depression

March 4, 2025

Why Hope?

Yesterday was a mental health lesson where I learned to lie when I’m asked “have you thought about killing yourself, yes or no?” It’s such a broad question. Of course, who hasn’t had those kinds of thoughts? To not narrow it by putting a time frame or allowing for context… I guess I’m just the guy who thinks about dying a lot. Which is probably not a good thing.

The nurse I was “rushed” to ended up calling me four separate times. Evidently I was a “red alert” for the folks at Kaiser. I was immediately given an appointment with the psychiatrist and my therapist, who has been off on “medical leave” since September. The same medical leave that just so happened to coincide with the strike. Funny how that worked for him…

Genuinely I feel that their overreaction was unnecessary. While I have suicidal thoughts I am someone who is more bound by “duty” than anything. Yes, I may feel that I’d be better off dead, however the fact that so many rely on me is what keeps me pushing forward. Plus, I have yet to put my will together. I don’t want my possessions to go to my half-niece who knows nothing of me and would just end up throwing everything away without doing the research of what she could sell for some level of profit.

The one thing I don’t quite understand is, why are we pretending that Kaiser even cares if I live or die?

This past weekend the BF and I went to visit a mutual friend of ours up at his home in Carmel. It was a fun little trip that was relatively relaxing despite it being such a short visit. The trip did open up my mind to the realization that I am thoroughly depressed. Not in the active “I’m sad” but deep in my soul. This was unapparent until the point our friend point blank asked me “What do you want to do for your milestone birthday?”

I had zero answer. My initial response was “nothing.” There was nowhere I wanted to go or anything I felt inclined to do. I rather it just pass by without any recognition. Which this is a complete 180 from what I used to do, which was make it a birthday month. My husband even joked, calling it exactly that.

Now I would rather just not have it exist at all. Maybe it’s age but also, I don’t see the point in celebrating.

It occurred to me that I have no hopeful wishes to travel anywhere because I feel that the world is fucked. So why break my heart further by holding onto the fantasy that I could travel to Disneyland Paris? Not saying that is anything I want to do, it was just the most likely of hopes for me to have. Instead of hope, I have survival on my mind. Planning and preparing for the inevitable outlaw of gay people…

Sorry… this is getting entirely too depressing. This is where I will leave you.

February 18, 2025

Blue Tuesday

I am thoroughly depressed and I am trying to find a way to write it in the most eloquent way possible. The unfortunate fact is there is no one way to put my feelings when they’re this disjointed and unrelated. Well… related just individual thoughts that exist in a train with no connection.

My job is basically dead. For me at least. My boss hasn’t felt the need to offer me any assignments to “keep me afloat.” As a result, I’m overcome with panic attempting to decipher if he is attempting to get me to leave without firing me so I can’t claim unemployment. The position I am in, I’m technically an independent contractor. So he doesn’t need to do anything. Except take 60% of whatever I bill which as of right now is… nothing. It doesn’t hurt his pocket at all. He is still getting jobs. So… what does he care?

With the way the world is I’m wondering if I need to just fuck right off. If I have to start at ground zero with a new job why not get the fuck out of this goddamn dumpster fire and find something else abroad?

Immediately thinking that I am overcome with guilt of leaving my brother and family behind. He won’t go with me. He would stay here. And I could just say “that’s his choice” but… I’m not that kind of person. This is why I hate getting involved with anyone or anything. I rather be alone. I have the type of personality that I tend to make friends wherever I go. It’s genuinely uncanny.

I guess… since I have to start over after the death of my husband that also includes employment. Awesome. I didn’t know that this was genuinely a restart, on difficult mode no less.

I don’t know what to do. I wish more than anything I could talk to my husband for 10 minutes to ask his advice. I am so terribly lost and lack any purpose. And the state of the world has suck out the dregs of whatever ambition I had left.

June 11, 2024

Adventures in Medication

I started taking some new meds to help combat my ADHD. This is a first for me. I have never been medicated for it before, but that is because I refused to believe/accept my diagnosis. (I was diagnosed in my early 20’s.) However, it is has reached a point that it is impossible to deny that it is a problem. Especially these past few weeks.

My doctor prescribed me the anti-depressant Bupropion. Supposedly it is meant to be a mild form of ADHD medication in addition to stop me from the “sads.” What I am bothered by is that these were given in addition to the Lexapro I am currently taking. I feel as though this is overkill, however I am dealing with a lot, so maybe that’s the logic in it’s prescription? Or maybe it’s easier to get than a controlled substance.

My lone complaint thus far is the sense of “apathy” I feel. Which is a familiar sensation with these medications.

I have run through the gamut when it comes to anti-depressants. I have done all of them and the only one that seems to work for me is Lexapro. It stabilizes my moods without sacrificing my personality, or make me feel like I’m not “me.” Others tend to make me “not care.” Specifically when it comes to my writing. I worry that this will be much like the others that have come before it. (With the exception of Prozac which made me crazy-er.)

I love to write. I really do. It’s the one way I can put my thoughts into literal black and white. And while they’re in front of me I can figure them out or form them into a more cohesive message. The problem I face when I start anti-depressants is I stop doing this. It’s almost as if in the lack of these feelings I lose all purpose for doing the thing that I love. This post in particular… This is actually my second attempt. I started to write another blog about “finding the new normal” in my life and I got two paragraphs in before I thought… “Who cares?”

I want to give the Bupropion a chance before I decide to give up all together. My ADHD had gotten so bad I felt like a car stereo trying to play a song from a scratched CD over a bumpy road. (That metaphor only works for gen x and millennials.) I could/can not focus. My work life had gotten so chaotic in this that I found myself doing EVERYTHING ELSE but the task I was given to do. The fact that none of this had an immediate due date also did not help.

I’m worried this will turn out much like it has before. Yet I am trying my hardest to keep an open mind and not fall into old habits. I need to do something because I am suffering… and just trying to make it through isn’t going to cut it this time around. Because as it is, my life is in the aftermath of having been in utter chaos. I’m left to rebuild after a category 6 hurricane. I’m going to need all the help I can get.

April 30, 2024

Your Husband is on the Dresser

I never expected to learn things about myself in the absence of my husband. I thought I had a basic grasp of my idiosyncrasies and character flaws. As I have since discovered, I do not. Turns out that I am still very much afraid of the dark and what lurks within it’s depths. It is either the thought, or the truth, that entities lay just beyond my field of vision that causes me immense amounts of fear. I’m kept up late wondering what the energy I am feeling could be. And it’s always things just out of sight.

When my husband was around I never thought of them. They rarely crossed my mind, unless I had some sort of dream or had thought it was a good idea to watch a scary movie before bed. (Y’know the only time it’s appropriate to do so?) If I had had any fear drifting to sleep or waking with panic, he was always there to calm me. Every time. I always felt safe with him there. His presence made me stronger, even when ALS had made him completely immobile. I don’t know why.

There were times, when he had a job out of town, that I got a glimpse of this “Josh.” I would wake up and look right at the open door. (Yeah, I sleep with the door open by the way.) I could sense or feel something watching me. Panic would grip my body as I tried to tell myself that I was alright, there was nothing there. I’d reach out to my husband and text him, even though I knew he was asleep. Just knowing he was there, somewhere, made me braver.

Now, I have nothing. Well… Almost nothing. Yesterday I retrieved his remains from the funeral home and placed them in the bedroom. His ashes now rest on the dresser across from where I sleep. Oh, and a portion in the living room with full view of the TV, just in case.

Tony darkly joked on who had what part of him. I said, he probably had a leg and the blue, tropical themed shorts he was wearing. Maybe an eye too. A finger. God, we’re fucked up.

We are people who find humor in grief. It’s our way of processing all of the ache that comes with loss. We fill it with a mutated sense of “joy.” For us it’s also a way to honor Charlie. He had a darker sense of humor than all of us. He had to, to process all of what had been given to him.

It’s nice “having him home.” Also a little weird, knowing that my husband’s charred remains are just on the opposite side of the room in a rough wood box. As he would have said “it’s creepy.” Partially, but I’m in that weird grief state of mind where I will take anything I can get to be a band-aid for the emotional ache. In grief we do the weirdest things to process it. I’ve been wearing his deodorant, clothes, and sleeping where he passed. That last one would have given him the biggest “ick.” For someone who was so comfortable with his own condition he was sure hung-up on the small details.

“Why are you sleeping there? That is where someone died? That’s creepy,” he would have said.

“It’s not like you’re still there, Charlie,” I would have responded.

I wonder if having his ashes made it even more real… He is really gone.