The 3AM World of Mine


I acknowledge suffering from two mental conditions; insomnia and some form of a deep, cyclical depression-actually other issues but I wont go into that as its not as relevant to the point I’m trying to get across with this post. If you’ve ever been caught having to drive home in the wee hours of the night when most everyone is asleep and you see some stranger meandering down the road alone and wondered what the hell someone was doing out there at this hour, that was me. Perhaps not me specifically but it could be me.
As hard as I try I cannot get to bed before an uncommon hour. I will allow myself only so many nights tossing with my eyes pasted to the ceiling or reading a book or drinking warm milk before getting up, putting on some clothes and taking a jaunt on the chilled dark streets, alone and in thought. My fits of depression typically have me out the most and although past posts to the Church have shown what happens on more jovial occasions, I don’t really write on those alone moments that draw no conclusions but rather act as a time needed before convincing myself to go lay my head on the pillow and rest. I am one of lone souls out there in the wee hours.
A few people have asked me why I don’t seek professional help from some qualified Head Specialist and I tell myself the suggestion is meant well and it might even help-but the gut instinct in me flinches when I actually try to search out a specialist. Up until recently I didn’t feel I knew why but now I’m beginning to hone in on my skepticism. Medical professionals, like car mechanics and tech support people, range from great to disastrous and walking down the road of emotional instability is a rocky road folks. I’m reminded of two incidents I went through with medical doctors that had results for me ending in loss of support to their craft. The first incident happened in Colorado when a doctor told me the x-ray they took of my lung showed a huge growth that was cancer and that it was in an inoperable location. The diagnosis was not good-fatal in fact-and the size of the thing showed there not to be much time. I was reeling from this naturally and they wanted to see about starting me up on a program to do some such shit but I thought what the hell, if this thing is not curable, why bother? I left it at that and a while later when I had to go to the doctor again, they took another x-ray which revealed nothing was in my lung at all. No cancer.
The second incident happened very recently when I went in the hospital and was diagnosed with pneumonia. After draining a small investment of blood to screen out of me a doctor came back and told me they had found that I had type II diabetes. Well this one floored me as well and the ball started rolling with me having to talk with dieticians, use one of those annoying machines to cut me and grab blood on a medical slab and trying to fathom a life from this point on wondering if I was going to be the needle in the thigh person or could get away with pills. I was still trying to cope and swallow all that down when the doctor came back in some hours later and told me to disregard all that stuff they had said about diabetes-they were not saying I had diabetes.
The limited exposure I’ve had to mental health professionals has led me to highlights like the doctor who told me what I should do is try and find something I enjoy doing and schedule a time to make sure I do it..brilliant. Here’s my fifty dollars for those words of wisdom. Another one called child services on me. Most people I know who have gone to health specialists (aside from the truly disturbed chemical imbalance folks) have been left with a wallet bending mind numbing dose of the latest psychoactive social mediator and if that’s what its about, I can find my own mind numbing drugs out there at a fraction of the cost. I don’t have all the answers by any stretch of the imagination, but I know the difference between the gut instinct revelation that hits me and a reasonable facsimile trying to be shoved up my ass.
I’ll have to take it slow and continuous, the way I always have. I find it funny that the only instrument I took lessons on was the violin, the one instrument I struggled with constantly and never learned well. All other instruments I taught myself-the guitar, harmonica, flute, some keyboard and some drums. It has to ring true from me or I just wont get it. That’s the same with these depressive states. That’s why I have to do it this way. That’s why I’m out there walking the streets at 3AM…..thats where the Church is.


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