Here I am! I am still here. Been knocked around. Been knocked down. But I am not done. I can still get behind the wheel and drive right past all the bullshit and into the light. Although, I think I may be running out of road.
I picked up a few familiar passengers Friday night.
The Darkness is the leader. His lieutenants are Hate and Despair. While the names seem pretty recognizable, their pronunciation is a bit more challenging. They aren’t shy but they are stealthy. They ask but they don’t take. To hear one say their names properly sounds insidious and guttural.
Friday night, as I lay in my hospital bed desperate for pain relief, knowing it wasn’t coming, I found myself face to face with those demons again. We even had a conversation while we sat around an old wooden table, playing cards and passing around a bottle of bourbon. That’s what they do you see. When the world deals you a bad hand they show up, offer you a seat at their table, a drink of their whiskey and the influence of comradery, companionship, kinship.
See, they want to convince you to give them your soul because they can’t take it from you.
To hear their names aloud is to hear fear. It is the most uncomfortable sound I know, both haunting and horrifying. I can tell you everyone in that hospital must have heard them Friday night. Perhaps even the surrounding area caught the faint echo as it rattled through walls and shook both man and machine nearby. And while it may have come from the voice of a man, it surely was not of this natural earth.
But I have seen them before, heard them before. I held on to my hand, a full house nonetheless. I refused to play, check, or bet. I just sat there sipping my drink, knowing if I finished it or laid down my cards, it was over. Despair and Hate don’t play cards all that well. Too many tells. Darkness however, has won more hands with nothing but a pair of twos or less than anyone I have ever met.
The Darkness just smiled at me and said, “Maybe not tonight, my friend.” Hate and Despair got up and left through the 7th floor window just before dawn. Both of them were laughing and making gestures like old pals do. They gave me a wave as if to say “see you again soon.” Hate even flipped me the bird as he flew away, quoting Goose from Top Gun, “I hate it when it does that!” Despair just chuckled and pretended to fall before gaining altitude and climbing into formation with Hate. They are quite funny for two demons of depression.
The Darkness just moved himself from the table to the chair in the corner. His shirt was well pressed with stiff lines of starched cotton segmenting his collared shirt into left, right and center as if a drill instructor ironed it. Nevertheless it was clearly worn and faded. His eyes were as blue as mine but surrounded by black like coal. I can never truly make out his face, only to say the shape, the silhouette always reminds me of my own, but much older.
He offered to pick the game back up tomorrow night and then continued telling tales, just like the last time we sat in a similar room together. Admittedly, I began to feel as if his offer might be the better alternative. I began to think about what this life has offered me. He reminded me how most of my adult life was partnered with chronic pain and hundreds of people like the ones in that hospital (but none present in the room) who offered the promise of healing but then left me writhing in misery, in a cold bed, in a cold and empty room, except for the beeping machinery that chained me to it along with a box mounted to the wall filled with spent needles of false hope.
Darkness didn’t lie, ever. But he did know how to get me to lie to myself. That is his power you see. He could sell ice to folks in the arctic. You might think a demon would prefer the heat. But not The Darkness. He loves the cold. He didn’t scram with his underlings just before dawn. Nope, he just sat in the shadow and kept offering more possibilities until I picked up my phone and began texting Mindy. Then he promptly, but in his own time, got up and walked out into the hospital corridor right past my nurse. He finished the last sip of his bourbon, shot style, gently placed the glass on the sink near my bed and offered a friendly, “later” before he turned the corner and left my sight.
So, once again, the medical world has proven themselves unable and incompetent to properly treat this chronically and severely pained unicorn.
The heart cath, which was why I was there in the first place and supposed to be a rather routine morning procedure, did not go well. My right coronary artery is blocked again. I already have 5 stents in it, all in the one artery. But the miracle of the human body was on full display. You could literally see how when the main right artery became fully blocked again, several microvessels turned on and created what doctors call collateral circulation. The cardiologist opted not to place another stent since my artery will likely just become blocked again. More medication coming my way.
The pathology of my journey is complex and littered with self-destructive agitators, stimulants, and straws that stirred the poisonous drinks, lit the smokes, defined the lines, and popped the pills.
Still, the taste and effect was too tempting to turn away. And in the early days, anything was a better option than sitting down with the trio of depression that began following me back in high school or even earlier. My own little dysfunctional entourage.
I can’t help but think all the time and energy I spent running from them has greatly contributed to my physical health as well as mental. West Nile may have capsized the ship but it was taking on water long before that little fucking mosquito came along.
Is it really that strange I would be comforted by the three of them in challenging moments like Friday night at Medical City? The devils you know…
I find myself praying to the saint of lost causes.
Home now and thinking about it scares me. Am I changing? Are the demons winning? Is my heart succumbing to hate and my soul despair? I know this much, after dozens of moments in cold hospital rooms like the one Friday night, with uncontrolled pain and only my familiar trinity of depression demons to keep me company, I find myself praying to the saint of lost causes. This situation cannot happen again.
Even with every depression fighting tool in my toolbox, even after learning how to manage my depression in so many ways, I am still vulnerable. And pain is my kryptonite. That’s when The Darkness gets close, just like the big bad wolf.
I won again, barely. But I am weary and running out of road, at least the kind of well lit road under streetlights. The path ahead is getting darker, narrower, lonelier.
With that I can only repeat what I know is the most familiar route back to the light for me, for you, for all of us.
Be love. Be kind. We are all connected.
Life is better with a soundtrack.
So, enjoy the music and enjoy being alive. This week’s Two For Tuesday selections were inspired by The Darkness and his friends. One of my favorite TV shows just started its 3rd spinoff series, Dexter: Resurrection. Interestingly enough, this latest installment in the serial killer of other serial killers franchise has Dexter moving to NYC and becoming a rideshare driver like Uber while he pursues a bad guy who is killing other rideshare drivers. I came across a couple of great songs while watching the first 2 episodes.
Oh, one word of advice….
If you should ever come across those demons of mine, if you should hear one or, God forbid, actually see one,
run.
Bonus tracks as usual. And whew! Here are a couple of great ones I will surely feature in an upcoming blog. They are just too good to be on the bottom...
The featured artwork was found on Flickr
Depression and its demons | Flickr
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#kindness #purposefulkindness #drivingawaydepression #WhatAWonderfulWorld #hope #peace #joy #love #streetlights #grace #TheKindnessClub #lifeisbetterwithasoundtrack #weareallconnected #findingjoy
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StreetLights 
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