I felt the room shift, as if a camera had panned hard to the left and stopped. It always feels strange. Like an out of body experience of sorts. “Are you still here?”. My gaze found Beatrice as she looked back at me unblinking. Where did I go? Why did I go? or the better question to ask is why do I go somewhere at all? I have an awareness of the room and her words. I am not gone completely, though she must see a difference because she often asks where I have gone. I really don’t know. It feels off and disconcerting. as the focus returns and I return to the present my mind reels a bit. The transition back doesn’t feel good at all. though I never sense the leaving. I never catch that. Maybe it is too fast, or too subtle. or is it on such an unconscious level that I do not control it enough to sense it happening? I would hazard to guess it is a defense, though it doesn’t happen at the hardest moments. Pain is not the trigger. I have sat few many a painful session wishing I could step away somehow. There is some trigger though. Just as there is a trigger for the suicidal feelings and thoughts. I think it is the complete and utter sensation of being trapped. When everything is impossible and there are no answers. No fix, or not an easy one. One might say I am predictable? As I sat staring at the GP this afternoon listening to her tell me things I already knew my mind wandered off into images and dark places. I walked out of her office unable to find the energy to go to the pharmacy and start battling over nexium. I know it is what I should have done and needed to do. Instead I drove home to start making more doctors appointments. But that same sad trapped feeling followed me. As I started the search for a new GI doc. Because I no longer have good insurance I cannot go back to my old docs I trust. I don’t have the means to pay out of pocket to return to them though I want nothing more to sit across from one of them. He’s a shorter balding guy with a reassuring manner. No bullshit and no nonsense. He has never pulled any punches and has given me very straightforward feedback on what I should do. He directed my care all the way thru surgery and after. As I talked to yet another drs office receptionist who gave me dates in April I wanted to throw the phone, scream, cry. I know if I picked up the phone I could get in to see my old dr within the week. The repercussions of the insurance disaster are far reaching and continue on well after it happened. I don’t have a choice now. I sit and wait. The GP warned me the insurance wasn’t going to cover the nexium, and she said maybe a GI dr would have better luck with them. that is nice. since it is more than two weeks till I have an appointment and the only med that has half a shot of working is being denied. so in the interim I can continue my diet of ever over the counter stomach remedy out there and hope the gastritis settles. Adding another wrench into this mess is the meloxicam that keeps me upright and functioning is probably making matters worse right now. I didn’t think it was that bad until the GP had her hands on me and I was flinching. Amazing how we can get used to such a degree of pain on a daily basis. I knew it was going on. I had more than enough symptoms to warrant a drs visit but I was just so lost in my head. I didn’t want to go and hear what I knew she would say. It just worked out that I had a routine 3 month follow up today. She sat urged me to find a GI dr quickly. yeah, um not so much. and if it starts bleeding go to the hospital. I’m just fucking tired and frustrated. oh, and lets add the stomach issues. I forced myself to go run as it couldn’t possibly be any worse than sitting in the house miserable. Amazingly enough it was a beautiful evening though cold as shit. I ran and thought about life. I thought about death. I thought about ailments and surgeries. I thought about a lot of things. I can’t say I returned feeling better, but I was happy I got out in the crisp frigid air and moved. It is always that way. To run is to be. It is to just move from point a to b using just your body and your mind. It is a meditative practice for me at this point having long passed the habit mark. it isn’t just a habit anymore. It is a need. When I don’t run my body and mind feel shitty. I feel absolutely crappy. Even worse than I feel on a given day. so on a day like today I forced myself to go because I knew if I didn’t the day would get worse. sure, the stomach stuff was still there, and the stress of life and death was ongoing, but at least I did something that I felt I had some control over.

What is Truth? Reality?

If there was ever a day I needed my polo family today might be it. It doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes it is just a frustrating exercise in humility and patience. Others it just clicks to make a perfect couple hours. When the horses play well and are obedient. When the mallet actually finds the ball. Those are few. Thankfully the gods smiled on me today. When I pulled up I didn’t want to be there. I was lost in my head and so very sad. But I had forced myself to go. In the few times I have stayed home I regretted it and felt worse. In the first chukkar it ended up very mismatched and the guys handed us a very good beating. My mood wasn’t getting any better, if anything I felt worse. I found myself standing at the end of the aisle alone thinking about why I had come. I made a decision to just go with it. To shake the unsettled feeling and try to just be. To experience my day as it unfolded. Not to over think it, or force it. To just breath and let my body do what I have spent almost a lifetime trying to teach it. In the next chukkar I felt it click. My mind literally shifted its axis and I was suddenly experiencing life in real-time, not on the slowed delay as it had been all week. heck, most of the winter. I’ll admit I think I let it get away from me a bit. I let myself play in a far more reckless manner than I have been. I had taken the worrying out of it. Polo needs that. It is a sport of speed and power. There isn’t time for pauses. You pause and you get beat to the play. It was a fast brutal type of play which both of my horses happen to excel at. I walked away from my second chukkar thinking I could survive. Yeah, I know strange how polo can unleash a very different side of me. Maybe it is the sense of mastery when it works. Or the pushing of the limits of my athletic ability. It is an adrenaline rush akin to a hit of cocaine. that wash as it hits the back of your nose and your brain lights up like a Christmas tree. This is Living it throbs in your mind. Though, in reality, is it? Is it life? or is it just a chemical cascade richoceting off the synapses. If adrenaline is all the mind needs why not chase it more? I can shrug off the last of the polo jitters just an hour or so later. It isn’t the cure. If only it was. As my day wrapped up and I pulled out of the driveway to take the polo ponies home my mind started to slow with a shudder. I felt it. I knew it was coming. I went back in my mind grasping hard to the fresh memories of the plays of the day. Where it all went right. Holding tight and trying not to let go. As the farm grew closer and my polo day grew farther I struggled. I hung in there though. I didn’t let go so easily. I couldn’t. not yet. I wasn’t willing to drift off into that god forsaken landscape waiting for me in my head. I didn’t want to watch the crystal clear images of my veins laid open over a crimson landscape, or the needle in my arm. I didn’t want to go back. I had spent so many days with them. I had directed, produced, edited and acted in all of them. They were horrifying in their reality. It was not the neon sign beckoning for me to come play, no, these were just gritty cold hard truths. I spent my days immersed in them. In every detail. from start to finish. each and every one. There was no horror, no recoil. yet, not draw either. I felt no compulsion to act on any one of them. Yet there was a complete and utter belief that one would be my exit. I just had not found the right one. I found myself turning each around and around finding every flaw. Every pro and con. and so it went around and around. When I wasn’t lost in the images I was lost in the details left undone. The will to rewrite. The paperwork to finish. The letters to write. In the end it seemed just too damn much. I didn’t have the energy nor the willpower to accomplish all of it. In the shadow of that truth I watched my mind grind to a frozen tired place. That is where I found myself yesterday and this morning. I won’t commit to this because I don’t want to screw up again. sure that might be a pitiful reason to choose not to kill yourself, but I guess it is enough. good enough for now. I have walked all the way onto that ledge more than a few times before and I have gotten lost. I have forgotten pertinent details and have made mistakes. I will not go back again unless it is right. All of it. sure it sounds bad. I know that. I just know where I am right now. Is this just the detritus casting off a bipolar brain? possibly? or is this me? No illness just reality. Is my viewpoint skewed? is my judgment marred? I honestly don’t know anymore. I truly don’t. It feels so fucking real. so right. How can it be wrong? Haw can it just be some mood state? What the fuck is the matter with me? or is there nothing wrong with me beyond a hellish turn of events that have created a life too difficult to live? Is that my truth? Has my life and its stressors exceeded my mind’s ability to cope? or is this just another garden variety winter depression in all its brutal soul leaching abilities? Why can’t I even see the difference? Do I just blindly trust what Virgil or Beatrice has to say? Do I agree when she asks me to change meds? Because I know that will happen. What if this is just life? Just plain shit circumstances than no amount of medications in the world can alter. Do we just tick off the box that says “patient is experiencing suicidal ideation” and go from there. The knee jerk reaction is to fix it. I know that, but I don’t think this is fixable. This life is a disaster right now. That much I KNOW, no map needed. Is it going to get better? in the short run after chasing a white ball and beating the shit out of it, maybe. Is it fixable in the long run? My mind does not see that. This is not working. They will foreclose again. I will never again get saved by a man I both love and hate. I have committed to a life that is day by day breaking me down physically and emotionally. I chose it. I set this course. Is it so bad I want to get off this path? The simple answer is yes, because I cannot get off this path. It is at once home, a career, and so many other infinite moving pieces that jockey for my worries. They battle and clash by day and night never leaving the vacant space behind my eyes. Who in their right mind would stay? Who would subject themselves to torment both real and imagined in its shadow. I do. To be suicidal is no surprise is it? It isn’t sick. is it? Is it??? I am so fucking confused and lost. I will stop my rambling and hope tomorrow is okay though I have such little faith right now. I have stopped having the ability to truly see my reality, though I wonder if that is true. The lifelong patient in my yells I am just sick again and to let them take care of me. But I do not fully believe it. I can’t focus enough to figure out which it is, or is it something else entirely I haven’t noticed. I’m not sure I even have the ability to see the big picture at this point. just don’t know.


Finding talking hard these days. Feels like everything has slowed to a crawl in my brain. Forming sentences is just plain hard. Too difficult and requiring much too much effort. I’d rather stay quiet and lost in my head. Today wasn’t much different from yesterday. The day dreaming was less, guess that is a good thing. Instead I just felt lost and stuck. Maybe this is some frost induced catatonia. and no I’m not joking. I really don’t know anymore. Is this life? Is this severe depression? I don’t know. I have been conditioned to think this is me, my illness. But I know plenty of sane people who are struggling under this extreme weather. But the fear isn’t there. There is only resignation. I have stopped seeing forward. I just don’t know how to put words to what my mind is experiencing.


After the meltdown at night check it seems things have gone downhill rather quickly. It may be the marrow leaching cold, or the endless snow storms. It could be so many different stresses combining together or it could just be the planets are in the wrong alignment. I don’t know. As I struggled through the barn work my mind wandered off into the darkest of places. I didn’t care enough to make an effort to shift it. Actually it was kind of comforting in a sick way. With each pitchfork of manure I sifted and with every wheelbarrow I dumped I thought about suicide. I visualized in perfect detail. They were not fleeting thoughts. These were documentaries. I’d mull each one over as it finished with pros and cons. I found something wrong with each my mind offered. After 8 hours I was numb and blank. In all the hours I never felt impulsive I just felt sad and overwhelmed. The reality of our worker leaving and the fact that we cannot do that work day in and day out. I don’t know anyone in their right mind that could do it. In this weather the simplest of tasks can become monumental. The cold robs you of energy and strength which is so important when doing the barn work. As the day came to a close my mind was too tired to even follow its earlier path. Speaking became difficult at best. I fell into bed and hoped for a better day. Honestly it was one of the worst days my head has had in a long time.