Day: 35

reader alert: I opened the barn door to one metaphor and got stampeded


under circumstantial assault, unrelenting waves of negativity, doom and gloom, sky is falling, I am able to think clearly, rationally, not completely inured, but calloused, or numbed/calibrated to the emotional vicissitudes, not immune or unassailable, but bearable--like a cold winter day with a good coat--still cold but survivable--still, effect is cumulative--damage unseen--body blows to the psyche cannot be dismissed or underestimated

as weeds multiply faster than I can pluck them, as the task seems impossible, that the corner ahead appears as far away as it did an hour ago and the driving endless--these are the days where the meds can only do so much--and one must focus not upon the day or even the hour, but focus on the next step, just that step--still thoughts come like arrows beyond the horizon, origin unknown, turning blue sky dark--but I have a shield--I can lift it--protect myself--I can do this till gravity drains the sky blue again--and I can stand with my arrowed shield--and take breath--fill my lungs--let the sun warm my face--and know, if necessary, I can do it all again, and again and again--not forever, only again--to raise shield against raised bow until the archer tires--I have the endurance of a marathon runner--this is what I tell myself

the imagery here in neither affected nor insignificant--I think in images--I process in images--thought arises in my mind as images before emotional translation--premed, the image was of sword to shield (KKB series)--post-med, of arrow to shield--there is some measure of comfort in the progression--on several levels

I preside over the kingdom of my mind--thoughts present themselves as strangers bearing gifts--I can accept some, reject others--stewardship--ownership--this task cannot be delegated--cannot be taken lightly or haphazardly--nothing less than the kingdom is at stake

each victory, no matter how small, is consequential, each a brick in the fortification--we build on good days and not so good days--ever observant--ever vigilant--there is no other architect--no other paymaster--no other dreamer--this is it--this work--now--this moment, as every moment is this moment--so we lift another brick, apply mortar, watch the plumb line--one brick at a time--in this way we move forward--and rebuild our life

__________

today was the first day tears returned to my eyes--the emotion was genuine and I could have cried tears of joy for having the ability to cry returned to me--as my active/imaginative mind returns (good/bad) I have noticed that my reading has slowed down to pre-med levels and I am jumping around between books again, as I did premed--I believe this behavior is directly related to thought production--in the med induced state, where thought was blank, I read and read and read (I'm almost finished with 2666, which is 900 pages)--as my active mind returns, I find that again, as before, as soon as I start reading, my mind goes into hyperdrive and the ideas from the text branch into dozens of ideas, so rich in ideas I feel the need to stop, as if eating decadent chocolate and one bite is all that one can take--rich like that--I am also finding my mind is moving again as it did before, which is to say thought is flowing freely--and this is both a blessing and a curse--or I should say, this is where the work lies--in working with my brain as it is wired, using it as a tool rather than letting it use me--for the record, although thought is returning to premed levels of activity, there remains a certain emotional blunting, less than before, but still present--this blunting, as evidenced by the tears today, is and has been slowly receding--again, I am thankful and fearful

also with regard to reading, plot again is slipping to an unimportant device and again the fear of finishing a book, of ending it, is returning--premed, I felt as if books 'being' read were alive in a way that books having been read were not--and I preferred to have my books living--to have them waiting for me--still holding some treasure of pages unseen--in the med induced state, the desire was simply to read for story, for plot, to read fast and to finish--to know the book, to summarize it for value, then move on to the next book--likewise, I have again started taking an active interest in vocabulary, stopping to look up words, whereas in the med induced state I plowed past them, not caring if I learned them or not--like speed bumps to move over as quickly as possible

one thing I have only lightly touched upon, namely because it has not been a factor, is energy levels--they have remained remarkably consistent throughout the entire process and I have noticed no change between now and then--I do feel better, mentally, and this leads to more activity, a greater sense of drive, to do things, but the foundational level or levels of energy, as far as I can tell, have not been altered in any significant way outside of initial symptoms of drowsiness, which have sense faded away

poetry remains elusive and music, although making some progress, is still not to premed levels of enjoyment, which I suspect is tied directly to the emotional blunting--as in the last week or so, there is no sense of being drugged or on meds and in an odd, perhaps ironic way, considering my initial views on meds, I almost feel naked, or left to fend for myself, as I cannot overtly tell that the meds are active--I know they are from what I have documented, but without this documentation, I would begin to fear that their efficacy was fading, fading as surely as the side-effects have faded--funny how the mind works--or perhaps just how mine works--sometimes I wish I thought less, questioned less, looked less and just lived