I don’t think, I’ve done myself a favor with whatever I thought I had set out to find out over the last years. I’m beginning to think that I was better before. Much better. Maybe I had already reached the peak of whatever coping was possible. And I’m also beginning to lean towards thinking I have been revolving around myself too much over the past few years. I mean, how much of what I know now is actually new? Other than me knowing a fancy name for it now, one that actually doesn’t say all that much to begin with. Complex post traumatic stress disorder. So fucking what? Why would anyone give two shits about that, right?
Fact is: I had a life. I had made a living and a life for myself and then strayed from what had been working out for me just nicely (i.e. being a full time musician, touring year round, about 350 days out of the year). Why hadn’t I stuck with that? I know why. I thought I needed to do better coz’ everybody else was doing something reasonable. Better how? I’m approaching 50 years of age fast and in looking back, I never had a much better time afterwards. Maybe during my college years, ok. But as far as getting by comfortably and making a living for myself? Shoot, it never got any better than that. Even my marriage and although there were times I thought I was happy. But did I really need all the drama of divorce in order to find out it had never been about me in the first place? That’s quite the way of learning “you don’t matter that much.” Heck, I know. Noone does. The world will go on with or without me and after me. I know that. So again: What was new about that?
Had I ever given any thought to anything being “wrong” with me? Hell no! Did anyone else think something was wrong with me, either? Hell to the no on that one! Complex maybe, o.k., not always all easy to hang around, fine. But then who was perfect? So what exactly have I gained by embarking on this journey down the rabbit hole? I can tell you, what I’ve gained: I’m scared shitless to a degree that was previously unimaginable! I am practically out of my mind the minute I open my eyes! And I do nothing else but fighting to keep it together for the entire rest of the day! I do that in solitude, impoverished, practically incarcerated by the situation that the condition has brought about. Fuck that!!! This is no life at all and I must wonder again, what I thought I’d gain from all this introspection, reading up on it, bugging out doctors, bugging out everyone else including myself. Holy crikes! What have I gained? I have sissified myself!!
Seriously: Have I found a better angle of coping with all this? Maybe that’s what I thought I’d achieve. But in all seriousness and from where I’m standing: I don’t see this happening. I won’t commit myself into a hospital. For what? Sitting around a room full of people all sharing their equally sad story and with the supervising therapist pretending to give a flying fuck about what is presented to them? No, Ma’am, ain’t gonna happen. Medication? Awww yeah, that’s opening another front on the battlefield of taking a giant opponent on who seems to win time and again. And telling from the last two times I took a hit of marijuana that landed me in hospital for a night for developing an allergic reaction to it, chances are I’m going to respond to Dronabinol badly. At the very least, I’m going to have to take the first few doseages under medical supervision. Which leaves us with therapy. Not likely to happen, either due to the limitations of my health care plan or on account of therapists that aren’t worth their salt where I’m concerned and in my experience.
So then – what now? Oh well… I can always go and take myself out. That’s an option. And telling from the poor shadow of a life that my existence has become, the latter is probably going to look very attractive at some point. Or – I can just go back to what I’ve been doing for the past 40+ years: Just pretend there was nothing there to cope with and live my life and what’s left of it by trying to bring whatever talent I think I have into the world. Isn’t that exactly what everybody else before has been doing all along? I mean, there is an entire generation in my country, some of whom are still alive, who were traumatized by two world wars. Many of them come from an abusive background themselves. As I’m typing this, I’m coming back home from watching “BB King – the Life of Riley” at the movies. Working all day on the cotton fields as field hands in the damp heat of the Mississippi delta and starting that at age 7, then racism, systematic oppression, later segregation, government harrassment over taxes, and yet – this man rises beyond and becomes a living musical legend!! And is still touring at age 85!!!
It can be done. Many others have done it. I have done it, too, to whatever extent I was able to. I think, it became about time to unsissify myself again. I’m going to look into medication as a first responder for bad situations again and maybe a short series of sessions with my trusted hypno therapist. I’m also hoping on a different experience with Mother Nature’s bounty of natural remedies in order to “shock boost” my system into a different gear (think mushrooms). And then I need to be a man again. Not a chicken.
P.S. And then, there’s this, too. If that’s not an inspiration – what else is?
P.P.S.: Maybe… I’m also just impatient. And frustrated (again)