Sleeping in Trabuco

Posted on April 4, 2005 in Disappointment Reflections Routine

I chickened out. After sleeping for fourteen hours, I didn’t go out to the park as I had planned. I didn’t go down the stairs. I remained at home, watching the clouds thicken and pass through a quarter-round window. This was not a good day, though my mood was fine. This excessive need for sleep must be countered somehow. A friend said not to do it all at once, not to try to cut it to the bone.

I’ve known people who claimed they could get by on four hours of sleep a night. If you are manic and a CEO and you have a crew of people to carry out your ideas, then I suppose it is possible. Edison had his adoring followers who found wires, blew glass, and made sure he had everything he needed where he needed it. But I have only myself to type, wash, and feed myself.

Some people have said that I am capable of great things, but I do not believe them because I lack the one characteristic that is vital: inspiring charisma.

So I sleep. I have nothing else to do.

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A friend from back in the Bay tells me that the Friends Meeting that supported my trip to former Yugoslavia brings up my name from time to time. “We must make sure that we support this effort better than we supported Joel.” I was left to organize all my fundraisers and speaking tours on my own. At the end of a year, I was utterly exhausted. Six months after I quit doing any peacework, I went in for major depression.

I believe that I have suffered from mood disorders for a long time, since 2nd Grade. I believe that I took my mood disorders — mania and depression — on the road to former Yugoslavia. In some ways, that trip was the greatest adventure of my lifetime and I miss those months. In other ways, it was the time when my disease was stimulated to a point that it could no longer be denied.

I believe that a large part of the reason why I didn’t get support and why I still don’t get support for my projects or just looking out for my health is me. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I have just had a string of bad luck. But I can’t help but feeling that I bear a mark, some punishment for a past life poorly lived. At least that is what the New Agers tell me. They are so full of it, but when I am on a swing downwards, they start to influence my thinking. Joel the cursed. Doomed to only being able to reach so high.

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The news: I was told that Lynn’s Quaker Meeting is not able to give me the help that I need. They never really interviewed me except for the once. I can’t help but think that the reason why they won’t help has to do with the fact that I stood up for myself. If you want to help me, you have to understand that I have an illness. You have to realize that you can’t preach me out of a depression or out of mania. I won’t be tempted by religiosity.

What I need are people who will keep their promise to call me. What I need are people who will make sure that I get out for walks and do things. Many hands make light work, but I guess I don’t mean much to others because I spend most of my days entirely alone. And Wednesdays are the worst because I have nowhere to go.

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I remain unsupported. Though I will thank Palo Alto Friends for releasing us from the debt we incurred when we borrowed from the Sharing Fund to rebuild my mouth. That was a blessing.

I don’t dream anymore. It’s not worth the trouble.