Proverbs 24, Verse 6
"Don't go to war without wise guidance; there is safety in many counselors."
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CHIPPED WISDOM:
A few months ago, I found myself at the library where my mom works, dressed up as the Cat in the Hat, reading Dr. Seuss stories to a bunch of kids.
These things happen sometimes.
One of the books I read was "Green Eggs and Ham". I guess, when reading Dr. Seuss stories, you don't really trouble yourself too much thinking about what internal struggles the characters are going through during the course of the story. But try it some day.
Try it, try it, and you may!
I was thinking about how much I identified with the poor stuffy bastard in the crumpled top hat with the big furry ass who doesn't want to eat the green eggs and ham.
I mean, I get it. That's me-- my ass is even furry, though big it's not-- and that's how I've always been. Anyone who's ever tried to convince me to have an alcoholic beverage or watch "Titanic" can tell you that I'm as truculent as they come. When I try to convince my children to ingest even just a small morsel of food at dinner time when they don't want to, and they twist in their chairs and swipe off every comestible speck from their trays and defiantly shout, "NO!" I have that sinking feeling that tells me unmistakably that, yeah, they're mine.
"NO!" is my middle name.
I say "NO!" a lot. To social engagements-- I've said it so often that the inevitable has happened: people stop asking, stop inviting-- stop. There are no texts that come in saying, "Let's hang out". And I'm not crying in my Caffeine Free Diet Coke about it, it just is what it is.
If a solution to a problem is offered to me, "NO!" is generally how I respond, even if I never petulantly come out and say it. I've learned to at least behave polite, but I might as well be standing there with a frowny face and my arms crossed in front of my chest peeing my pants just to make the point that I want you and your solution to STAY AWAY FROM ME.
STAY. A-WAY.
I don't like you.
In therapy, I've said "NO!" to mindfulness, to meditation, to alternate ways of thinking, to behavioral modification. I've said "NO!" to homework, and even to something as simple as "give this some thought for next time". I just... don't.
But, after three years, I'm finally saying "yes" to medication.
Why now? Because I am an absolute anxiety-ridden mess. And I'm depressed. I am so consumed with panic that some days I can barely function, barely focus. Barely get through the day.
Now that I have a desk, it's very tempting to just curl up into a neat little ball underneath it. That space underneath desks makes a great hiding place. No one will try to feed me green eggs and ham if I'm all folded up like a pretzel in there. Especially if I'm peeing my pants.
My therapist is happy, my wife seems happy, but I'm not happy. Maybe that's because I haven't found an in-network psychiatrist yet. Maybe it's because I haven't looked for one yet. But I have made up my mind to try it. While I am extremely apprehensive about taking medication that "the way __________ works is not completely understood", I've resigned myself to it. It's the best we've got at this point in time, and clearly what I'm doing for myself (saying "NO!") isn't working terribly well, so it's time to try something else. And if I go running down the street naked while ululating and playing the triangle, we'll know I probably need to, um, not be on meds. Or different ones. Maybe it'll take some fiddling and some switching and some tweaking and-- hopefully not THAT kind of "tweaking"-- we'll see what happens.
He was so gentle in his suggesting. He's quiet. His tactics were barely perceptible. But I noticed, and I pushed him off. Away.
No.
And he would yield, and be quiet about it-- for months sometimes. And it wasn't because I'd be doing well. I wasn't. I don't. I don't do well. Not in therapy. But he knew when to be quiet and when to speak up. It's a dance, you see. He leads, I lead-- it's a whole thing.
"But I shouldn't need it. I should be able to do this on my own." He raised an eyebrow. "Well, with you."
And maybe I could. But how much longer would it take? Five years? Seven? That's a lot of $50 co-pays. Maybe I'll be paying those forever regardless. Who knows?
One thing I do know, though, is that every day feels like I'm going to war. And that may sound a trifle dramatic, but it's how I feel. And even Robert E. Lee didn't feel like that every day. That's too much. You get tired. And I need to not be so tired. I have 20-month-old twins that I need to be awake and alive and silly for.
Thoroughly silly.
I was rolling around on the bed with them kissing their necks and their ribs and they were laughing so hard that I wanted to eat the world, hug the globe, kiss the sun. Go to war-- but in the good way. The lusty fife-blowing, drum-banging, button-gleaming bagpiping your brains out up and down the square way.
Cannons.
Sabres, glistening in the sun.
Left wing, right wheel.
BAYONETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Charge.
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