The Irrational Heart

Common wisdom and rational thought will tell you that people can only hurt us as much as we let them. While we aren’t in control of the situation or another person’s actions, we are at least in control of our own actions or reactions. As human beings, it is in our nature to embrace what little control we do have.

Where we have logic on one shoulder, we have the whisperings of the heart on the other. And they can be as different as good and evil, night and day, love and hate. Some people are ruled more by one than the other. And when the manipulative, ungrateful, and thoughtless among us take advantage of the generous, the kind, and the trusting, worlds collide, feelings are hurt, and in my case, faith in humanity is questioned, but not completely lost.

For a self-proclaimed cynic, I have many hidden soft spots, that inevitably are used against me. I am one of those who share everything I have and can love you like family. But I feel like every time someone hurts me, when I honestly did nothing to deserve it, as Pink Floyd so adequately chanted, “all in all, its just another brick in the wall…”

I just added a few today.

Sadly, if you live long enough, that wall can get too high to see over. The best you can do is shout at people passing by, and if one of them stops long enough, you can be friends. But with the wall between you, there is a boundary that keeps either of you from reaching out or getting closer. After time, you will notice that one day, they tire of you and say goodbye. Or maybe one day, there is only silence.

I rarely feel sorry for myself… although the last three years have been hell. The worst part, of course, is watching my son struggle against complications of Crohn’s disease. I do admit feeling sorry for him. But I don’t expect pity from others. I am a strong woman, and I guess that while every brick someone throws at me makes me even stronger, it also adds to the isolation behind my wall of distrust.

I’m sad, really, because I want to help people. Sad, because my son has experienced disappointments of his own, witnessed situations where I have been used, and now easily writes people off. Without realizing it, I have taught him not to have faith in other people. I’m sad because I don’t want either of us to become anti-social, suspicious, or wary. I don’t want to question the motives of others, but I know in my irrational heart, my logical mind will always think twice.

I want to make the world a better place, even if it’s one kind act at a time. I want my son to see that as one person, you may not make a huge difference, but you can make a positive one.

If it wasn’t for all these damned bricks in my way…

I Don’t Have Any Feelings On Antidepressants

That statement could be taken two ways.

Do I have opinions about antidepressants? You betcha. Do I have any emotions while taking them? Not really. Which is why I have the opinions I do. The fact that I am motivated enough to write them down is because I am full of coffee, not because of my SSRI.

Once I said something about taking an antidepressant, almost everyone I know confessed the same thing. Everyone named the several they had tried so far, and compared notes. It left me thinking about how the doctors see us, and the problems we share with them. I recently left my doctor’s office with a bag full to the top with samples, crying, and for some reason, thanking him. For what? I guess for not having to pay for a prescription that may not work, or has a terrible side effect, which would leave me with an entire bottle of medication I’ll never use.

And that leads me to my other thought: the pharmaceutical companies are making way too much money by guinea pigging patients. At one point during my son’s struggle with Crohn’s disease, my insurance paid $6,800 for one month’s supply of Humira that he ended up not using. I was left with several containers of perfectly good medicine, that at $750 a pop, should be refundable. Someone could use it.

In the last two weeks, my son has tried two different antidepressants. They were supposed to help him deal with stress, and prevent self-injury. The first one, he said, made it impossible to sleep. Been there. The second one made him throw up. So now he won’t try anything else. I myself have tried at least ten SSRIs over the last 15 years, so I can sympathize with him. It is frustrating. The doctor suggested we take him to a counselor, because, I assume without his prescription pad, he cannot help us.

Strangely, though, after my son stopped taking them, he seems less stressed out than before. It may be just a coincidence. I am still watching him very closely. Right now, The Big Picture is obstructed by day to day life. I’m just taking it 24 hours at a time.

Personally, I held out a long time before going back on my medication. Mainly because I knew how I would and wouldn’t feel. On SSRIs, I feel numb. Blank. Like a nice white sheet of paper with nothing on it. Boring. Not happy. Not unhappy, Not terribly concerned or motivated or inspired. Not sentimental. Not gone, but not really present. It’s a strange place to be. I like to think I am just visiting, and that I don’t have to live here forever.

Last week I lost my job. That makes three downsizings! Three!! I think I am entitled to a few free therapy sessions or some award to stroke my damaged ego.  Without my medication, I probably would have gone to bed and stayed a few days. But, I’m so used to my job being eliminated or moved, I just packed and left. (Really, when I am working, every day that I make eight hours without being downsized, I am a tiny bit surprised.) My main concerns since then have been getting unemployment started back up and whether I am going back for my lucky bamboo sitting on the desk. I know, I know… how lucky was it? 

My friend Beth said things happen for a reason. Maybe I’m meant to be here for Dylan. He has two infusions of Remicade and a doctor’s visit scheduled. My boss wouldn’t have liked that at all. In my experience, bosses don’t like employees with sick children.

Even now, I am having mixed feelings about my medication. Before he went to work this morning, my husband and I got into a huge fight… and we are at a pivitol point in our marriage. The subject of divorce has come up several times. It’s make it or break it time, and I feel… well, I don’t know. It’s that damned pill! I normally would be a wreck. Feeling like I do, I am less likely to express my true feelings. Were I crying all day, I still might not figure out how to fix our problems, but I would be trying. I would be feeling something.

Which is better?

I Took The Happy? Pill

I didn’t want to. I hate the idea. Plus I will be a zombie for entire weekend. I’ve had the prescription for months, but thought I could handle everything the life and my brain were throwing at me.

I was wrong. At lunch today, in the car, I fell apart. I had been holding it in since this morning when my son told me he wished he was dead. The Crohn’s disease, the social isolation, the uncertainty of life has caused him to be anxious, depressed, and inclined to hurt himself.

This has happened more than once. And at 3 a.m. this morning, we were sitting on the bed crying together. Granted, he is sick. He says he has terrible insomnia and cannot sleep. I have been distracted by my own selfish dramas. Neither of us are doing well. But I decided right then, I had to do something. It was really hard to leave him and just go to work today.

He has tried two different antidepressants himself … both with ill effects. I called the doctor and he advised that we take him to the hospital, which is what I was afraid of. They may admit him. And if that saves his life, he may hate me forever. But he’ll be alive.

I feel like I am drowning in an emotinal whirlpool… and the last thing I was going to grab was a bottle of pills. But I’ve tried everything else. I’ve been crying every day for two weeks now. I have a lot of reasons to cry, but I can’t solve anything that way.

I have no illusions that the pill I took is going to make me “happy”… or even help me for weeks. But I had to do someithing. I have to be able to think clearly, and look past my own sadness for a solution to this. I am not going to lose my son. No matter what I have to do. Even if I have to grow up, set an example, and follow my own doctor’s instructions. I just hope it helps.

It’s obvious to me I am not doing much better than he is. And I can’t help him that way.