Wait. What? God?

God, Depression, Prayer, Anxiety, The Good Book and Suicide. Yep, all sorts of words that can cause one to be quite uncomfortable or feel quite awkward. If you're feeling like you don't want to read on, I respect that, but you know I have to double dog dare you!

I talk to God. Now this has looked and sounded differently over the years. You see, my mom is a prayer say'n person and she taught all of her kids how to pray. And being that I was one of those kids I learned how to pray. My dad would have taught us how to pray as well, but he went to be with God when I was young. As a kid, the only time I really talked to God was when I was scared, needed help really bad or even now and then I would tell him sorry for some of the crazy mistakes I made and truthfully that did not change much until I was a teenager. It's kind of funny how when life got a bit more heavy for me I found myself talking to God a lot more.

Going to church I was taught that I could talk to God anytime. My mom taught me that it was a good thing to kneel down to pray or if you couldn't kneel to at least bow your head and fold your arms. Putting these two together kind of felt a bit restricting at first. I found that there were more times than not that I was talking to God when I couldn't kneel or fold my arms and bow my head. Let's say for example during the times I was chased by dogs while doing my paper route. I can't think of any happy outcomes if I would have knelt then. It's kind of interesting though how when you talk to someone more and more how you become comfortable with it, heck even like it.

One of my favorite things I learned when I was starting to talk to God, was when life was just awful for whatever reason, I always felt good after talking with Him. Heck, I would even open the good book and read because that is what I learned at church. I sure didn't understand most of what I was reading at first, but I tried. Over the years and even to adulthood the equation was quite simple when the dark clouds of life hung low. I would pray and open up the good book. When I felt I wasn't quite right with God because of how I was living my life and that awful feeling that came with it, I could always talk to God and feel good afterwards.

You see, lately I have had something on my heart that has been worrying me. I have been fighting mental illness now for eight plus years and am only starting to understand a very crucial point. Before I go there though I need to visit some dark times. Here we go.

When I began having all sorts of dark feelings and suicidal thoughts, I had not a clue what was going on. This was before talking with the guy that had the comfortable couch and before visiting the guy that could give me meds. I remembering when I  first began to feel those dark feelings I began to really search why I was feeling them. The closest thing that I could compare it to was the bad feeling I had felt in the past when I wasn't right with God ... yep the "g" word; guilt. I couldn't remember anything that I had done wrong, but I must have done something because I was feeling so badly. So, I put my trusty equation to use and talked to God about it and even opened the good book ready to fill the flood of relief. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I remember one time even kneeling down, which would have made my mom proud, talking with God and telling him how much I hated feeling like this and asked why he wouldn't help me like he had in the past. Nothing. I thought maybe he was waiting for me to read more of the good book to show him just how serious I was, so I did. Nothing. This went on for months and sadly years. One can get quite tired and worn out after trying to talk to God all those times and feeling nothing. It wasn't like I didn't believe in him any more. I had too many experiences with talking with him in the past that I knew he was there, but I just couldn't figure out why he stopped talking back. After a while I began to feel that I just wasn't important enough anymore or even good enough.

I did end up visiting with a Psychologist and still do and yes he does have a comfortable couch. I ended up talking to a Psychiatrist and began taking meds and still do. Still no God. I wanted to stick it to the man of stigma so I went public with my mental illness opening up the vulnerability doors wide open. I received advice from someone that I just needed to pray more and read the good book more. I wanted to talk to God more, but I was beaten down from not feeling anything anymore. That kind of advice actually made things far worse than better. How could that be though? My whole life that equation worked and it was still taught over and over. I was simply shrinking into nothing because the more that time passed that I didn't feel anything from God, it was telling me how much I really wasn't worth anything anymore. And if I'm not worth anything anymore, what good am I to my family? And if I'm not worth anything to my family making things worse, why am I still alive? I fought that reasoning for years.

When a person is literally hanging on to survival by the hour at times, you can only imagine the damage that comes when you hear people say you just need to get over it. OR ... mental illness is just something made up in your head. OR ... only the weak are mentally ill. OR ... if you were just more righteous you wouldn't have to deal with just being blue. OR ... you just have forgotten who you are. OR ... you just need to keep busy. The one that I fought and still fight the most comes down to the principle of self-reliance. This is something that is taught in the church I go to, which I totally agree with ... when you are healthy enough to do so. Yes, my employ came to an end as I began to work through this. But you can only imagine the pain I felt hearing over and over how important it is to provide for your family, when you are trying to figure out how to make it through the day alive. Why go to church and be reminded of how badly I am doing for my family? Like I said, dark times.

Now to what has been on my heart. I fear that too many people are going through what I have gone through and aren't getting any help being left in a dark place. I fear that too many people aren't getting or try to learn of how to help those good people left in a dark place. I fear that people feel that God has given up on them. I fear that people haven't felt love for far too long. I fear that people are scared to take that step of getting help because of the stigma out there. I fear for those people that think that the world is better off without them. I am just starting to see and understand that even though I did not feel close to God in all this, that did not mean he was not involved in my life. I have no idea why mental illness feels like it closes the windows to heaven, but I can tell you the work from heaven never stops for you.

Waiting To Enjoy The Moment!

If vampires were real, I think that I would be safe. You see, I have blood that has a tendency to clot every now and then. So I'm thinking it's not the run of the mill type of blood vampires would go for. Or perhaps, it's even more enticing. Oh crap, now I just convinced myself I'm in more danger from vampires. Nice job!

But it is true, my blood likes to clot and yep I've had a couple of them and I've got to say that they really aren't my favorite things to experience. There is definitely the discomfort, but it is the med treatment that I wasn't liking so much when I had one in my leg. I was introduced to lovanox shots. They should really be called, "I'm going to bring you pain" shots. I'm in the category of being able to handle shots every now and then, but these little beauties needed daily attention ... and the attention had to come from me. I had to give myself shots in the belly every day for fourteen days. There was one thing that I had going for me in all this. One of the instructions was to pinch an inch on my belly and then proceed with the shot. Hey, I'm a pro at being able to pinch and inch. You want two inches? No problem! After a while your belly not only feels like, but looks like a pin cushion. I would usually do this brave event in the afternoon, which usually meant early mornings were okay, but not so much for the late mornings. That meant I was getting close to the pain time. The nerves would start saying hello and who knew what the butterflies were doing in my stomach ... not flying in a circle or the same direction, that's for sure. I'd go in my room, prepare a shot, make that face like "I am so not liking this, but hang on for the ride" and then go for it. Pain. Pain. Pain ... relief. Done for the day! I can't tell you how much extreme joy I felt after doing the fourteenth shot. Not missing that situation at all!

My mom did an awesome job with teaching me about enjoying the moment. Looking forward to exciting events or things is always fun, but can be so fleeting. Poof. Gone just like that. I liked that philosophy and tried to live it a lot, even in not so much fun times. However, what about when times are just awful ... you pick the scenario. I could not wait until it was over so I could get back about enjoying the moment.

What happens when the awful scenario lingers for years? What happens when it's the darkness of depression or the pain of anxiety? No joy. No happiness. Being taken back when someone comments how long it has been since they have seen you smile. Not wanting to really be in that moment over and over and over. Who wants to concentrate on a moment when you're not sure if you are going to make it through the day or trying to decide if you can remember who you even were before this destruction began? Not me! I wanted to disappear from it all! I wanted to distract myself with anything as long as it would take away the pain, the suffering ... the not wanting to be.

The darkness has a way of robbing you from those "enjoy the moment" moments and that sucks! I wish I could say that I was able to figure out the magic answer when I was in my darkest of times of how to enjoy the moment, but I didn't. Oh did I try, but I didn't. I can tell you this though. It is not about having enough "willpower" to make it happen instantly  It's about being brave, about being fighting mad, about being determined that you won't lose. It's about crying your eyes out, being knocked down, but pulling yourself up for another day. It's about not giving in to the demons of depression. It's about holding on to a love that you can't feel, but are being told that is there. It's about holding on to that hope, that someday you'll be able to have the choice to stop and enjoy the moment. I can only you tell you from my experience that it will come! How? I have fought daily! I have cursed at the demons! I have worked and worked and worked with my psychologist and still take meds. I held on to a faith in God that I was angry at for not giving me peace in all this and wondered where He was in all this. I fought and still fight. Making it through the day is a victory. Making it through a tough night is a victory! Making it through an extremely bad situation is a victory! Making it through heaviness of an unwarranted guilt and taking a deep breath is a victory! Those victories are your moments!

You Can't Play Football Today

I have three amazing older siblings with the oldest being a lovely lady. As you can imagine, growing up being the youngest was, shall we say full of a variety of emotions and experiences. All in all great though. And yes, my sister did dress me up in dresses and put make up on me and even introduced me to a new level of pain from the use of eyelash curlers. I'm pretty confident that the CIA uses that tool for torture techniques. In her eyes, I was supposed to be a little red headed sister for her. Now before all sorts of conclusions are jumped to, I will simply digress. Love you sis!

When it came to my older brothers we played a variety of sports from basketball, softball, football to kick the can. Okay, so some may not say that kick the can is a sport; however, I think it has some hope for being an Olympic sport someday. Fingers crossed. If I had to pick my favorite sport with the overall best memories, it'd be football. The chill in the air with the leaves starting to change colors. The smell of grapes coming from our back yard. That was the sign that football was here. It was kind of a magical thing when my brothers and I would go out to the front yard to play football and other guys from the neighborhood would just appear. It was like we all new it was time. We would play touch football, which really meant we would start with touch and then gradually turn into tackle. Being that we played mostly with my older brothers friends, I learned how to either get away fast or feel the pain. Let alone be the last one to have the chance of tackling someone before they scored. My strategy was to always grab one leg and hope my team would get there fast.

Now with football coming in the season of fall, there was always the chance of catching a cold, which seemed to always happen. One had to be strategic about it though. If we had to cough, we did all we could to muffle it so our mom would not hear it because if she heard it that could only lead to a bad ending. I recall I made the mistake one time of coughing in earshot of my mom. My instructions were to lay low and here it came, "No Football Today." That was almost like no Egg Nog with Christmas. Oh the sting! Just the thought of missing a potential game was hard, but if there actually turned out to be a game, it was simply devastating! I remember falling into that scenario once. All I could do was stand by the front door and watch the joy and pleasure my brothers and friends were having. Every now and then I would ask my mom if I could go out and play and I got the same answer, "Not until you feel better." I could tell her that I felt great all the live long day, but it was that pesty cough that gave it away every time. All I could do was stand and watch the fun.

My family and my wife's family love to get together and do the family thing ... from games, watching movies, sports, just chewing the fat, to even singing songs. Yep, I usually do shy away from the singing songs bit and I never hear any complaints about that. After I had been diagnosed with some mental heath issues, my family and I were out of town attending a family function during one Christmas. There was good food, good Egg Nog, good music and oh the decorations. Heck, there was even snow. In the midst of all of this I knew something wasn't right in my head. I felt the heaviness on my chest and felt like someone was trying to put on an extra small turtle neck on me and was being successful. I did not know what was happening, but I sure did not like it. I felt like I was losing my control of how to handle these emotions and losing control fast. I remember someone coming up with the idea of the kids putting on the Nativity and somehow that was the last blow of feeling so stifled. I remember standing up and walking to the room by the front door trying to gain any control and simply trying to catch my breath and mentally shake away what I was experiencing. The noise of it all got so bad I left the house and told myself I was just going for a walk. Needless to say with it being dark out and a good amount of snow on the ground one would think I would have grabbed my coat, nope!

I remember being startled with how far I had walked and also realizing I was starting to lose my way ... not only with directions, but mentally. I'm not sure why, but I wanted to throw my wallet and my phone away from me and just not be. I was not who I was. I missed him. I walked with my hands in my pockets in the dark on some street not knowing where I was trying to figure out literally what the living daylights was going on. There came a time where I thought it would be all over and my body would be found some days later. Thankfully, I fought off throwing my wallet and phone and my dear wife called me and asked to describe what I saw where I was and she was able to find me.

I've learned that sadly there are events and even family functions that are too hard for me to attend. Why? I guess that's why I meet with a Psychologist and Psychiatrist to figure out and work on. Meds and therapy have helped some, yet I still struggle. Having that experience that Christmas still haunts me when I think about getting together with a bunch of friends, family or even large events. Yep, I've made long strides and know how to cope better, but I'm still not ready for certain things. I hate how it impacts people and their lives. The thing that really pulls out the ultimate suck factor, is that these are things I want to attend and attend badly. I don't like sitting on the sideline watching all the fun and not being able play. Perhaps someday.

Suicide

I, Ken Morgan, fight suicidal thoughts all the time! Wait for it ... and I just made a lot of folks very uncomfortable. Before you go, thanks for stopping by ... and they are gone. I don't blame them, it can make many so uncomfortable. Why? I think a lot of it is not really understanding it. I know, what is there to understand, right? The thought comes to kill yourself. How hard can that be to understand?

I read a quote the other day that may shed some light on it. Forgive me for the terrible paraphrase, but it goes something like this, "Depression is when your body is fighting to live and your mind is trying to kill you." You see, the bottom line for me, is that I really don't want to die. I want to live! I want to live fighting to feel hope and joy. I have felt them before, so I know that I can feel them again. Not sure how long it will be, but it's worth the fight!

I can't tell you why my brain strives to convince me to just end it all. I can tell you that for me it is the farthest thing from being a selfish act. It's not when life is just too hard that I just want to give up. It's really not that at all. For me, the thoughts come that all would be better off without me. Let me open the doors wide open to my soul and share a thought. Before I do, I want to state just how difficult this will be because being open and vulnerable is like me bending over yelling, "Thank you sir! May I have another!" Waiting for the hard swat of a wooden paddle. If it helps someone suffering, it will be worth it.

Life for me is a struggling roller coaster. I've learned what triggers cause the spiral effect of depression, anxiety and even ocd. Seems like there are always new triggers I'm learning though. When a bad moment or day hits, I'm quiet. I'm not mad at anyone or anything, I'm literally fighting for my life at times using coping techniques I've learned from my psychologist. Or just fighting to find a place I can hold on to waiting for the dark storm to pass. How long do these dark storms last? Some an hour or two, some a day and some several days.

When I'm quiet "working through things" as I call it at times, which really means I'm not doing so hot, I tend to not handle "life" situations well. I tend to get upset or not deal with the situation at all. When I get upset, things aren't the best in the household. Dad, husband, family member ... you name the title, is getting mad again. When I get mad or don't handle things well I see how it effects others. How it effects family. How it effects relationships. How it effects folks I deal with just in passing. Needless to say, it's not the most happy times in my eyes. How I'm not measuring up to who I want and need to be to others and really causing them more pain than anything. See how the brain can kick my tail. These are the times that the suicidal thoughts are constant body blows, beating the life out of me. These are the darkest of times.

So, why don't I just reach out for help or tell people how I'm really doing? I feel like painting a scenario here. I see a "friend" and they say, "hey you good looking dude, how ya been?" I have a choice here to either say, "Pretty horrible! The thoughts of suicide are consuming me and I'm not sure how much more of a beating I can take. I can't feel hope or any sense of purpose. I'm trying, but I just can't." Or I can say, "Great man! Thanks for asking!" Any guesses which one I pick. Confession time. I'm the biggest liar of all! I have actually answered honestly a couple of times though and it freaked them out. They didn't know what to say and were scared that if they said something wrong it would be the thing that would put me "over the edge" and I would take my life. First of all, if I'm still trying to figure this out I don't expect someone to know what to say. A bit of advice though. Don't try to give advice, just put your arms around them and tell you that you love them. Second of all, and this sounds bad, but if anything is going to put me over the edge it's my dark mind not something said wrong by someone. There are only two folks that I talk wide open and honestly and that's my psychologist and psychiatrist. And really there are times that I just don't want to be open with them. It's dark and painful.

Will the suicidal thoughts ever end? I sure hope so, but who really knows. I'm trying to use anything that I can to quiet them at least. Like I mentioned, I meet with a psychologist and talk about how things are going and how to strive to handle things. I meet with a psychiatrist who has me on meds. In fact, we are changing up the med concoction, which is always a treat. My favorite line by him is "let me know if any interesting side effects kick in." I do all I can to lean on divinity. That my be another post some time. I'm trying though.

I'm sad when I hear of those that came to the point that they felt life would be better off with out them. That they lost feeling any sense of value, of being important to someone, of having purpose. They felt they brought more pain than good. I completely understand those feelings though.

The point is I have to tell myself that I'm important even if I don't believe it. I have to tell my self over and over even though I'm not sure how, but I am, even though I feel like I'm my only friend most of the time. I'm important. I'm important.

Understanding brings clarity of how to help. So if mental illness is so misunderstood that speaks volumes.

When The Bombs Fall

When I was a lad I really looked up to those in my family ... my awesome siblings and my incredible mom. My dad died when I was quite young, but I will call him incredible as well! Being the youngest, I had all sorts of examples to follow ... mostly good of course! Now, this doesn't mean that we didn't fight or have times when we didn't see eye to eye. I sure didn't see eye to eye with my older siblings as they tried to see if I would fit down the laundry chute. I definitely know my sister didn't see eye to eye with me when she came to know how I found out some of her nail polish was flammable! It was awesome! The bottom line though is that my family was my world. That's all I knew when I was young. When times were rough, I still had my family to hang on to .. to be my strength.

As the teenager years came, I began to surround myself with those that I felt comfortable with. That were friends and would be there for me when times were rough. My family was still there, but with my finite teenage understanding that looked through know it all glasses, my clarity of who really had my best interest in me at times was clear as mud. Thankfully I made it through the young teenage years.

With years passing getting me closer to adulthood, I had friends that were good solid people. I had my family to give me strength, but there came times that my friends gave me strength as well. Strength and support that I will never forget about. I throw credit their way for partially being who I am today. You can thank them or curse them.

As I began to embrace that mental illness was something I was going to deal with and fight with, I leaned so much on my wife ... my rock. I know how badly she wanted to help me, yet I knew if I was trying to figure out this whole mental illness thing, she was struggling just as much. That and is a struggle for me because I want to lean on her so much, which I can, but there are some things she just can't help me with and that's okay.

While fighting the feelings of not being good enough, not having any value, not being important enough, will never amount to anything and so much more, I tend to reach out to those that fight the same horror and lock arms with them. I lock arms with them to have more strength to fight the daily battles. Some of these friends are close and that I know and others are miles away and don't even know me, yet I gain strength from them seeing them fight the fight! Some days the fight goes well while other days I wonder if there is enough strength left. And then there are those days when the bombs fall. When I find myself on my hands and knees looking around dazed to see what the hell happened. I shake my head hoping I can figure things out while I look around in the fog around me looking for those that I had locked arms with. Like a surprise punch to the face I find that some of those that gave me strength are gone. They lost the fight. Too many bombs have been falling and too many people have been losing the fight. My heart bleeds for their close ones and their family. I feel selfish for focusing more of how it has impacted me. How I crawl around looking for someone to lock up arms with again and hope that the bombs will stop long enough for me to find the strength. Too many are losing the fight.

And the dancing elephant falls, landing on the ...

When I was a lad I had a difficult time talking to girls, especially ones that I thought were quite cute. Throw having a crush on them and the chances of me chatting with them was not too good! I may cough out a "hey" or "hi" and if they would respond "what?", I would just explain that I had coughed.

Now see, when I was around 10 years old I had a HUGE crush on a girl that lived in my neighborhood and went to the same church I did. Oh, and went to the same school too. So needless to say I would see her a lot, which was fine by me! I simply just couldn't talk to her! The crush was pretty strong, so I wasn't going to let something like not being able to talk with her get in the way. I had to be creative! My little 10 year old mind came up with an awesome plan! I had an older sister that loved to get jewelry, so I figured my crush would as well. But where would I get the money to buy jewelry? And then the epiphany hit me! My sister had tons of jewelry, so if I just took something small from her room she would never notice. Sadly, I did this several times. But how would I give it to my crush? I couldn't give it to her in person. That would mean I would have to talk with her and that wasn't going to happen. So I would take a nice decorated box with the jewelry in it and leave it on the porch and run like the wind after I rang the doorbell. This plan was going well until my sister started to notice missing jewelry. I could simply deny knowing anything, but it got very difficult when my crush began wearing the jewelry to church. Needless to say my sister wasn't too happy and all that hard work went for not with my crush.

Now that I'm "old man Morgan", which will have to be another day to explain that, I love playing "play list" with my oldest. It's quite simple, I get to play a song off of my play list and she gets a chance to name the artist and vice versa. I have to say I'm quite proud that my oldest can recognize the Who, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, Journey, Styx ... I could go on. She usually ends up winning too because yep, a lot of the artists sound the same. I never thought I would say that. I will have to admit though that she has introduced some amazing artists to me.

I've been on meds for three years or so to help with my mental illness, primarily for depression and anxiety. I'm on some meds for bipolar as well even though I haven't been diagnosed of it. It's supposed to even the peaks and valleys as much as possible. I have to say though that I fought taking meds for quite a while. I was terrified of side effects and I didn't want to become numb to the world. No one pushed me one way or the other. My psychologist was supportive either way as we talked about what the outcomes may be with each decision. I got to the point though of being so frustrated for what I was dealing with. Mental illness had turned my world upside down while spinning carelessly this way and that way. I came to the point that I wanted to do anything that would help me handle it better. I remember the day of  holding the meds in my hand thinking, "here goes nothing." I was waiting to wake up with six fingers on one hand or losing my appetite for my favorite food. That never happened, but I will admit that I had some side effects. One was that I would hum or sing and not know it. Not the best when you're in an environment where you're supposed to be quiet. A hoot for those around you though. The other dealt with something a bit more private. Nothing that I'm embarrassed to talk about, but for the sake of this writing venue I'll just say it simply went away after adjusting the meds. If you absolutely need to know, reach out to me and we'll chat. The interesting point is that meds taken for mental illness can actually take three to four weeks to completely take effect and may take a couple of tries of different combinations before finding the ones that work best for you. Bottom line, do I regret taking meds? Nope. It's important to understand though that taking meds isn't the end all answer. Taking them doesn't automatically make you "healed." Like I mentioned, they even the peaks and valleys that allow you to cope and handle the mental illness better.

"Great info Ken, and kind of boring, but now I have no desire to take meds," one may say that is trying to decide if it's the best thing for them. I actually came across and heard of some recently that were trying to make that choice of meds or not so much with the meds. I can simply tell my story and let them make the choice that is best for them, but to me it's important to be completely honest. I could easily say something about how awesome they are and I had no side effects. Butt that's like saying, "enjoy your ex-lax! It's great with no side effects." And yes, I did intentionally put two t's on the last but I used. Seemed appropriate!

Lately I have had a new side effect hit me. Does it make me question taking meds? Nope. It's a frustrating side effect, but I've chatted with my psychiatrist and we will be making some adjustments soon. I've learned that is just what happens. So what's the newest side effect? I struggle at times remembering the simplest words. I can be looking at an every day object and I just can't come up with the name. Or I'm in the midst of a sentence and draw a blank. It's cool when it's with my family, but a bit of a struggle when talking with other folks. I even at times draw away from folks lately because I'm nervous I'll make a fool out of myself, kind of like my fear of the ladies when I was younger. You can only imagine how the game of "play list" goes with my oldest too! Oh, and try telling a joke and forgetting the punch line about some dancing elephant that falls and lands ...

20 Items or Less!

I enjoy grocery shopping. Heck, I will even whistle every now and then and even do it while trying to find an elusive product. I even stick to the list, unless I want something that calls out to me. I'm even okay with waiting in the check-out line if needs be. But you know, every now and then I just want to get a box of twinkies and a Frank Sinatra cd and get in and out. That's why I have a friend, I like to call the "Fast Lane" or "Express Lane" or even "20 Items or Less." Now let's address my pet peeve ... and I'm not talking about my pet, if I owned one! I have my box of twinkies in one hand and good old Frankie in the other while I walk up to the "20 Items or Less" check out with a big old grin. Most cases my friend and I get along, but then there's the time I walk up and someone is there with a cart full of groceries. I pretend to smile and start counting all the items in their cart. I'm cool with some overage. That can be expected. Yet, when double or triple the count of twenty occurs I find myself looking at the clerk, still with my huge fake smile now. Don't worry, I get it. There was probably no one in line and the clerk let the customer with the plethora of groceries come on over to them. If that's the case, it should be called the "20 Items or Less, Maybe or Maybe Not" line! Don't worry, I get it. I can hear the calls now of needing to be patient or taking the opportunity to be patient. Just a thought though, what if I did the "Express Lane" because that's what I needed or simply could do? What if there is man out in the parking lot with a fever and a cowbell isn't working, so the next best thing was twinkies and Frank? Ah, but just take a deep breath and you can handle it. Right?

I'm not a big fan of having a cold or some type of sickness that kicks me in the backyard and keeps me in bed for a couple of days. I like to be up doing things, accomplishing things ... just getting them done with. Every now and then I will try to get up, but the strength is gone. Even making it to the bathroom can be the mission of all missions, because there is no energy! Then that glorious day comes when the sickness has done its thing and it is gone! It's like hearing angels sing!

One area in my life that I let define me far too often is simply getting things done. Cleaning around the house, projects, the to do list (that I've created), even finishing orders for the little company my sweet wife and I have going. The list could go on and on. What I see me do, is usually how I define my value. Then the rollercoaster of mental illness kicks in. There are days when I just sit around thinking or bonding with my bed letting the hours slip away watching show after show on TV. Why? Because I'm lazy? Imagine walking around the house looking at every little thing that has to be done and you just can't do it. Thinking about every little thing that needs to be done and you just can't do it! I can tell you that sitting around just thinking or watching TV all day is like trying to take a shower because you've had the stank for four days, and all you get is a drip here and there of cold water. Some may look up at the shower head and say, "hey, work!" I bet that would do the trick.

For me, there isn't the feeling of weakness or no energy when you're ill. Or when you have that lovely sweaty feeling of pain. My energy level is up, it's just the will that has taken the blow. Will Power! Will Power! Is all I can hear when I search for any will to do anything. It's hard to suck it up and increase the level or power of "will" if it's simply not there. How demeaning and destructive when you want to do something so bad, but your mind tells you nope! Add to that the defining of me is by what I accomplish. Not a fun game to play! It may seem hard to grasp. I know it was for me at first, but now that I live it I can tell you it is real and is awful!

I'm still alive though and I plan to be! I'm learning and have learned to redefine what I call accomplishments and acknowledge what each day is looking like of what I can do. There are days that I get a lot done and I feel good about every simple one. There are days that I get a few things done and that's okay! Even though the judgement of society may label me as lazy on some days, I give them the finger (the pinky of course) and know sometimes it's twenty items or less and I'm fighting for that to be not only okay, but awesome!