Hopeless

Truth be told.  I should have written this last night, amidst one of the most intense feelings of dread and hopelessness.  If we're being totally honest, though, I was in no shape to be doing anything last night.

I can't describe it, but I've been feeling overwhelmed as of late with feelings of dire hopelessness.  I'm lost.  I am truly lost.  A castaway in a sea of possibility, yet I feel like I'm a million miles away.  I feel like I'm on an edge, afraid to look down.  Like I'm being needled forward, inch by inch, to ultimately fall into a pit of obscurity.

My mom recently told me that when she dies, she doesn't want a funeral.  Despite having so many friends, she believes no one would show up for her funeral.  This saddened me.  In part, because my mom feels this way and selfishly, perhaps, I think if she feels this way with all the friends she has, then no one's going to attend my funeral.  It's not that I don't have friends, but these days they seem more like acquaintances than definitive friends.  I mean, my phone's not ringing off it's hook.

Last night, I watched a documentary on Robin Williams.  For years, I found myself unable to forgive Williams for ending his own life by suicide.  There was no booze of drugs in his system, other than his prescription drugs, so his decision, by all accounts, was lucid, which makes the act even more sad.

Selfishly, I never truly understood his life.  What was going on in that brain of his.  Outside of all the crazy antics, I could see the shell of the man inside.  That the zaniness he displayed on the stage, never truly reflected the man he was inside.  In the documentary, Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind, the late comedian was often described as quiet whenever he was home, away from the glitz and glamour of show biz.  I think that was when Robin was truly himself, but speaking from my own experience, this isn't always a good thing.  If I'm out and about, I rarely think about myself or what's going on in my own shitty life.  It's when I'm home, alone, with my thoughts, that all hope escapes me and I feel truly lost.  No amount of TV, music or movies, what I used to rely on for escape, now leaves me feeling dejected.

Turns out that in addition to anxiety and depression, the late Oscar winner, was diagnosed with early onset Parkinson's Disease, as well as Lewy Body Dementia, which is believed to be a major contributor to his suicide.  Selfishly, given my thought processes as of late, I understand now, why the man felt suicide was his only choice, despite having such a strong base to lean on.  Last night, reliving some of those happy memories of Robin, I found myself forgiving him for exiting stage left.

I should have written this last night, when my mind was swimming in despondency.  With my cat, nestled up tightly against me, I still felt alone.  Feelings of dread and impending doom.  I can't explain why I'm feeling this way and I think my cat is feeling it too.  He knows something is afoot with his daddy, but doesn't know how to bring me out of this funk.

Depression is nothing new for me.  I've suffered Seasonal Depression for years.  It's only recently that I had discovered that cannabis can combat those dark feelings and the Seasonal Depression that threatened my very livelihood for the better part of my life, had gone by the wayside.  For the first time in literally decades, I was smiling and laughing my way through those darkened months sprawling from late-October to mid-April / early-May.  That is, until this year.  As much as I detested working at that RV company, being fired for absolutely no reason, really shook me.  I didn't mind being off of work for the winter, as I have a real phobia about snow and ice, but to be cast away, like vermin for no justifiable reason, simply blew my mind.  Maybe that's what blew the gasket to my sanity.

I'm in constant pain.  My ankles hurt SO much, that it often brings me to tears.  My hands are the same way.  A handful of times (pardon the pun), I've awoken abruptly as my hands, usually the right hand, my dominant hand, is cramping up into a ball.  The pain in unequal to anything I've ever experienced, and considering I've broken my back and squashed my brain, both immensely painful experiences, the pain I feel in my hands and ankles, rival those pain levels, if not more.  As a result, I've been relying on the cannabis for pain relief, as well.  I've gone to my physician on the matter.  She ran a series of blood tests and has informed me that I do not have arthritis.  When asked why everything hurts, she has no solution.  Only that I should stretch before bed.  Sorry doctor, but what the fuck?!?

These days, my ankles hurt 24/7.  Not a moment goes by where my feet don't hurt.  My hands hurt, but usually only when I grab something.  If I grab a jug of milk from the fridge, my right hand immediately cramps up.  My knees hurt.  My hips both hurt now, although the left is still worse, by far.  My back hurts, as does my neck and my fucking migraines have returned, although still not at the frequency they once did.  The only thing relatively good is my blood sugars.  Small victories?

I am without work.  For the past half decade, I haven't been working throughout the winter months.  At first it was because of my TBI, a traumatic brain injury that I'd gotten when I slipped on a patch of ice at work, knocking myself out for close to a half hour, which was the beginning of a life altered.  I've managed fairly well, I believe, to come out the other side of that accident, with only damage to my short-term and long-term memory.  The long-term comes back in spurts.  I'll see or hear or smell something that triggers a memory and no matter how miniscule it may be, I celebrate it.  My short-term memory is an ongoing problem.  It may have been a contributor to loss of employment from the RV job, as the morning of my dismissal, I found myself wandering around the parking lot, struggling to remember how to do the next task of my job.  I recall almost collapsing in tears.  Everyone is quick to dismiss these struggles as "getting old", but those people fail to see the scenario from my side of the proverbial fence.  I've always prided myself on my memory.  I was always able to remember even the most finite bits of information, but these days I can stop abruptly in the middle of a task being performed and not have a single clue as to what I am doing, nor why I'm doing it.  This is not a factor of getting old.  This is a real fucking problem.

I am without work.  I want to have something to do.  To have a purpose.  I want to have a job with the city.  To work in the park system, ideally, but I have my name in with some other departments, too.  The downside to this is, I know the city will likely demand a drug test prior to any employment, so it will be discovered that I have THC in my bloodstream.  I don't smoke in the morning or during the day, despite how painful my ankles get.  I smoke only in the evenings.  To help with pain management, depression, anxiety and to help me sleep.  However, in my research of the plant, I discovered that daily use, means the THC that is in the cannabis, stays in a person's system for a very long time.  I know not what the city's policy is on cannabis, since it's legalization.  The philosophy of many companies and people, even, casts a dark shadow on the misunderstood substance.  It's absurd.  A person could be a fall down drunk and it's acceptable, but if a person lights up a doobie, suddenly they're a liability and a menace.  Part of me thinks I should speak with my physician about it, but I've attempted to broach the subject with her many years ago.

A friend of mine, years ago, alerted me to acquiring a Medicinal Marijuana prescription.  They were using it to combat anxiety and other ailments.  I knew from my own experimentation, that cannabis helped me with my own battles with anxiety and depression.  It even helped my asthma, remarkably enough.  So I broached the idea with my doctor.  I had always seen my doctor as a forward thinking, try-anything kind of physician.  Hell, she's one of the top doctors in the city.  I'm often commended by other physicians for being so lucky as to have her as my personal physician.  So when I brought up the idea of getting a prescription for cannabis, the idea was shot down immediately and with extreme prejudice.  My doctor was not going to have any of that, citing that marijuana is a "gateway drug".  That is horse shit.  It's my own personal belief that if someone is going to try a hard drug like cocaine or worse, then they were going to do it anyway.  They didn't need an introduction to it by Mary Jane.

I wish I had a rock.  Someone to bounce ideas off of.  Not someone to solve my problems, but who'll be there for me.  To listen to me.  To hear me.  To...  I don't know.

My friend's kid found love on the interwebs.  He is or was a closed off individual.  I worked with him, side-by-side, and it was difficult to bring him out of his shell to even say hi, but somehow he found love on the interwebs. Perhaps I should do this?  Nah.  I'm too broken.  Physically.  Another contributor to my sorrow, me thinks.

I should have written this, last night.  My head racing with thoughts and disparity.  These days.  I am truly lost.  I don't know where to go.  What I should do.  I just want to curl up in a ball and disappear.

My cat, Monkey, is twelve years old.  I pray that he lives to be thirty, because the idea of living in this house without his fuzzy little face staring up at me, is unbearable.  I broke down into full on tears, last week, thinking about him, my cat, being in his twilight years.  My mom, who I've been spending a lot of time with, is seventy-five and talking about when she dies.  When they're both gone, I'm going to be truly alone.  No one to care the least about me.  It was the first time in a very long time where I thought suicide was a legitimate choice.  That without these two pivotal components of my life, I couldn't possibly move on.  This coupled with the fact that I'm susceptible to getting dementia or Alzheimer's Disease because of my multiple concussions.  I've had at least fifteen, to the best of my knowledge, if not more.  Three of which were fatal enough to knock me out and cause permanent damage.  My future looks bleak.  Bleak and alone.

There's no danger of my taking my life.  Not anytime soon, but when these loved ones make their exit...  I'm not a religious person, by any means, but I hope that whatever powers that be, can deliver me through what will likely be the darkest patch of my life.

I was thinking the other day.  Counting how many Christmas' I had left in my life.  How many more birthday's.  I don't have that many.  More than what can be counted on both hands, but less than the amount including my toes.

My feet hurt SO much, right now and I feel fucking helpless.

I should have written this last night.  I may have had a way to end this thought process.  To wrap it up with a neatly tied bow.  Maybe even talk myself into a solution.  A glimmer of hope.  End on a positive note, but I can't.  It's not in me.  It's nowhere to be found.  And will it matter?  Will anyone even read this?  Probably not.  Nobody gives a shit.  People just interject enough on social media to pat themselves on the back with the belief that they contributed.  That they cared, but...  My phone isn't ringing off the hook.

I'm surrounded by so many people, but I've never felt more alone. 😔

It's No Secret

 

It's not a secret that I hide from anyone.  It's just a matter of fact.  A part of the lifestyle I choose to live, these days.  Years ago, before it was formally legalized, I would partake in the consumption of marijuana on a extremely part time basis.  If a friend had some, we'd share a joint.  Later on, I found a supplier and decided to do my own experimentation.

I suffer from seasonal depression.  It's something I've battled for more years than I can count.  Not something that my family or closest peers were ever aware of.  I'm not an idiot, doing my due diligence before moving forward and learning that cannabis can reduce or even eliminate depression.  So that first winter, I smoked whenever I was feeling down and it perked me right up.  Sadly, the more I learned about cannabis, the more I realized that my "supplier" knew nothing.  When I made my last purchase from him, I asked if it was a Sativa or an Indica strain and he blankly looked at me and told me he didn't know what either of those words meant. 

Sativa is the strain that perks you up and Indica is the strain that mellows you the f**k out.  Easiest way to remember is what I learned from the comedian, Doug Benson, who quoted "Indica is like 'in-da-couch'."

In the end, I'm not sure what it was that I received from the "supplier", but rest assured, the depression was suppressed.  So imagine my joy when marijuana was legalized in Canada.  The ease of walking into a legitimate business and conducting myself in an open manner.  Plus, now dealing with people who not only know the good and bad effects of the merchandise they're selling.  Nowadays, I'm able to customize the effects that I hope to achieve upon consumption.  Back in the old days, it was like spinning the tumbler on a six-shooter in a game of Russian Roulette.  Spark up and hope for the best.  One night, as I recall, I was quite gleeful, as I cooked up about 2lbs of bacon and consumed it all.  Another time, I got horribly sick, almost like I'd had an allergic reaction.  I couldn't function for about a week. 

These days, I choose to go the route of vaping the cannabis.  It's easier and more compact.  I don't have to empty the chamber and clean my unit every time I wish to smoke dried product as I do with my one device, but simply screw the vape cartridge into the battery I purchased and I'm off to the races.

Gone are the munchies, although I do keep a supply of snacks on hand that require little, if any, effort to prepare, so there's no danger of burning down my house.  No more anxiety or depression.  All that is left is relaxation, happy times and a flurry of ideas and expressions.  The stuff that makes me laugh like an idiot, I often will share to Facebook and Twitter.  Share my idiocy with the world, hoping that no one will steal any of it.

Sadly, there is also a downside...  It's nothing dangerous, mind you, but simply inconvenient.  Prime example is last night.  I was inspired to write a genius blog.  I had the introduction written in my head.  I had many musings and references to make and even a title, which is usually the most difficult factor to come up with, aside from subject matter.  I'd consumed just enough cannabis to know, however, that I was unable to write anything last night, for fear it'd come out like gibberish.  Even now, I question how legitimate this blog sounds, and I'm 100% clean and sober and the moment.

I'm not afraid to admit to smoking dope.  It's not illegal.  Hell, cannabis, despite all the idiot warning labels that the government imposes onto packaging, marijuana is not dangerous to your health.  Cannabis is a necessary tool that I use to escape my demons and depression.  That is all.  Well....  It IS fun, too.  I won't lie about that.

A Debilitated Heart

A young co-worker, just eighteen years in age, but wise beyond his years, approached me the other night.  He had a look of seriousness on his face, asking a serious question and not wanting one of my usual smart-ass quips.

L_____ is, as I said, wise beyond his eighteen years, and we've engaged in some inspiring subjects while restocking the coolers at work, but this subject, as it does with many, was stumping him and it was easy to understand why.

"How do you know when a girl is really into you?" he asked.  For a moment, I was sincerely touched, but remembering that my luck with the fairer sex has not been what anyone would categorize as, ideal.  Before I could answer his question, he added, "I asked this girl out for a coffee and she said, 'Hell yeah!'"  I confounded.  Even in my (extreme) few successes, I'd never gotten a 'hell yeah" as a response.

I paused for a moment, attempting to recall some fragment of useful information, but alas I had to confess that my knowledge wasn't up to par.  That no tidbit of information from me would bear any fruit of usefulness.  "I don't know," I explained, "Usually when I ask a girl out for a coffee, she somehow hears it as 'Can I have sex with you?', although I'm really talking about a warm refreshing beverage."

He thanked me for listening and continued on with his tasks, leaving me to dwindle on my past.  Silently I reminisced about the many rejections I've received over the years, concluding on two that I couldn't distinguish between as being the worse rejections.  Later on, I approached young L_____ and asked for his opinion.  Like I said, he's wise beyond his years.

"I asked one girl out for coffee and she answered with a resounding 'NOPE!!'  No hesitation.  No thoughts on the matter.  Not even so much as eye contact.  I barely got the question out and it was a 'nope' with a hard 'P' sound." I explained.

"Well that was harsh." he said.

"The other rejection," I continued, "The girl paused, scrunched up her face and uttered with disgust, "Eww. No."

L_____ was taken aback, then started to calculate in his head which rejection was truly the worse of the two.  He went with the latter, stating that the exclamation of disgust was definitely worse.  All these years, I'd always considered the first as worse, as no consideration was placed into the decision, but upon reexamination, I'm going to have to agree with my young friend.  Pausing to think about it, then shrieking with fear and disgust, does seem more offensive.  Damn.  My life sucks...!

I've always suffered from seasonal depression.  My sadness and loneliness seems to culminate during the winter months.  Professionals have explained it to me that it's the lack of sunlight and that the sky always seems so dull and grey.  I've always disagreed, stating that it's because all the shit that most couples enjoy together, happens during these months.  My spell usually begins just before Halloween and extends off into springtime.

I've gone on to explain that Halloween is a time that is most enjoyed with a partner.  Go out to a bar or a party and have some fun and laughs.  I'm usually a designated driver, instead, often looked over by party patrons.  Next is my birthday.  I've never had a girlfriend or significant other to share my birthday with.  Probably explains why I prefer to hide away and ignore everything when November 29th rolls around.  After that, it's Christmas.  Everyone around me is bragging and showing me what they got for their loved one and all I can do is fake a smile and feign interest, wishing I had someone special to share the holiday with.  I did have someone special many many years ago, but she died in a car accident days before Christmas, so the season has always been a little tarnished for me, though I don't dwell on the negativity as much anymore.

I've never had a New Year's kiss.  While everyone around me is smooching to Auld Lang Syne, I'm left looking at the floor, reminiscing about the one year that I did have a girlfriend on New Year's Eve, but because she didn't like public displays of affection, I was rejected.  A few years later, I'd be celebrating the New Year with some friends at a house party, one woman spoke up and said, I'll give everyone a New Year's kiss, but not Jeff.  Talk about a proverbial kick to the junk.

St. Valentine's Day is next.  I got a dancing gorilla with a top hat once from a friend at work.  I kinda had the hots for her, but nothing every grew from that.  (Ironically, she was the one who uttered - "Eww, No.")  I still have that dancing gorilla today and on St. Valentine's Day, I press the button and watch him dance for a few seconds.  It makes me smile and feel special for a moment... I've never had anyone special to buy flowers or chocolate for.  No one to take out on for a romantic dinner.

I have had a few successes with women.  I'm not a complete loser.  I'm mostly a loser, but not completely.  However, on closer examination of what worked to get those successes, I haven't got the foggiest idea.  One or two of them were alcohol-related, so anyone's guess is as good as any.  A couple successes more were the result of off-the-cuff smart-ass remarks.  Endeavours that have not been successfully repeated.

I'm often told that I'm a nice person, but beyond that, I don't know what is wrong with me.  I know I'm not interesting.  I don't do anything interesting.  I don't have any hobbies that I can share with people.  No extra-curricular activities that can strike interest.  I haven't any passions that anyone deems interesting.  I'm afraid I'm a lone wolf, destined to walk the world alone.

These days, life is especially tough.  I've not been able to secure gainful employment since being laid off from CNH in June of 2014.  I see many of my co-workers around and about and they've all found jobs to supplement their lifestyles, while I've been "lucky" enough to get hired onto a back-breaking minimum wage job that is slowly killing me from the inside out.  I've sent resumes to countless employers and even have an employment coach trying to help me out.  It seems like the more resumes that are sent out and the more rejections I get, the more useless I'm feeling about myself, every day.

I'm glad I have my cat, Monkey, otherwise I don't know where I'd be, if I were to be at all.

My birthday is on Tuesday.  I plan on staying home, with Monkey.  We're going to watch TV.  Share some laughs..., then I have to go to work that night. 😞
Damn!  My life sucks...!

My boy, Monkey.

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter Four: Coping Mechanisms

I did a lot of homework before I bought my truck in 2008.  I wanted bang for my buck.  I wanted to get as much as I possibly could for one price.  Initially, I was going to buy the Honda CRV, crossover, but I read that the vehicle didn't offer much by way of good gas mileage.  Then I considered the Ford Escape Hybrid, but read that if taken on the highway, the fuel consumption was higher than the V6 model.  Then I set my sights on the Honda Ridgeline pick-up truck.  The gas mileage was great.  It was a unibody, it rides great.  It's all the comforts of a car, including a trunk located in the box.  It had a lot of umph!  Get up and go.  I test drove the Ridgeline a number of times, then when the day came to buy, I went into the dealership, knowing exactly what I wanted, and called out "no bullshit".  My research was so precise that when I requested the gold accents on the logo and name placard, I knew the order code.

So what does this have to do with coping with stress, anxiety and depression?  I'll get to that eventually.  My point is this.  I don't do hardly anything without looking into every possible avenue.  I want that umph.  I want the most bang for my buck.  I want to tackle everything efficiently.  And I feel I have.

As stated in Chapter One, I suffer from something that I call "Seasonal Depression".  I've never formally been diagnosed by my physician for depression, but I'm not a f*cking idiot.  If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, there's a 99% chance (+/- 1%) that it's a f*cking duck!  So if for more than ten years I've been gloomy, sad and depressed from Halloween through to just after my mom and sister's birthday's, chances are I suffer from depression.

This year I decided to try something new.  I began listening to online podcasts about a year and a half ago, with a majority of it culminating in the last year.  I listen to a great many different podcasters, of whom include, Adam Corolla, Kevin Smith & Scott Mosier, Ari Shaffir, Joe Rogan, and I especially like Bert Kreischer (though I constantly f*ck up the spelling of his name) and Doug Benson.

In addition to his love of movies, Doug Benson is a notorious pot smoker, and like Joe Rogan, promotes the positive medicinal attributes that marijuana provides.  The more I listened, the more I began to wonder.  I wondered if smoking marijuana would improve my "seasonal depression", so I set forth to do my due diligence.  I researched the f*ck out of the benefits of smoking marijuana and any negatives that it might create.  After all, inhaling smoke is not a naturally occurring phenomena, although the first nations people have been smoking different plants in their rituals for hundreds or even thousands of years, so... Who knows?

Everything I read on the subject reflected nothing but positivity, zero negatives, other than putting on a few pounds.  So I moved forward with this "experiment" and yes.  I'm coming out in this chapter of this blog series, that I smoke pot, but just for the medicinal purposes.  I'm not a daily smoker.  I only use it as needed.  I've not used any in a couple of weeks, and the effects of not using have been tremendous.  I've been sad and depressed for more than a week.  My friend made a remark the other day and it broke my heart.  I was truly hurt.  That's my downfall.  I can seem fine, then one off remark can send me spiraling and it's every ounce of courage to regain my composure.  The remark was in reference to my blogs, my subject matter and though they were enjoyable, they were equally inappropriate.  We've made amends, not that we were squabbling, but it's taken me every shred of confidence and will to dig myself out of this hole I find myself in.  I think this is, in part, due to my not medicating myself.  I have a lot of stress on my shoulders.  Unemployment being one.  Health issues are in the back of my mind.  Loneliness, despite having a cat, is still loneliness.

Since starting this new chapter of smoking pot, I've found it beneficial in overcoming most of my "seasonal depression", the migraines that plague me throughout the colder months have been VERY few and far between, which I relish immensely, and much to my surprise, my asthma has improved, as well.  I usually have to rely on one inhaler a month (roughly) to combat my breathing issues.  During the more frequent usage of marijuana, my asthma was not an issue, hardly.  Maybe a puff every other day.  Put it this way.  I got an inhaler just before Christmas, and I'm still on the same inhaler more than a month later.  In recent weeks, with the decline of smoking, I've had to rely on it a little more, but it's still pretty impressive I think.

So I did my homework and got the best truck for me.  I did my homework and got the best television SmartTV, that I could get.  And I did my research to learn that marijuana in addition to a plethora of other advantages, also quashes my depression.  I don't know why it's illegal.  I really don't.

Smoke & Mirrors - The Prologue

For days, I've been dipping in and out of a funk.  My own private hell, as I've dubbed it in the past.  I don't know what is the cause of it, but it's something that I've endured for a lifetime.  The hardest part of it all, is enduring these phases alone.  Thankfully, in recent years, I have my cat, Monkey, to distract me from the sadness, but his love and affection only helps so far, before I find myself sad and alone once more.

I've never been clinically diagnosed with any sort of mental disorders, then again, I've never sought any help from my physician in identifying anything of the sort.  I've never been one looking to be labeled as anything, so this condition would run along those lines.  This year, I've managed to cope better than I have in the last decade or more, so that's what's prompting this blog entry today.

As I stated, I've been yo-yo'ing in and out of sadness for a few days.  It began with watching a special that aired on the weekend regarding the (then) upcoming #BellLetsTalk campaign on January 28th, 2015 that addressed the issue of Mental Health.  2015 marks the fifth anniversary of the campaign, which helps in the identification of mental health being a very real disease, rather than something fabricated for attention seekers.  I watched a similar special a few years ago, which helped me identify what it is (& was) that I'd been dealing with for a very long time.  Since then, I've named it "seasonal depression".  Seasonal, because I seem to only suffer (it's worst) from the end of October, clear through to about March or April.  The summer months, for the most part, while lonely, don't seem to affect me too terribly.  It's just the autumn and winter months that f*ck with me.

So how to broach the subject is what has been plaguing my mind.  I am, after all, an artist of sorts.  Writing, at the moment, seems to be my canvass and I wish to paint this picture in broad colourful strokes.  I didn't know what colour to begin with until I took a stupid quiz on Facebook that asked "What colour of the rainbow are you?"  I took the idiotic quiz and got the result of YELLOW.  The description that accompanied the colour, couldn't be further from the truth of how I perceive myself.  It reads as follows:

Yellow is the color of sunshine and symbolizes happiness and friendship! It can stimulate mental energy and cheerfulness and definitely represents you! You love to have fun with your loved ones and your smile can light up a room! Good morning sunshine!

How absurd, right?  I've never felt cheerful and while I do enjoy having fun, I've never done so with "loved ones", whom I assume would be family, and my smile definitely does not light up a room.  Complete hog wash, all of is.  In fact, by re-reading this statement, I can't help but think there is a f*ck of a lot more wrong with me than initially believed.

Initially, I believed this could be discussed and shared over the course of a single blog, but the more thought I put into the subject, the more I come to realize that I need to open up about the past.  Though, it's in my most honest belief, my past is not a contributor to the present.