February 14: Buddhism Helps

I’ve now had five [Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation]  treatments and feel better already. However, I think the boost I feel is the result of working on quieting my mind. To accomplish this, I have spent countless hours reading quotes, many steeped in Buddhism, and then writing them down in a journal. I have filled 60 pages so far, and when the journal is completely filled up, I plan to use it as a daily source to quiet my mind through peaceful and thoughtful reminders.

As for the actual TMS sessions, they are a pleasant experience. Vicki, the woman who sets up and runs the equipment, is a nice woman and easy to chat with. She seems like the sort of person I would seek out to date, but then I also have to remind myself I have an active imagination and a history of placing women on a pedestal before I really get to know them. For now, I tell myself to continue to seek inner peace and acceptance of myself before I go looking to complicate my life.

I also notice my triggers seem to be on high alert. I’m craving alcohol, but don’t want to travel down that path. I crave sex too, and touch, but have not had a desire to date.  I also crave one-on-one conversation but hate joining groups to find friends so I remain home.

It’s strange. I can stand before a group of people, young or old, and address them, instruct them, and entertain them, but when I am finished, I am exhausted and just want to be by myself. I workout by myself. I run and ride bikes alone. I figure this is the best way to avoid the stress that comes from making small talk. I much prefer individual conversations over being part of a group.

Complicating matters is ever since my head injury from that bike accident, I have difficulty remembering names when introduced to others. I find making small talk with a person I just met no different than reading silently in class as a second grader. I hear the sounds coming from their mouths but my mind is talking to me a thousand times louder and faster. It’s vital I feel at ease with someone and whenever I am in a social setting, my radar hones in on an individual and not a group to make conversation with.

As much fatigue as I feel daily, my mind never seems to tire. Through Buddhism, I am learning this is due to my soul being troubled and I need to learn to let go of all the shit inside me.

For now, my priority is to complete TMS and while doing so focus on my inner self.

Feb. 17th: Still Looking For Relief

Prior to today’s treatment, I found myself feeling melancholy. I sat down and in less than ten minutes, I wrote this poem:

The New Norm

I feel dead,
lifeless inside,
as I seek answers
to this downward slide.
I travel,
from thought to thought,
but never arrive
or see what I’ve got.
I’m lost,
but without a destination,
seeking answers
without the equation.
I’m here,
taking up space,
seeking a new life
while hiding my face.
I’m unsettled,
caught in a storm,
unable to grasp
what has become my new norm.

I really hope TMS changes these feelings in me. Much of my days have been spent quietly writing down quotes that speak to me. Today, the focus has been on the Dalai Lama. Still, I feel pretty shitty inside. My self-worth is very low and I am not seeing a future that excites me. For now, I live day-to-day. Perhaps, if my body ever complies again, my mood will improve when I return to more aerobic exercise or work in the yard. “Stay patient,” I tell myself.

Hanging over my head is my upcoming session with my therapist. I need to let her in more and tell her how much I have been struggling. My exterior appears like a flat line, but inside, I am a roller coaster of ups and downs with my mood. A big part of my current struggles are due to wondering if this move I made to Chico was a mistake. I get fixated on where I might move to if I sell my place here.

I am pretty sure I am an expert at over thinking things which is why having a couple shots of gin sounds enticing. It will help me sleep, but I am really trying not to take the easy path. I am long overdue to address the shit inside me that everytime it gets stirred back up, the water I am drowning in gets murkier. Like Stevie Nicks once sang, “Never having been a blue calm sea, I have always been a storm.”

Feb. 19th: Forget Logic

Still feeling up and down. Low motivation and am able to talk myself out of doing things or procrastinating. It just adds to a lower sense of self-worth and the feeling I am a loser, destined to be alone.

I’ve noticed that my appetite is off these days. Eating a meal often makes me feel blah and a bit nauseous. I guess it pretty much sums up how I feel toward life. I’d just like to wake up feeling rested and rejuvenated. My rut has become a full on sink hole.

Logically, I know exactly what I need to do. However, when you are dealing with the demons you keep trying to bury and they rear up, logic goes out the window. I can sit and listen to someone express a problem they are having and provide them with wonderful advice and compassion, but as soon as they leave, I feel like shit inside. Am I a hypocrite or just much sicker than I realize? Does it even matter because either way I end up thinking the worst of me and worrying about how much more of this crap I can take.

My options seem few, I am blind to the many blessings I have, I am riddled with survivor’s guilt, and I carry plenty of shame simply because I have retreated rather than lean on those who care about me. As far as most know, I am doing great. The only thing great I am doing is lying to others as well as to myself.

Feb. 23rd: Checking In 

I met with my therapist via zoom the other day and updated her about how much I am struggling. She thinks it is time we focus more on my trauma angle and see how it might be linked to my constant depression, anxiety, pain, and fatigue. I may drive to Ventura to meet with her so she can see how I respond to EMDR therapy, something that helps people suffering from PTSD to move forward.

I have now completed two weeks of TMS and I’d like to say I am seeing improvement. If I am, it is a small amount. I did get out Friday evening to watch my roommate sing, something I normally would never do alone. Yesterday was nice weather so I spent a good chunk of my day working in the yard which I enjoy. It is something difficult to do in the winter here with the cold and wet weather. I look forward to more nice weather.

My therapist provided me with a simple three sentence mantra to tell myself whenever I notice my anxiety ramp up. “Stop! I am safe. I am not in danger,” has been shown to reprogram the amygdala portion of the brain which in turn will lower blood pressure and change how someone sees a situation. I am also to rely more on my deep breathing.

I know my past haunts me. It goes beyond so much more than my bike accident in 2007. They seem to run on a common theme, “Why?”  If I can make sense of something, I can move on from it. However, some things stay stuck inside me. Also, there is regret that courses through my veins. “What if,” does me no good. These two things end up making me angry, nervous, and at times, wake up in the middle of the night.

Finally, a common thread to a dream that repeats itself is never being able to arrive at a place I am seeking to get to. No wonder I question whether I should remain in Chico or move back to either the Ventura or Hemet areas. Odds are, unless I get to a better understanding of who I am and learn to remain present, I’ll never arrive anywhere.

I read a nice Buddhist quote the other day, “There are just two days each year we can forget about everything; yesterday and tomorrow.” I continue to quiet my mind a couple times each day writing down quotes that speak to me. It seems to be helping.

Feb. 25th: No Quick Fixes  

For the second morning in a row, I woke up with upper spine pain and a mild headache. I also felt tired despite plenty of sleep. There is no doubt the role my pain plays on my psyche. It’s one thing when it comes on later in the day after I have had a chance to work out and walk Bug, and another when my day starts with it. I can only hope it eases up enough to enjoy a few things. Otherwise, by the time 1 pm rolls around and I have to go to TMS, I will be miserable and just wanting to get back home and take some pain meds.

My brain is still busy and I have been using the three sentences my therapist gave me to repeat to calm myself down. However, my mind seems to automatically go to seeing myself near death in the middle of the road after my bike accident when I go to bed every night. It is strange I do this, but it makes sense. The calmest I ever felt in my life was after I said all my goodbyes to loved ones and the world and let go of everything that weighed heavy on me. It was such a peaceful feeling that I now rely on it to fall asleep. What I need to work on more is the practice of letting go in life and being present.

I continue taking a few minutes each morning and evening to write down quotes I find calming and helpful. I have about 140 pages filled in a journal. I’m also doing better by beginning my day with a positive affirmation. Before I get out of bed, I tell myself something positive about what lies ahead before Bug and I get our days going. For me, physical exercise always came naturally to me. However, all of this new work for my mindset is a challenge, but I am determined to be an old dog who learns a new trick or two.

Feb. 26th: A Tired Soul

“Sleep doesn’t help if it’s your soul that’s tired.” This is probably why I feel fatigued so often or wake in the morning feeling unrested.

As a kid, I remember how heavy I slept. Nothing woke me in the middle of the night. Once, when I was a kid, we were camping somewhere and sleeping in a cabin. In the middle of the night, I rolled out of the bed I was sleeping on and then rolled again underneath it. When I woke up the next morning, I instinctively raised my head only to hit it on the bed I thought I was still lying in.

Now, if my bladder does not wake me up in the middle of the night, then it is the sharp tearing sensation I get in my right shoulder anytime I move my right arm. Some nights, the back of my head hurts so much that even the pressure from my pillow triggers head pain.

When I wake feeling my spine right away, I also become nauseous. I might spend eight or nine hours in bed each night, but I am fortunate if I sleep well for half that time.

Today, besides my TMS, I also had appointments with my chiropractor and the physical therapist who is treating my right foot and Achilles tendon along with my left hamstring. I am as much a physical wreck as a mental one and it is no wonder. Clearly my soul is more than speaking to me. It is demanding my full attention. I just wish I had more of my childhood energy to combat what I have clearly buried.

The good news is today, my daughter Hannah called to tell me she is getting married next month in a very low key ceremony. I worry so much about my children. Each is doing well and are on their own. However, my concern is how much of my faulty wiring lurks inside them and will it cripple them at some point like it seems to have with me?

Don’t get me wrong. I am not in a constant depressed state. However, there is something going on that connects the trauma I carry inside to all the physical and emotional upheaval I feel. My troubled soul might begin sleeping better if I learn to begin letting go of things. It would also help if I could get back on a bike or go for a run. However, until my body says otherwise, I am limited as far as activity goes. I learned at a young age that my best method of self-medication was being physically active. I could go for a fix right now.

The timing of my injuries was not helped with my penchant for seasonal affect disorder, SAD, or what we refer to as the winter blues. Depression comes in many forms and unfortunately, I have a variety of them. I know a good run or a hard session on a bike would do wonders for my mindset. Timing is everything in life and right now, my timing is way off.

I am also trying to figure out when the time will be right to share with my children and oldest sister the true nature of my struggles of late. I am tired of keeping from those I am closest to the things I need to share in order to help let things go.

 I decided my first call would be to my oldest sister, Mindy. Since my second marriage ended two years ago, no one has been a bigger rock for me than her. The ear, the love, and the support she has provided me is why I am still here today to write this. I needed to tell her because she is the one I have failed to be up front with about my overdoses and recent mental health struggles. She never jumps to conclusions; she simply listens and asks questions that all pertain to my well-being. I can share anything with her and there is never any judgement.

We spoke for over an hour and just telling her what had been unfolding was a huge weight released. Listening to her and knowing how devastated she would feel were I to have died from an overdose makes me realize I actually matter to others. I am pretty good at pushing people away from me, but she is one person I know who will stop what she is doing if I ask for help.

Now I need to figure out how to let my children know. Do I tell them each individually or is it best to try collectively?  I will probably wake up in a few hours and lie in bed thinking about the pros and cons of both until I start a new day tomorrow.

Feb. 27th: You Should Just Be Happy

Too many doctors have said to me, “You should be happy you’re alive,” after hearing me explain the extent of injuries I suffered in 2007 when I was thrown off my bike and hit head first into a juniper trunk.

Having tried in vain to call for help, unable to pick myself up off the asphalt, barely able to breathe, somehow, I managed to feel a broken juniper branch next to me and grab hold of it as I heard a car slowly approaching. I lifted my arm and began waving the branch and as I heard the car slowing, I thought to myself, “I am saved.”

I was unable to see because of the bleeding behind my eyes, but my ears were telling me the car was slowing. I waited to hear it come to a stop and for someone to come to my aid. It’s next to me, I can almost feel it. It has yet to stop and now I tell myself to listen for it pulling over and a car door to open. Instead, it continues on its way, leaving me behind. “I am going to die here,” I tell myself.

My right lung has collapsed. I am bleeding internally and the blood has pooled against my spine. Any movement is excruciating. My right rib cage has been torn away from my sternum and one of my vocal cords is paralyzed. My bike helmet struck a trunk with enough force to crack it into two pieces and I have been severely concussed. I don’t know any of this yet. I just know I am going to die.

Later I would be told lmy injuries were more along the lines of a car accident victim who gets thrown through the windshield. In almost all cases, the victim dies from their injuries. Then I am told I should be happy that I am alive.

After the car left me behind, my mind runs through the seven stages of grief in short order and stops when I reach acceptance. I am okay knowing I am about to die. I am fully at peace with everything. I have said my silent good-byes to my loved ones and know that my life is now out of my hands. For the first time in my life, I am at total peace and feel weightless. I tell myself to remain this way and to enjoy my final breaths. Mentally, I have already died.

The couple that found me thought I was already dead and only came out of their home to see what it was their dog was alerting them to. Five days in a hospital and one doctor or nurse after another always repeating the same thing, “You should be glad you’re alive.”

There is just one problem with what they, and several others later, would tell me. Inside, I am still dead. It’s hard to explain, but in simple terms, a big part of me died that day and never came back. I am haunted, not by the accident, but by how someone else could pass by a human lying in the middle of the street and not stop. Is this my Karma biting me in the ass or just some individual who couldn’t be bothered?

When I arrived home from the hospital and read an email from a friend telling me of the passing of a former student who played football for me, I became consumed with survivor’s guilt. Why did I live and he died? Over the next few months, I stoically kept this to myself along with the behavior changes I began noticing in me. I was out of patience, especially with a new batch of school administrators who seemed hell bent on ruining the school I worked at. I was in constant pain and I am sure my wife and kids walked on eggshells around me each evening as my pain reached its daily peak.

I was in physical therapy three times a week and my only pain relief I relied on were ice packs and my portable electrical stimulation device. Each day began with the thought that I was about to be in terrible physical pain and it was my job to suck it up and soldier on. This would be my life for seven years before I switched primary physicians and she expressed something different than the other doctors. “You need help.”

She sent me to a pain specialist as well as to a therapist. Then she found a new antidepressant that worked well. I was medically retired at the age of 55 and in another two years divorced for the first time.

From the day I returned home from the hospital, I began tackling my five years of physical therapy with the determination to get myself back to my physical best. Activity has been, and hopefully always will be, my drug of choice. Despite lingering fine motor issues and daily upper spine pain, working out or riding my bike provided me with relief. I was able to enjoy large motor activities despite not being able to write with a pen or pencil or stand for more than five minutes.

Where I failed was with the emotional trauma from my accident and by the time I began seeing a therapist, it was buried it so deep that I was too locked up inside to release it. My time was spent mostly just bitching about how fucked up the school system was in Hemet, California.

Today, I realize the only actual lies that exist are the truths we refuse to confront and I was avoiding opening up wounds that went all the way back to my childhood. My new antidepressant worked well enough to avoid that task, but these lies turned into a field of weeds and eventually they made their way to the surface.

If I am going to succeed at letting go of them, I must be willing to remove them by their roots. Only then will I be at peace with my past, and perhaps, I can also begin letting go of my anxiety and PTSD. Christ, I’m a mess.

One thing that did help was talking with my sister last night. Just the weight I released talking with her allowed me to fall asleep and enjoy a deep rest. Not only did I appreciate it, but I think Bug did too.

This afternoon, I was suddenly filled with the following words that flowed from my pen.

The Path

Somewhere down life’s road,
I ended up losing my way –
down its narrowing path,>
I searched for a better day.
>But when the path ended,
I saw no route ahead;
dare I turn back defeated,
or clear what was before my head?
Taking a second look forward,
I was amazed by what I saw –
a new life awaited me,
one filled with awe.
The only thing it required of me
was to let go of what lay behind –
only then could I appreciate
a path of a different kind.