They tried to make me go to Rehab…

…and I said, “Sure, OK.”

It takes me a while to work my way to the truth. Or at least a somewhat stable version of it.

I am in rehab, an all be it outpatient one, but rehab nonetheless. The few friends I am in any kind of contact with are dealing with this fact in very different ways. One wants to take me drinking. One traveled 4 hours by train to take naps with me. One comes to my house for dinner and brings pie.

But how to I deal with this? I should be writing lots of great poetry.

I’m not.

I am trying to remember to take my meds. I am trying to remember they are good for me, and that I should stay on them. All but the week’s supply is padlocked into a great big black box I have no access to. I also receive a phone call every evening to tell me to take my medicine and charge my cell phone. If this new protocol fails to keep me on meds (and prevent another fist fight and an ER visit for a broken hand – or at least severely contused hand), people I don’t know will come to my house twice a day and watch me take the pills. Then they will ask me to open my mouth and move my tongue around.

I am trying to remember to shower everyday and get dressed. I am trying to put my clean clothes away and pick all the clothes up off the floor of my new bedroom. Almost all of the socks I own are underneath my new bed.

I am trying to slowly chip away at the mountain of paperwork I have to fill out because the poorer you are, the more paperwork you have to fill out.

I have learned if I drink the smallest amount, I will laugh until I begin weeping followed by a spiral that will probably end in physical violence to others or myself.

I have learned I have not really slept well for the last 20 odd years, that Ambian is a precious commodity never to be squandered, and that sleeping meds will be my new best friend hopefully very soon.

I have learned to admit to my bitterness over having to leave school and that no one really seems to care as much as I think they should.

And of course, I have come to appreciate that the times I can spend in the company of other people who have experienced psych holds and The System are actually a relief. I can use a shorthand–no need to explain myself or explain why I am such a shadow of my former self.

And finally, I think about how much time must pass before I can no longer call myself a poet and what to do with a life that has no purpose.

Some musings on friendship

Not that I am much of a Bible reader anymore, by thinking over the events of the last several months has me remembering the adage of Proverbs 17:17:

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity (KJV).”

I know I’ve not been easy to be friends with lately–isolation, irritability, and mood swings that pull at least 3 Gs. But I am surprised most by the ones who stuck it out and helped me the whole way through.

Like the phone call from someone I would have categorized as a business associate. I was so surprised, I used the cover story about my blood pressure being elevated. I mean it was, but doctors don’t usually keep you in the hospital for 5 days to monitor your BP, and certainly my sister’s message accompanying the number where I could be reached must have raised some eyebrows: don’t use her last name, just ask for Tiffany.

I’m also surprised by some of the traffic, small as it might be, of people commenting on my blog posts. For example, someone I’ve not seen in over 2 years, who I was pretty sure did not consider me a friend anymore, and who lives on the other coast. I guess the Apocrypha do have some valuable advice:

“Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou shall drink it with pleasure. (Sirach 9:10).

Friendship is a theme today because the only blog I seem to be able to keep up with mentioned it, too. Jon Cousins wrote a blog entry entitled Where do you belong? today. The thought for today is to “[p]articipate in activities with people who share your interests.”

Of course, my interests have become rather narrow. Between my declining physical health and my unstable mental health, the immanent move and the unending packing, and the gobs of paperwork I need to fill out and send to various offices, free time is something I Still have to fight for. And I’m tired. I also have a head cold.

I have tried to invite friends to share in some of my recovery activities like cooking more, knitting, walking, etc. but with only limited success.

So while I am feeling better on the whole, I am still not really being a good friend. And I can’t help but become a little sad when my Carlow writer friends are displaying pictures of all the wonderful things I missed in Dublin and talking about packets with excitement.

So, while I am trying to do better, I can’t make any promises. I am staring a 1-2 year recovery in the face. If anyone wants to stick it out, I will be very glad of the company.