Nothing scared me more than failure when I decided to make this work. Nothing seemed a more sure fire recipe for disaster than on again, off again drinking problems mixed with the emotional minefield that is this process. I made it more than a month when Mom first moved home, but foolishly decided to have “a couple of beers” during the Grey Cup in 2014. On and off I would treat my tormented emotional state with either– usually both– cigarettes and alcohol until the fear of something really bad– and (temporarily) losing apartment keys as well– scared me into making a major decision: I cut out all the people who had made promises to my mother that they had completely bailed on (mainly, my mothers nephew), and my fiancée who was also not “officially” breaking up with me, but letting me “figure it out” through the opposite of support. During that same time period, I had been horribly emotionally screwed over by friends from out of town, and I was beyond able to deal with any of this and stay healthy enough to protect mom and the cats.
I survived this, and kept my mother more than just alive in the process, but to be honest I had to make myself even more anti-social to simply survive and traded people, alcohol and cigarettes– all of which were harming me and putting my and my mothers life in danger– and traded in for SSRI pills, video games of old, lots of bad TV, heavy anti-socialization and bike rides to expel stress as much as possible. I’m still quite distorted in my socialization, but as I always say when it comes to thinking through the damages done to myself:
“You can recover, Mom can’t. Remember that.”
At the end of last Summer 2017, I realized that any good that SSRI pills did– and they did indeed save my life– was no longer anywhere near the level to justify what they were doing in that present and I needed off of them. Getting off those pills is incredibly difficult and dangerous, but I got my emotions back, can survive them and can even feel real joy.
July 14, 2017
This July 15th is a special day for me. As of the 15th I will be 2 years without a cigarette and 2 years and one week without alcohol. On and off for much of a decade, I had been “all or nothing,” never “a beer” but if any, many. Arresting the issue for a few months was possible, but for a number of years it was more of a problem than anything else. When mom first moved here I knew drinking would put the home in danger, but I ‘slipped’ a few times over the first few months. It was always some dark place I went into under major stress that would cause me to make things worse for everyone, and for a few weeks I was utterly beside myself: “You can’t drink, it’s not safe, you wouldn’t if it were a baby…” and living in utter terror that I would fail, the home would fall apart, Mom would lose her home, the cats would die, and that I’d have to live with that forever. Also, it simply was not at all economical & this wasn’t my sole budget problem anymore.
So, I couldn’t love myself enough– as it turns out– to get this right sooner, but I could do it for Donna. I was not going to make excuses and I began reprogramming myself and going inside myself instead of out to a pub after mom slept, for example. I learned to accept boredom and– most significantly for me– I got on anti-depressants (celexa now) to make moments where mom just left the apartment in an ambulance tolerable without getting blasted.
I started looking for other ways to quit smoking permanently– I never accepted myself as a smoker, but I smoked for many of the first few months mom was home, a special kind of cruel to her, no doubt. I finally got over the whole Hipster thing and gave vaping a try and I only screwed it up at first by…. drinking. But very quickly vaping actually became a preference and given the delivery systems, lack of disgusting accompaniments, and financial savings on top of health I am a hard core believer in vaping as harm reduction. I can vape around a mom with COPD without killing her, I’d say that reduces harm lots.
I’ve learned a lot of things about depression. It’s such an evil mind altering space. Perhaps simply the greatest example I’ve come across that shocked me was the event at the end of my hiking trip, after I emerged from the Skagit River Trail. I’m a hitchhiker as much as anything else; Hitchhiking is in my blood to where it still remains a preferred method of travel when I can. I don’t think that will change unless my body forbids it. That is true in large part because I’ve come to learn that people can be just amazing people to strangers they would like to help out. And it’s the calculus of all the little gestures by strangers to a hitchhiker that make a trip worthy, special and productive. I get reinvigorated belief in humanity from these experiences.
So when I went into Silvertip Campground and found it empty I was then annoyed realizing I would still probably get dinged for the site. The Ranger who came by had seen me walking towards this campground on the main road earlier– I tried to get a ride to the Crown land for a free spot before it started to get darkish and I decided to call it and go to the camp spot instead. She rolled up to me in her truck and asked “Are you the hitchhiker?” To which I said yes. She then said “Okay then, I’ll pretend I didn’t see you. don’t leave me a mess, okay?” and she was driving off quickly, so I hollered out “Thank you.”
I then told myself that she was afraid of me, being the hitchhiker, & that she did that because she therefore wouldn’t have to get out of the truck. I told myself a few bad, unflattering things like this. Then I remembered I have been hitchhiking for almost 25 years. That’s what people do, they give you little breaks that make a big difference. It’s because people can be this cool that I keep going back to the road.
I interrupted my thought pattern and reminded myself that this was a good person doing a very good, nice and thoughtful thing for a person who visibly is vulnerable.
Then I realized the more dangerous thing: I stopped that dark thought pattern because it was such an unfamiliar route for my thoughts to travel; The path of my thoughts that knows how it works on the road (and why I love it) was too strong, familiar and hardwired.
How often has being depressed done that? If I have even those thoughts go to horrid places– how often am I handcuffing my life with my own mind daily, with 3 wonderful spirits to share space with but none who offer (direct) insight?
Wondering how often the bad route to figuring out life daily is taking up residence.
But these are a few notes on me, and I am now 2 years since I eliminated those immediate threats to my health, and supplying good meals for mom has made me eat better as well, more added bonuses to such life.
What I needed to do “someday” for myself became “NOW” when I needed to do it for my mother. That’s a serious bummer, but the thing I like most is how I have almost zero desires being arrested– I actually think about booze and I feel queasy, frightened, even. Not tempted. You can come and drink here, I won’t stop you or care.
I did it to help my mother, & I will keep it to give myself a much deserved reward. It’s true– when you try to save someone else, you really end up saving yourself.
Now, if I could just drink less pop…