The Dark Hole

 

The Dark Hole

 

 

It has been some time since my last post and I've really haven't had anything to write about.  My last post was about my excitement over my new medication being reduced, but what I intentionally didn't mention is just how difficult it is to change a medication regime.

 

I happen to be in week one of my new sleeping pill switch and I've been a crying, anxiety driven mess all week.  It will usually take a person's body 2-3 weeks to adjust to the change and that is why most major medication adjustments happen in a hospital psychiatric ward, so they can be monitored.  Me, I'm tough.  I've been through it before and I can do it again, right....wrong.

 

I'm ready to call it in.  Pack my bags and head to the hospital.  I can't keep putting Victor through this madness .  I just finished week 1.  There is a very strong possibility that the medication just isn't working for my system, or that I was taking my other one for over 20+ years and it's going to be a big major change.  One, I'm not sure I want to go through.

 

My depression deepens and this post is about the dark halls of depression.  My mind, body and spirit are on this journey down a long dark, dusty hall filled with many closed doors that have been closed for what seems like centuries.  Dust covers their doorknobs and cobwebs adorn their frames.  I tiptoe through the hall, hoping not to disturb anyone, but who am I disturbing, it's obvious no one lives there. 

 

I rattle about hall after hall searching for some light and never finding any.  This house is never-ending and it's halls are dark, big, and scary.  Are there pictures of the walls?  Some, maybe my ancestor's died before me in the thrones of the deepest of despair.

 

My body is heavy laden and each step becomes harder than the first.  I struggle to stay standing erect and all I want to do is sleep, but there are no beds to be seen.  I walk the halls until my body is so crusted in dust I can no longer walk and so I find a cozy little corner that at one time must have been very beautiful.  With it's deep carvings and rich mahogany color, I find solice there and rest my weary feet.

 

I must of fallen asleep, finally some sleep, but my body still feeling heavy knows I must push on and find the light.  I must escape this darkness I am surrounded in.  I get up and trip. What did I trip on?  An old wooden toy, so children use to be here. This use to be a happy place.  I find hope in finding some light.

 

I stumble for what seems like hours and I feel like I'm going in circles, so I start marking my spots on the walls of dust where I have been.  I finally come to what appears to be a kitchen, but it's full of knives everywhere.  Hanging from the ceiling, laying on the floor, on the countertops and in the drawers.  Nothing but knives.  I know these knives, they were once my friend long ago when I would use them on my body to release all the pain bottled up inside of me.  Yes, I remember that so vividly now.  This room gives me peace, peace from the dark, musty halls.  It brings to mind a new hope, a release of pain and maybe I can find that light now.

 

Traveling onward pass the knives I spot a glow in the hallway.  I run to it as fast as my dust covered legs will take me and as I opened up the door just ajar I see a woman in her 30's holding a baby and cooing it to sleep.  I must be dreaming, why would this beautiful woman be in such a dark and dreary home, and with a baby!  My mind is playing tricks on me and I know now I am dying and must find my way to the light fast.  I'm sinking further and further into that big deep dark hole.

 

 

 

 

 

I can see the light around it, but it's out of my reach.  Just as I'm falling in, I wake up. 

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Now, I'm awake from this horrible dream, but how horrible is it and how true is it really about?

 

This past week has been so hard, one of the hardest I can remember in a long time and I suppose that's because I haven't had a medication adjustment in many, many years.  It is playing havoc on my mind and my body. I know I have to give it another 2 weeks, but I'm in hell and Victor is coming down with me.  He certainly doesn't need this added stress upon him.  He needs to find a job and that has to be his many focus right now, not picking me off the bathroom floor sobbing like a little child. 

 

No, I'm not crazy and no I've not changed!  I'm just going through a medication adjustment that might not be working to my benefit.  This is normal, but feels like torture.  I feel like I'm going out of my mind and at times wish I could pull my hair out by it's roots all at the same time.  The pressure in my head is unbearable at times and the constant crying is getting on everyone's nerves. 

 

I'll be ok, I always am, but in the meantime I need gentle hugs and love.  Gentle I'm thinking of you.  Gentle you mean something  to me.  I love you wouldn't hurt either.  Support is what I'm asking for and If I behave out of line or out of character, don't turn your back and walk away.  Try to give a hug and say it's OK. 

 

I am Debbie and I was here...