Standing on the Ledge

The clouds are in. They hang heavy in the sky. The wind is blowing ice cold rain all around, and the fir trees are bending and bowing in their winter dance. I trod down the road. Just to the corner and the top of the hill, in my cap and raincoat, and the cold air tingles my cheeks and fingers as the heavy rain unloads on my weighted being. My body feels heavy, sedated and numbed by the drug that keeps my mind sane. But as I walk back from the corner, my eyes spot a figure dressed in brown down in the field by the old willow tree. I can make out the bright green Seahawks gloves that hold onto a cane, and my heart jumps and is suddenly filled with gratitude. I turn in a driveway early, at my mother’s, and as I walk around the house, my black lab spots my reflective yellow vest and comes bounding towards me. I approach Steve, and I tell him how much I love him, as the tears that come out of me speak of my heavy reality.

Writing is all that is helping me in this moment. The classical music pours through my earbuds, and I can hear the water running from the tap as Steve attacks the kitchen, to clean it as is his morning ritual. I am having a hard time not feeling like a failure, though I know I am anything but. My psychiatrist deemed me the poster child of mental illness not long ago, and that does not necessarily mean I am without symptoms or troubles. But I am responsible and communicative regarding my medications. I am responsive to treatment when I am in trouble, and I work very hard at maintaining a state of equanimity with exercise, meditation, prayer, meetings, yoga, and writing. 

Still, days like today come along. I quit pushing myself at the gym, and am going to revert to wholistic exercise at home (chores, walking outside, yoga and meditation). I have a great tendency to push myself too hard. But it is not until I stop doing so that I am able to assess where exactly I fall on the wellness scale. After three and a half months dedicated to the gym, I took the holidays away from the practice, and have been showing some signs of symptoms. Last night I got scared lying in bed, and this morning I had an anger outburst, then tears. Despite my diligence working out this last season, I have only gained weight and had my cholesterol become an issue again. This is largely due to a major uptick in my medication from a long and painful episode this summer. I have reduced an additional med, but the med that is causing these issues, I am not ready to reduce, nor do I plan to be ready any time soon. It makes me feel heavy and sedated, it causes fatigue, it causes weight gain and raises my triglycerides significantly, and yet living without the drug is still a worse option.

What I need is Peer Support. Therapists, Doctors, and patients who see and and acknowledge my experience. It still remains incredibly difficult to explain my life to my friends and family. I know they care, and they try and see, but still I need the validation from within the mental health community. Without it I feel hopeless. That all I work for so painfully is in vain. I don’t see the progress, praise myself for valiant efforts, and I push myself too hard.

So, I am trying to see that enough is enough. Because If I don’t, I will end up on a ledge that I am unable to back away from as I am doing now. Then, I will stumble and fall, and that is not ideal. The goal is to remain steady on my feet, and to not have an episode this summer. In order to do that, I need to cull the desire to achieve. Once I learn to listen to my being, that is mentally ill, not the being that I wish I was, but the being that I actually am, perhaps I will be able to maintain a rhythm of wellness in my life that is appropriate. What I may find is that if I listen to myself and do less, that I am able to see myself in actuality and give myself the credit I deserve. Also, a life of moderation and meditation seems like a better option for myself. It does not fit the mold of everyday culture where working hard towards our goals is the best way. I am constantly relearning this for myself. It is hard to back away from the ledge that I built with all of my disciplined efforts. It is hard to assess that building my practice with discipline is wrong. I am forever the Zen warrior, or I must learn to be so. If I don’t, I will surely suffer.