What It's Like
I know several people have mentioned they can't imagine what it's like to go through what I am. It occurred to me to try to describe it, at least what it's been like. Here goes...
It's kind of like what happens when you get a bad cold or flu. It's hard to think straight. You know what's going on around you and where you are, but getting the thoughts into coherent order is hard, sometimes impossible. Things suddenly feel unreal, even if it's circumstances that have been familiar for years or more. Sometimes those simple, basic things just don't click or make sense. In an abstract sense, they do. The ideas are still there. Getting them to click together, though, to feel like they've become REAL, is sometimes just impossible. It's like trying to put together a 3D puzzle with pieces made of barely-tinted glass that's coated in oil.
Suddenly even normal, routine things are complicated and hard to understand and kind of scary. It's again like having the bad flu and having to go up or down stairs when you're weak and shaky and your balance & equilibrium are just shot. Something like walking into the grocery store where you've been dozens of times before feels like walking through a field of tazer mines. They're not going to kill you, but you don't know when something will suddenly pop up and hit like a blast of electricity...and hurt. The same's even true about thinking about who's now gone, who's been lost. It's kind of scary, as there's no way to know what will suddenly pop up in association with those thoughts.
It's the same with emotions. They're all a bit scary. There's no way to be sure of how something will make you react. Something that's sad or dramatic to “ordinary” people doesn't touch you at all, when you'd expect it'd scrape you raw across wounds that were torn open. On the other hand, things that are funny and make you laugh sometimes suddenly leave you with tears running down your face and gasping because you're suddenly sad and hurt. Fear's pretty consistent. It just shows up with almost everything, especially at first, when you don't know how it's going to hit you or how well you'll be able to deal with things....or not. Anger also flares at times, in response to unexpected things. It's kind of like a jet of scalding, superheated water and steam expelled from a hidden geyser when the pressure builds too high and just won't be contained anymore.
Thinking gets just....strange. Odd and unexpected thoughts come up sometimes. Some of them make sense, like wondering why it happened or what we did to bring this to ourselves in our lives. Sometimes it seems like life's not worth living, especially when it hurts that bad. It's not the thought of ending myself, but just wondering what the point is anymore. It's hard to see something good coming. It's hard to see much in the future at all. In that way, it's like coming to in the middle of a thick forest in heavy fog. You can see about five feet in front of you but that's it, and you have to get out. There's no way to hurry, too many low-hanging branches and rocks and unstable footing. You just pick a direction and hope you're going the right way, 'cause you just....don't.....know. And it seems to go on and on and on and on and on.....with no real way to tell whether you're getting anywhere or not. You just know you can't stay where you've been. Sometimes my brain just seems to shut off and I find myself staring at whatever's there for....I don't know how long. Especially if there's not someone else there that snaps me out of it.
Physically it feels like you've gone mostly numb, mostly dead. The closest I'd felt to it before was pneumonia, where I just had no energy, where even standing up sometimes was a collossal effort and achievement. The energy required to open a drawer and lift a spoon to eat some oatmeal is gargantuan. And that's just one task at the start of the day. I know exercise is good for me, and once I get moving, I do OK, but it's like inertia has suddenly become much, much more intense. Things don't feel so good anymore a lot of times. Pain doesn't hurt as bad, either, but it's more draining.
Maybe the worst part is that it feels like there's something important, something critical--something VITAL--that's missing. Remember the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz? How he didn't have a heart? It's kind of like that. It's what makes laughing and smiling possible and rewarding. It feels like it's the thing that makes life worth living and enjoyable. It's the lynch pin that made the world feel OK. Nothing really seems to take it's place, either. Sometimes things provide distraction, for a little bit at best. Coming back to it is always hard. Sleep is one of the best escapes, assuming there's no dreams that remind me even more pointedly and painfully of what's changed, what's gone. Praying helps some. At best, the sense of God being around provides some comfort. As of yet, it hasn't replaced that lynch pin. It just helps to feel like God knows what I'm going through and is sad, too.
That's the best I can describe it, at least for now. Maybe I'll be able to do better with it later.
It's kind of like what happens when you get a bad cold or flu. It's hard to think straight. You know what's going on around you and where you are, but getting the thoughts into coherent order is hard, sometimes impossible. Things suddenly feel unreal, even if it's circumstances that have been familiar for years or more. Sometimes those simple, basic things just don't click or make sense. In an abstract sense, they do. The ideas are still there. Getting them to click together, though, to feel like they've become REAL, is sometimes just impossible. It's like trying to put together a 3D puzzle with pieces made of barely-tinted glass that's coated in oil.
Suddenly even normal, routine things are complicated and hard to understand and kind of scary. It's again like having the bad flu and having to go up or down stairs when you're weak and shaky and your balance & equilibrium are just shot. Something like walking into the grocery store where you've been dozens of times before feels like walking through a field of tazer mines. They're not going to kill you, but you don't know when something will suddenly pop up and hit like a blast of electricity...and hurt. The same's even true about thinking about who's now gone, who's been lost. It's kind of scary, as there's no way to know what will suddenly pop up in association with those thoughts.
It's the same with emotions. They're all a bit scary. There's no way to be sure of how something will make you react. Something that's sad or dramatic to “ordinary” people doesn't touch you at all, when you'd expect it'd scrape you raw across wounds that were torn open. On the other hand, things that are funny and make you laugh sometimes suddenly leave you with tears running down your face and gasping because you're suddenly sad and hurt. Fear's pretty consistent. It just shows up with almost everything, especially at first, when you don't know how it's going to hit you or how well you'll be able to deal with things....or not. Anger also flares at times, in response to unexpected things. It's kind of like a jet of scalding, superheated water and steam expelled from a hidden geyser when the pressure builds too high and just won't be contained anymore.
Thinking gets just....strange. Odd and unexpected thoughts come up sometimes. Some of them make sense, like wondering why it happened or what we did to bring this to ourselves in our lives. Sometimes it seems like life's not worth living, especially when it hurts that bad. It's not the thought of ending myself, but just wondering what the point is anymore. It's hard to see something good coming. It's hard to see much in the future at all. In that way, it's like coming to in the middle of a thick forest in heavy fog. You can see about five feet in front of you but that's it, and you have to get out. There's no way to hurry, too many low-hanging branches and rocks and unstable footing. You just pick a direction and hope you're going the right way, 'cause you just....don't.....know. And it seems to go on and on and on and on and on.....with no real way to tell whether you're getting anywhere or not. You just know you can't stay where you've been. Sometimes my brain just seems to shut off and I find myself staring at whatever's there for....I don't know how long. Especially if there's not someone else there that snaps me out of it.
Physically it feels like you've gone mostly numb, mostly dead. The closest I'd felt to it before was pneumonia, where I just had no energy, where even standing up sometimes was a collossal effort and achievement. The energy required to open a drawer and lift a spoon to eat some oatmeal is gargantuan. And that's just one task at the start of the day. I know exercise is good for me, and once I get moving, I do OK, but it's like inertia has suddenly become much, much more intense. Things don't feel so good anymore a lot of times. Pain doesn't hurt as bad, either, but it's more draining.
Maybe the worst part is that it feels like there's something important, something critical--something VITAL--that's missing. Remember the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz? How he didn't have a heart? It's kind of like that. It's what makes laughing and smiling possible and rewarding. It feels like it's the thing that makes life worth living and enjoyable. It's the lynch pin that made the world feel OK. Nothing really seems to take it's place, either. Sometimes things provide distraction, for a little bit at best. Coming back to it is always hard. Sleep is one of the best escapes, assuming there's no dreams that remind me even more pointedly and painfully of what's changed, what's gone. Praying helps some. At best, the sense of God being around provides some comfort. As of yet, it hasn't replaced that lynch pin. It just helps to feel like God knows what I'm going through and is sad, too.
That's the best I can describe it, at least for now. Maybe I'll be able to do better with it later.