Meet the New Joe, Same as the Old Joe
Posted 05-27-2018 at 10:11 PM by Joe the Photog
I went outside today. I knew I had something in the mailbox I wanted to get, so I put my leg on, then got in the wheelchair and rode down the ramp. The mail box isn't at the end of my driveway, itself a decent distance for me to try to walk right now. It's at the end of my road where it connects to Beacon Road. I live on a private gravel road with maybe five or six other houses. The mail carrier won't come down the road unless the package is to big for the box.
I really wanted that package, so I tolled myself down to get it. I know people say it does you good to get outside and feel the sun and breathe in some fresh air. But to wheel myself on the rocky surface wasn't doing much good at all. But I got the package and came back in. I was already feeling down and being outside did not help me feel any better.
I had woke up in an ill mood, a dream I could not remember still on my mind. I couldn't remember details of the dream, just who was in it. I remembered a conversation I had earlier in the week where it felt like a had turned a corner mentally. I felt great. The person I was talking to complimented me on my new resolve to move past all that has happened in my personal life. I almost broke my arm patting myself on the back. The New Joe was finally here and in charge.
Less than a week later, Old Joe has moved back in. Old Joe with uncombed hair and a beard going every which way. Old Joe with the death wish and vague Facebook posts. Old Joe forgetting to take his medication and slipping back into bad habits of the recent past. Let's face it. Old Joe never really left.
I don't want to feel like this. I'm tired of it actually. It's draining for me and I know it's draining for those around me. To feel numb so often, to feel the depression slipping back in. To wake up and the first thought on my mind is “I need more sleep.” Can I get a do over? To have someone ask how my day is going and wonder if I tell them the truth or if I make up some lie. Both options make me feel just about as bad.
I know why more folks don't come see me. I get it. I don't want to be around me either. My depression is not like most illnesses. Most people get sick and there there are one of usually two things that happen. They slowly recover from their illness or they go the other way like the cancer that takes so many of our loved ones. With my mental illness, I'm in the middle. I don't really get better. I'm just stuck here.
But people like a good story to come with a beginning and an end. They want you to either beat the cancer or die a valiant death in battle against it. To have the war rage on, a small victory here, a loss there, but never an end to the war, folks don't know how to handle that. I don't know how to handle it. It's terrifying and very tiring. Y'all can get away from it. I can't. I'm always here. I'm always reminded that if I'm not beating the depression, then I'm losing to it. Losing doesn't mean dying. It means not living the life you could, the one in your dreams.
I'm not becoming institutionalized, to go back to what Red was talking about. I am institutionalized.
I really wanted that package, so I tolled myself down to get it. I know people say it does you good to get outside and feel the sun and breathe in some fresh air. But to wheel myself on the rocky surface wasn't doing much good at all. But I got the package and came back in. I was already feeling down and being outside did not help me feel any better.
I had woke up in an ill mood, a dream I could not remember still on my mind. I couldn't remember details of the dream, just who was in it. I remembered a conversation I had earlier in the week where it felt like a had turned a corner mentally. I felt great. The person I was talking to complimented me on my new resolve to move past all that has happened in my personal life. I almost broke my arm patting myself on the back. The New Joe was finally here and in charge.
Less than a week later, Old Joe has moved back in. Old Joe with uncombed hair and a beard going every which way. Old Joe with the death wish and vague Facebook posts. Old Joe forgetting to take his medication and slipping back into bad habits of the recent past. Let's face it. Old Joe never really left.
I don't want to feel like this. I'm tired of it actually. It's draining for me and I know it's draining for those around me. To feel numb so often, to feel the depression slipping back in. To wake up and the first thought on my mind is “I need more sleep.” Can I get a do over? To have someone ask how my day is going and wonder if I tell them the truth or if I make up some lie. Both options make me feel just about as bad.
I know why more folks don't come see me. I get it. I don't want to be around me either. My depression is not like most illnesses. Most people get sick and there there are one of usually two things that happen. They slowly recover from their illness or they go the other way like the cancer that takes so many of our loved ones. With my mental illness, I'm in the middle. I don't really get better. I'm just stuck here.
But people like a good story to come with a beginning and an end. They want you to either beat the cancer or die a valiant death in battle against it. To have the war rage on, a small victory here, a loss there, but never an end to the war, folks don't know how to handle that. I don't know how to handle it. It's terrifying and very tiring. Y'all can get away from it. I can't. I'm always here. I'm always reminded that if I'm not beating the depression, then I'm losing to it. Losing doesn't mean dying. It means not living the life you could, the one in your dreams.
I'm not becoming institutionalized, to go back to what Red was talking about. I am institutionalized.
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