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Been a while hasn't it? This time around, Prophecy and the evolution of a nerd. Pt.1

Posted 04-22-2012 at 01:56 PM by WNxProphecy
CRAP! Some how I highlighted and deleted my first 2 paragraphs. Fuck. Ok well let me sum up real quick and move on.

First blog in forever. Last one was about my GED. I'm going to try and connect the dots between then and now. My mom moved back in. This motivated me to get my GED. It snapped me out of my depression I had no idea I had, as I'd been depressed my whole life and had nothing to compare it to. I started working from home for a small company. Started sliding back, realized it, and decided to fight it. I had an epiphany. Lets pick up there.

I had this epiphany that there was nothing wrong with me. That I was as good as anyone and deserved happiness as much as anyone. I also realized that true, good happiness requires work, and I must undertake this work. Realizing I could actually control my mindset and emotional state were alien to me, but made me exhilarated. Still though, it wasn't easy. When you have the kind of depression that's a true long term chemical imbalance, you don't have much of a choice when it comes to feeling bad or good. The way it was explained to me; You have incidental depression, like say your sibling dies. Obviously you'd be very sad for a good deal of time. There's a triggering INCIDENT that causes the depression, but because it is not your brains natural state to be depressed, it fights it's way back to normal. Then you have clinical/chemical depression. This is where you are in a depressed state for so long that it becomes the norm and doesn't fight.

This is what I had. I don't like cross bearing so it took a friend to point out to me that this was totally plausible given how my life had gone. My father was in a constant state of declining health and my mothers drug addiction and recovery took the person I though I knew as a mom and replaced her with a new one. All of this happened in those crucial years where you emotionally develop, the teenage angst years. But now, realizing that there was another side of the fence, I decided to fight back. I began getting into therapy. After my first session I felt great. I was hopeful. I knew depression was something I could beat and that thought alone made me excited. Then between my first and second therapy sessions, something remarkable happened. My father died.

It was June or July of last year, I'm terrible with dates. About a week before he died he came and told us, my sister, mother, and myself, that he had run out of his pain meds. This was pretty standard. He'd over dose himself, run out, and then get sick until they got refilled. I don't mean like a cold sick. I mean like cold turkey detoxing from heroin sick. With the amount of pain meds he was on, it was at least that bad if not worse. But still, this was normal affair. He got sick as expected. It wasn't until he got to the point he couldn't walk he was so weak that we got worried. The last time that had happened was when he'd first been prescribed xanax. He took a months supply in about 10 days. He was so fucked up he forgot to take any of his pain pills. He forgot to eat, drink, sleep. He kinda just was in a daze. I had to pick him up twice off the floor because he was too weak and disoriented to get up himself. Once thankfully my mother was there to help, as me picking up my 300+ pound father had caused him more harm that good. I don't know why I feel the need to share these details but for some reason I feel the need to justify everything. I don't know how to really explain it. There's a feeling of having to pick up your sweaty, unwashed, and filthy father that I don't think I can describe. You just kind of go numb. Here's this person that is supposed to be your father, a person you look up to, reduced to the operational efficiency of a 1 year old.

We got worried then because of the last time I just described. By the end of the previous episode we had him taken to the hospital where they found out his kidneys were failing. So when he couldn't get up anymore and we had to start using a bed pan, we got really worried. After a day of that I confronted him about going to the hospital. I was so angry. He asked me to empty his bed pan or something, I can't remember. I asked him if he was too weak to walk, he said yes. I asked him then wouldn't he agree it was time to go to the hospital? If he can't even make it to the bathroom? He got pretty mad. He said everything would be ok when he got his meds refilled. I don't remember much else. I think I sort of went numb and turned off. The parts I do remember is me grabbing the house phone and saying either you can call 911 or I will call them for you. This made him very angry. I wasn't about to listen to anything he had to say though. I had made my decision, and sometimes loving someone means doing what is right for them even if they hate you for it. I called an ambulance. They came out. And of course the prideful prick that is my father never looked better than when the paramedics were checking him out. He denied anything serious was happening. The lead paramedic came back out and told me that they couldn't take him to the hospital. They told me that he wasn't in a life threatening condition and that he was refusing to go. They told me if I thought he NEEDED to go I could call the police. They would come out and examine him and if they felt it necessary send him to the hospital for 72 hours. I said I think that it's ok. I don't know why I didn't mention his feces had been little more than water and blood for the past several days, or if I did and they didn't mark it as a big deal. I don't know why I didn't call the police.

After the EMTs left I went back to my room. I could hear him calling for me. I ignored him for a while but eventually went to his room. The first thing he asked me was if I was happy now. I had never heard a more hurtful statement from my father. I told him no, I wasn't happy. He tried to argue but I yelled over him. I can be very loud, and shut up and listened. I asked him if he realized what he was doing. If he realized that we all loved him and watching him brush with death time and time again was tearing the family apart. I don't remember anything else. I blanked out again. I remember him starting to cry and I realized that I wasn't getting anywhere, I realized that all I was trying to tell him was how much we all loved him and wanted him to get better, but how frustrating it was watching him refusing to do so.

God fucking dammit. I just wrote another 4-5 paragraphs, hit go advanced, and it wiped it. Fucking hating this blogging system atm. fuck. Ok I'll try to rewrite everything.

I realized I wasn't getting anywhere I wanted so I got him some water and emptied his bed pan. Then somehow I managed to get some sleep. His prescriptions got filled the next day. I saw him for the last time around 10 or 11 am. I emptied his bed pan again, got him some water, and left for the day. He died between 4-6pm. My mom found him at 12am after she got off work. I was just getting ready to go to sleep at a friends house when my sister called me. The conversation went like this-

"Nathan, you need to come home, dad's dead."

"Like dead dead?"

"He's dead."

"Are they still working on him or is he cold dead?"

"He's actually dead. You need to come home."

My friends mom was the only one still awake and I didn't have a car. She took me home. She said something like the only time she'd seen my father he'd looked like a corpse. She's a nice lady so I'm sure she had good intentions at heart.

When I got home we pulled up on the far side of all the emergency vehicles. my sister met me in our driveway. There wasn't any hugging or crying. While me and my sister are the best siblings we can be and love each other, both of us have a really strong crisis management mode we go into. She wasn't there to console me and I didn't need consolation. She was there to report. She told me what happened and where mom was.

I heard my mom crying on the porch and went to her. What do you do? As a man, there's nothing more unnatural than watching your mother cry. I don't think you can feel more lost. I hugged her and gave her a break from answering the police and EMT's questions. They needed someone to go and get his pills for them as some were unaccounted for. I said I would as there was no way I'd let my mom go back in there and my sister didn't know where he hid them.

Also I had to see him. I don't know if I can explain this. It didn't make sense. Would not compute. I couldn't register that my dead was dead. Even when I saw him nothing clicked. I had to touch him. I touched his arm and felt the coldness. I held his hand for a bit. He had just been sitting on the side of his bed, and laid down with his legs still dangling. I'd seen it countless times when he'd take his painkillers and zone out. I wish I had opened his eyes. But he did look very peaceful. You can tell when someone died in pain and he had not.

I had to go back to find more pills and just looked at him for awhile. Not really thinking, just feeling and trying to figure out what I was feeling. I wasn't really sad or mad, even though I wanted to be and I was getting mad about not being sad or mad which is actually kind of funny. More than anything it just felt unfair. Like if you had an ice cream cone and a tiny meteor hit it and destroyed it. It was so unfair on a cosmic level you can't even be mad, or feel a sense of loss, as there was no choice and nothing you could have done.

Part 2- [url]http://warriornation.net/Forum/blog.php?b=1181[/url]
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  1. Old
    This is brave. Depression is a terrible thing. You are doing the right thing in reaching out to people. I wish you all the courage to get through this.
    Posted 05-21-2012 at 05:20 PM by WNxKid Meatball WNxKid Meatball is offline
 

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