65 Years Old, and Still Trying to Find My Way Out of the Storm

[Mystery]

Thank you; I finally got a doctor who listens to me. Every last one of them puts me on massive amounts of antidepressants, to the point that I cannot function. My new doctor put me on Wellbutrin, which increases dopamine, rather than lowering serotonin like most antidepressants. I am so used to having noise in my head at all times, racing thoughts, several thought processes going on at once, that when it's quiet, the only thought is that I can't take this; I feel alone, trapped in a world that doesn't feel right to me.

My new doctor is someone I used to see a while back, but I started to run out of funds, so I had to switch to a doctor in my healthcare network. All she wanted to do was lock me up and increase the Meds. She started me on Zoloft 50mg; she told me she wanted me to be at 200mg in 2 weeks. OMG, I was a zombie; I couldn't function at all. I kept messaging her, telling her this is not right. I am not going to make it like this; the voice telling me to kill myself is the only thing I hear anymore.

It's not a voice, voice, like I hear things; it's how I describe my thoughts, my writing, my mother, myself. The best I can describe what it's like is imagining looking through a window; you see what's outside, you have a wide field of view, and can see everything going on up and down the street, but as you move closer to the window, you start to see a reflection of yourself. Now imagine that to the left is the past, up the street, let's say, and to the right is today's reality, the here and now, and then behind me, a reflection starts to appear behind my reflection. It's my mother; her reflection keeps pointing to the past, trying to make me look back while I fight to keep my eyes on today and the future.

When I have an idea, I have to do the opposite, because ideas come from my mother, not me; I am reactive and was taught not to have my own ideas. So, I know never to do what pops into my head because it's trouble. For example, whenever I see a door accidentally left open, I get the idea to remove all the tumblers so any key will open it, because you never know when you might want or need what is behind that door. See, Mom couldn't teach me to lie and scam because that required a degree of deception, and I just wasn't good at deception. So she taught me to steal, pick locks, hide things in sleeves, and blend in so I wouldn't stand out.

If I got caught when I was younger, she used her manipulative skills to get me out of it. Which usually ended up with me being beaten right there in front of the entire store, most likely with my pants down around my ankles. Later, I was taught not to get caught.

Something inside my head also hates the World, I think, for not seeing what was happening to me and stopping it. So, I do stupid stuff to feed the urges I get to hurt people. 1st thing, I am not violent; I am not a shooter type; I would not be able to live with myself if I killed someone. What I do is more of a nuisance, but on a large scale. I stop in the middle of the freeway during rush hour traffic and sit there for 10 minutes, making sure to cause an hour-long backup that lasts the entire commute home for anyone unfortunate enough to be behind me.

One of the voices always shows me little movies; last week, I was stuck in morning traffic on the causeway when I ended up behind a police car. All of a sudden, I see a little skit play out in my head where I let off the brake until I tap the police car with my bumper. When the cop gets out to ask me what happened, I reach behind my back and scream, "He has a gun." The cop pulls his revolver and shoots me, and then, from above, I see him pull me from the car and lay me out on the ground. He starts looking for the gun I had, but there is none; he tries to help me, saying Common man, hang on. I see the pain I have caused him; he shot an innocent man, and I see him dealing with the guilt, and I can't do that to someone. To me, these are wasted thoughts; I don't know why I have them, but I do, every day, all day, so much so that they have become easy to ignore.

Lately, my biggest issue is energy. This depression and the voices, "thoughts," are so overwhelming and take everything I have that I have nothing left to be able to function on a daily basis. Seroquel, Zoloft, Prozac, and Abilify all have had negative effects on me, and no therapy seems to help either. Until the Wellbutrin, I think for the first time in 2 years I feel like I am going to be okay.

The flashbacks, which for me are like the window effect, overlay the real world, so I try to look at bright things or things with lots of contrast, because it helps blur what is being flashed. I see my mother's eyes at night, so I go to the living room couch and turn the light on, and I lie on my back with the light overhead so I see the light through my eyelids; without darkness, I am able to sleep a little more because the light hides the eyes I see in the dark.

The depression isn't gone; Wellbutrin isn't the cure, but it atleast helps me have enough energy to keep fighting back. Also, my Agoraphobia is worse during depression; I find myself driving 15 to 20 miles per hour over the speed limit so that I won't be stuck in a group of cars. Oddly, I only get around 2 tickets a year, and they're usually from traffic cameras; we literally have no police monitoring the roads here in New Orleans.

I have to do so many things to retain the control I have over this mind I was cursed with. Everything is Black and White 100%; I am either completely honest, or I am the biggest crook on the streets; I am either totally clean, or a full-blown drug addict. I quit smoking, drinking, and all drugs, and if I did any of them, I would do all of them. Any one thing would cause the whole house of cards to fall. As an ex-drug addict, I have to be careful with the meds doctors give me. If I am in pain, I take Toradol, the anti-inflammatory. I have a pain management doctor who gave me Opioids: 40 mg Oxycodone for my spinal cord injury after the surgery from a car wreck. I have to cut them into 4 pieces, and I only take 1/4 twice a day, half of what is prescribed, because if I feel it, I'll turn back into the Monster my Mother created.

The hardest part to face is that I think I am the depression part of me; this bout of depression started around 2 years ago, and though I wasn't a bad person, I feel like I fed the bad side every now and then to keep it at bay. "The traffic jams. Rekeying locks, etc." I don't want to let that side out anymore; I would rather not do those things, hate the world, or hate myself for what I've done to people.

This is where the side that says the world would be better off without me starts to sound like it knows what it's talking about, and I have to tell myself the people I would hurt by doing that matter more than everyone else.

 

[RileyH]

Dear Mystery,
I was moved by your post. I am 62. I can relate to so much of what you wrote. I just want you to know you are not alone.
Riley

[Mystery]

Thank you. 

Here in New Orleans, we just had a whole family murdered by a guy who attacked the family once before. Shortly after he got out of jail, he killed 3 people and stabbed a 6-year-old boy.

https://www.wwltv.com/article/news/local/good-news/hes-a-superhero-houma-boy-who-survived-deadly-stabbing-spree-returns-home-community-happy-survivor-crime-police-jail-arrest/289-19dcf36f-4352-4b6d-81c2-2e08b032db02

I can't help but focus on the Sheriff's words; he told the little boy they would be there as long as he needed them. We know that's not true; they will be there as long as it gives them good publicity, and then he will have to deal with it on his own. Like Us.

I've struggled through this on my own my whole life, and for short periods, I found peace and a place to belong, but it never lasted. Where were they when I needed someone? Where are they now that I need help again? I made it to 65, and I don't know why; here I am again, facing the nightmare that has been most of my life; once again, I fight for what little I managed to build in the few years I had.

I see my future, and I don't see myself making it to the end. Don't get me wrong, I am not suicidal; taking my own life isn't something I can do. But I do see myself giving up and letting whatever it is take me. I so want to go back to drugs; it's the only time I had peace inside my own mind.

What's really wrong with this world is the very system designed to make it fair, but it isn't. We are not created equal, and some of us need help from time to time. But capitalism means only those who can pay get the help they need. I tell my therapists all the time I hate them; it's not them personally, it's what they stand for. I've been in the state-run mental health systems; it's like putting a band-aid on a bullet hole. You can't blame the people who work in those facilities; they got into that profession to help people, not to make money. But the system doesn't give them what they really need to do their job.

In the past, these depressive episodes I went through lasted 4 to 5 years; I am only coming up on 2 years this March. I'm not going to make it as it is; I am struggling to hold onto my life. I keep thinking: just drop my phone and wallet and walk out the door, disappear into the night, before I become the disappointment I know is coming, before my wife leaves me, and those who know me learn who and what I really am.

It's not right..... I haven't had a lifetime to prepare for old age...

I'm sorry; it is just so frustrating to live in a world that was built not to care.

Ever since my Doctor put me on Zoloft and Abilify 6 months ago, the voice that usually helps me deal with these feelings stopped; it's the one that tells me Poetry. It gives me a way to look at my life and see it differently. When I look at people and wonder if they are like me, I know they are not; I imagine myself as a little boy sitting in a dark room, the only light shines down on me, making it harder to see into the dark around me; from that darkness come the thoughts that fill my days, "the voices." I never know which one I am hearing; some are good, most aren't, and I have to listen carefully to make sure I am not taking advice from the wrong one.

I heard this last year and put it to music. If you listen to the words, you can tell these songs come from a poem.

Lonely in My Head

https://youtu.be/NTTvKPPXCQs?si=qVxEvi9s75iYin5K


When Darkness Comes Again.

https://youtu.be/JVs06EiVRFs?si=cEv4e5afpURRx56R


This is some of my Poetry

https://allpoetry.com/Mr._E.

I don't post everything, just what feels right at the time.

I have secrets trying to get out; they know that if they escape, I will not be able to live with myself, so I can't share everything.

[NarcKiddo]

It sounds like you are struggling at the moment. I'm sorry and hope things ease up soon.

[Mystery]

Me too, it might just be the new Medication. But in all reality, this world has never seemed right to me. We give opportunities to people who don't need them and ignore those who do.

We have so many Homeless People here in New Orleans, and I see myself in every one of them; there are times I think I should still be there with them.

Honestly speaking, my homeless drug addict days were the best times I have ever had in my life. I was smart enough to...lol, I say smart enough!!! I was trained to think before acting; getting caught was not an option; plan ahead and always have an out.

I would break into businesses; "Never a home" that was crossing a line for me. I would bring a sleeping bag, a Bunsen burner, a can of beans, and a jar with half-smoked cigarette butts; I would set up and wait to see if the police showed up because I set off a silent alarm. They almost never did. But if they did, they charged me with Trespassing, booked me, and let me go.

I stole an ice cream truck and drove around to all the homeless camps where my friends lived, giving out free Sodas and Ice Cream.

I broke into Harvest Foods Cold Storage Facility and stole 85 Cases of Egg Rolls, 3 different flavors. Again, I hit all the homeless Camps, and then I took the rest to the Homeless Shelters with the story that a Freezer broke, and I just happened to be there when they were dumping them.

I broke into Navalets Garden Supplies and took 105 assorted-color tulip bulbs; I climbed a hill facing the freeway and planted them in the shape of a "Giant Question Mark." My nickname is Mystery, and at the time I had a question-mark mustache. Honestly!!!! I used to wear checkered patterned clothes; I had a Checked Bike and trailer as well. Yeah, I was weird. But I enjoyed myself; I felt like a kind of RobinHood at times. I stole from businesses that had everything and gave it to the people I knew who were having the hardest time surviving.

I've had so many friends die in my arms. Good People who made "One Mistake" lost everything and never recovered.

I watched my girlfriend die of flesh-eating disease. She shot up Heroin and missed the vein. It was the most gruesome thing I have ever seen.

For me, Homelessness was an Adventure, and Drugs made me feel whole. It's not that way for most of the people out there. I guess my mother making me read all those psychology books when I was little helped me see them differently. I saw real people, not like the fake ones that walk around this thing called society. None of you really know what it means to have an Adventure, to walk in a world where reality is not a 9-to-5 existence filled with monotony and routine.

When I see those people now, it makes me miss the life I used to have; I wonder why I am trying to live in this Rat Race created to serve the Rich. I see things I guess the rest of you are trained to ignore. "You are Slaves, and don't even know it"

Atleast I was Free for a while...


So yes, I am really struggling right now.