The Ghetto Lawnmower…
Dad bought me a used lawnmower a few years ago. I have rarely used it. Last summer, I was having those panic/anxiety attacks and couldn’t mow my lawn. Charlie came every two weeks and did it for me. Late yesterday afternoon, I got out the lawnmower cleaning the air filter, changing the oil, and putting fresh gas in. It like to have never cranked. It cranked with a big puff of blue oil smoke. It’s ghetto. The deck is rusting. It uses oil. It is just downright cantankerous, but it has personality. I think I can finally cut my grass this year with the panic attacks at bay. Luckily, I don’t have a large yard. It will be time to mow in about two more weeks. The weeds already have a head start over the grass.
Alarm! Alarm!
Mom and dad’s alarm service called me last night saying the alarm was going off. I am on the list of contacts. I didn’t have the new alarm code, but drove over. The backdoor was wide open and the police were there. I don’t know were mom and dad were.
“Can you turn this alarm off?” the policeman asked after checking my ID.
“No,” I replied sheepishly. “They recently had a new alarm installed and changed the code.” The old code was their wedding anniversary.
It must have driven the neighbors crazy with that alarm blaring just next to their house. I finally had the bright idea to call Charlie with the policeman’s cellphone and he had the code. He was over in a few minutes to turn the alarm off. I used the opportunity to get me a 20 pack of diet cokes and mom and dad will just have to deal with it today if they even realize the cokes are gone. There were five 20 packs sitting on the basement floor for my coke ritual.
The Call of the Covers…
I am finding myself more drawn to the bed. I said I was going to be like mom and just sleep my days away, but then I wouldn’t be blogging and twittering either. I can understand mom’s lure to the bed, though. When faced with mental illness, you want to sleep until you feel better. Sleep is the great escape from the torment that can be an unwell mind. It used to amaze me that mom could sleep all night and then just lay in the bed all day only getting up to eat or use the bathroom. Dad is comfortable with this. He doesn’t encourage her to get up or get out. It is manageable. And if you knew my mother in her un-medicated days, then you could understand how dad feels this way. Mom was wild. She would be up at 3am hanging pictures on the wall or ordering useless junk off the shopping channels on TV. She would keep everyone awake. My brother would used to wander out of his bedroom and exclaim, “Mom! Go to bed, Goddamnit!”
I worry about depression and my new found love of sleeping. I can crawl into the bed and daydream till I drift off. It is definitely an escape. I was in the bed at 8pm last night. I couldn’t wait to go. I also couldn’t wait to get up to drink the diet Cokes I procured yesterday at mom and dad’s. It was hard to wait to drink them, but I wanted to savor the experience. And some of my favorite moments of the day come at 4am when my medications are still very active in my mind and I am fresh after sleep. I feel my best at such early hours. It is late in the day when my feet start to drag and I feel mentally unwell. Sleep is like a resetting of the clock.
Will I sleep my days away? Let’s only hope prudence plays a part. I have too much to live for these days to be spending my hours asleep. I have AA meetings to attend. Blog posts to write. My new found love for religious lore and history. Hours of Coast to Coast AM to listen to. I think I am going to be up for some hours to come.
Growth in Spirituality…
One of the most novel things for me lately is to pray. My analytical mind wonders if God is there. If all this mundane stuff I pray about is really heard. Millions of people are praying at any moment. Can God process this overwhelming onslaught of needs and desires? Does he truly answer every prayer or is it all more esoteric. Do we play a more active role in the fulfillment of our prayers? I have to pray to go to AA. It is not easy to me to sit in a room full of strangers with all their social needs and desires. It can be overwhelming for someone who suffers from extreme social anxiety. By praying, am I deluding myself that I can go and make it through this ordeal? Is it the great whitewash of humanity?
Mom is Catholic and told me yesterday that I needed to have faith. Faith in the unseen and the esoteric is something so hard for me. I want facts and tangible things I can see and feel. I’ve had my fair share of delusions over the years with schizophrenia and don’t need to be corn holed into believing something that isn’t real or as many have said is the opiate of the masses. My opiate was beer and we all know where that leaded me.
Faith. I must have it, yet I balk. Is there hope for this old agnostic yet? I pray everyday now. I just prayed for faith. Let’s just hope I am just not another lemming walking over the cliff.
