“The Scream,” almost came out of my mouth after a week of hell or a helluva week?

The 1893 “The Scream” by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch  embodied the anxiety of the human condition, & my brain for the last four out of seven days.

One little problem is easily manageable, but over time for me little problems can become a major catastrophes.

On Friday, I almost had a seizure due to my epilepsy.   I was completely stressed out at work a manager and a coworker told me to get off the floor. 

The following Monday, I went out to see my 90-year-old father.  Due to a doctor’s appointment,  we could only talk for about an hour.  We were very disappointed, but he understood.

On Tuesday, friends had a washer and dryer which they delivered to my apartment. Their generosity was in a league of being philanthropists.  However, there is a problem to this tale.  Tree roots grew into the plumbing or the plumbing in general weren’t proper and a volcano of water erupted from the back of the washer. This caused a flood on my kitchen floor, which in turn promoted moping and cleaning till midnight.

This gushed into Wednesday night, where sleep was impossible.  Insomnia stormed through my mind like a tornado and sending me off to see some wizard.  The reason for my brain chugging and churning all night long was an early morning appointment with my neurologist, who helps with my seizures.

I was like a drunken alley cat dragging a dead rat, when I staggered into the doctor’s office. They knew I wasn’t intoxicated.  I haven’t drank in 22 years, and there wasn’t a scent of alcohol on me.

My doctor told me to go home at least six to sixty times to go home and get sleep. I called work and told them that I would not be coming in for the day.  I was offered a ride home, and I automatically refused the help. 

This was incredibly idiotic if not dismissively recklessness. I could have waited in a warm lobby for ten minutes for a free car ride, then straight to my apartment.  Instead I drug myself for 15 minutes in nasty windy, freezing temperature.  At the bus stop, I stood for 45 minutes in diabolically, torturous, winter weather – well for Missouri, not the Artic.  At home, sleep was no issue and a welcomed gift.

Thursday was a slow restoration to life.  At work, I can say I was breathing and conscious. I felt like shit and a manager even said I looked like shit. I nodded and told him that I almost called to take another day off.  He asked if I should. I told him I’d snap out of it or I would.  I weathered through.

Friday, I had another doctor’s appointment and missed my bus by five minutes.  I was an hour late for the doctor, which caused me to be an hour late for work.  This one wasn’t as bad simply because I took the ride that had been offered on Wednesday. I learned from my mistakes.  However. I did manage to forget my phone and other things as I rushed out the door.  This simply made me annoyed with myself.  Fortunately in my stampede to make the bus, I remembered to take my medications.  This could have been a big issue.

Saturday was fantastic. Nothing happened.

One complication, then another dilemma, and then another setback, and another hindrance, slowly grow into one monstrous misfortune.  Throughout the week, I became increasingly distraught and depressed with myself.

Sometimes it was an appeal for help.  Other times it was out of gratitude.

Since 2015, I didn’t have a seizure due to lack of sleep.  Came close on Wednesday, due to lack of sleep, and was offered help but didn’t take it.  Was it pride? Was it stupidity? Was it prideful stupidity? Regardless of what caused it, I knew I would learn from it. Spending an unnecessary hour in the cold was hazardous and could have easily led to a seizure.

There are three factors that can trigger a seizure for me.

Fortunately in the past week, I took my meds and avoided a seizure.

My trail toward suicide started with a negative self image & inner dialogue.

In August of 2007, this was practically my constant mantra.

Summing up a long, ugly, painful, and depressing story, I can say: I was almost fired while going through my divorce. I had next to no money, and I was having bizarre, illusionist, dream-like experiences. In hindsight I can say these episodes were probably full blown epileptic seizures. 

My opinion of myself or self concept, which is the person who I told myself I was had gotten so low my mantra transformed into a question, “Who would give a shit if you killed yourself? No one will care.” 

Obviously, I sought help where I was diagnosed with epilepsy.

My self image and inner dialogue were so negative I doubt Satan could have made it worse. Not that I’m taunting anyone.

The reason I sought help was because of an immediate answer to a prayer. I closed my eyes and made my petition. “God, who would give a shit if I killed myself?”

When my vision returned, I instantly saw a name I never considered significant.  I realized that my sheer existence would make a difference for these people, and I instantly sought out how to get help.

Now when I catch my negative inner dialogue or self talk entering my mind, I try to stop it immediately.  Then, I’ll make an accounting of my accomplishments, my strengths, and the things that I did that day, which made me happy to be who I am. Instead of focusing on the negative aspects of my life, I concentrate on the positive actions. Now, my mantra when I’m struggling is, “You lead. I follow.”

Depressed day

I did not have anything to complain about but only wanted to return to sleep.

My mind was in a haze of overall despair and only slowly felt like I was coming to life.  I forgot the two things that truly bummed me out the night before.  I prayed over my problems, & placed them in God’s hands. I resolved to be patient and told myself that everything would work out. 

Bear in mind in the morning, I knew those two things were manageable, and were not causing any amount of conscious stress.  I believe it was a case of subconscious depression smog and despair or anxiety.

Then the incredible happened my issue #1 was happily resolved, as expected.

Then a surprising thing happened.  A friend called, and we chatted for about 15 minutes.   Just a casual call eradicated my empty feelings.  I was essentially spending the day alone, but I did have some goals for myself. 

After the call I made a priority list of my goals. I then accomplished all but one of my goals.  Essentially, my home was cleaner than it had been for a week and a half. A black cat’s fur is visible in every nook and cranny.

My last goal was writing this blog post. This is when the fumes of depression returned.  Essentially I thought I was broke and wouldn’t be able to cover my bills.  I figured I would have to live on $5 for a week.  However, rent must be in on the 7th of each month and I got paid on the 7th. Therefore, it wasn’t as bad as I imagined – or wanted to believe. In short, it wasn’t perfect.

Then the predicable happened due to my poor arithmetic skills. Basically I didn’t add up & subtract my bills and assets correctly. Everything is fine, and in my humble lifestyle, this past month has turned out “perfect”. Maybe not great for anyone else, but I’m not bitching.

I’ve read depression compared to any number of things.  This is mine.   It comes in varying degree but it never leaves.  Depression is not simply being sad over something.

Depression Analogy

I thought it was a great comparison because I often just want to stay in bed when I’m down and out.

This only applies when there’s no visible signs of illness.