions. I have learned to fight back and to affirm in myself that I have the right to fight back. When any of these overcome me I stop. Look. Look at the gray screen of the television set. The yellow-white flame bulbs of the chandelier. Boadicea with her nine grey stripes running down the back of her head. Drake lying in the blanket he expropriated from our bedroom. It is time to say to myself “Where are you? What time is it?” and face the reality that that which is haunting me is not here right now.
Some of my fellow bipolar sufferers don’t get this thing that happens. They suggest I get on anti-psychotics, but I am on these. I have had hallucinations and I have been paranoid. Neither is anything like the terrifying thoughts that cause me to stop where I am. You interact with a hallucination, treat it as part of the furniture. Flashbacks are a monster of their own and they can stop you cold.
To overcome them, I must reclaim my present. A member of one of my support groups suggested this: “Tell yourself that you are not as bad a person as you think you are.” I take comfort from that.
Good article that I read today: What’s wrong with positive thinking. Somebody finally said “Fuck you” to all those self-proclaimed experts who have only made me feel more depressed all these years — and backed it up with science.
War Tax
Posted on December 6, 2009 in War
I like the idea of a war tax. For years military expenditures have been a hidden cost, allowing our government to hide its overseas adventures. You may hear complaints about social spending but this is not our greatest expense. The military gobbles up more than anything else. It is at the root of our deficit.
When our country adds a war tax as it did in most of our wars, there is pressure to get the job done. There’s none of the loitering like we have seen in Afghanistan, fewer botched jobs like our failure to capture bin Laden several years ago. A war tax wakes up the taxpayer and makes her/him ask “How is the money being spent?” And “Is it worth it?”
Too bad they allow us to sleep.
Drake Shows a Bull Terrier
Posted on December 1, 2009 in Dogs Encounters
I took Drake out for an off-day walk — one where we do not go a long distance but stay close to home. This one took us through the back condo complex where we live into the front one and back into the back through a patch of grass where we often stop so Drake can drop doggy bombs. Today a pair of owners with a [[bull terrier]] and a small [[German Shepherd]] were on the spot first. When they saw me coming, they shouted at their dogs, forcing the Shepherd into a submissive, prone position. The bull terrier — who was held by the woman — and Drake took offense to each other. Drake growled and the bull terrier charged to the limits of his short leash. My dog did the same.
“You don’t have to show him,” I said.”
“Oh yes I do!” Drake responded as he jumped to the end of his tether.
I pulled him away, speaking quietly, while the other owners yelled at their dogs.
As I drew away, I heard the woman saying “Did you hear that dog growling? That dog was growling.”
She had no clue of her part in the little drama — the yelling that excited all the dogs into a frenzy regardless of who started growling at who.
Dream
Posted on December 1, 2009 in Dreams
The order in which these sequences are lost to me: it could go either way. In the first, I am called with another to deal with the problem of a cockroach infestation in a pair of break rooms at a recreation center. I tell the people that [[boric acid]] is the solution. Sure enough, after I spread it around the edges, huge heaps of vermin — including large hairy spiders — die in the night. To demonstrate how effective the cure is, I apply more in about a week and only a few tiny roaches turn up. “You can do this every six months,” I say, but change the number to every six weeks and then every month.
In the other sequence, I win a scholarship to explore the history of a coastal area. My sponsor — who is supposed to show me around — takes me to the top of a cinder cone from which we can see a long stretch of the seaboard. Room is close, however, and I feel that I am being pushed down the steep sides. I ask the other scholarship winners to move over and see that there’s lots of room in the crater. Later my sponsor shows me a place to buy hamburgers — I tell him that I am on a diet and must choose my meal carefully. He leaves me in a dorm room, but the next day comes to show me the coast. I’ve littered the room with [[Legos]], explaining that I have been working on some puzzles. He uses some to show me principles of faulting, then takes me where we can view some piny islands made of volcanic rock. I think how much this is like Maine.
