WillSpirit!

Since I started this blog at the end of May (and ramped it up in July), most of my posts took on a rhetorical style. In college (UC Berkeley) I took a year of Rhetoric rather than Freshman English, for reasons I no longer remember. So ever since it has been hard for me to write without composing an argument. My guess is that readership will not be attracted to an endless column of that stuff, as much as I enjoy logical analysis of issues.

While I cannot change into someone new, as much as I sometimes wish it, it is important for me to also be ‘real’ in this project. So what follows gives a brief sketch of my current lifestyle, at least as I lead it when in the Bay Area.

After waking up early, I sit at my computer for an hour or more looking at any comments that might have come in, writing responses, and visiting blogs. Then my wife and I walk our two little dogs: Emily, a chihuahua-dachshund mix, and Ralphy, who is some version of a poodle. Both weigh 10-11 pounds, and are the cutest dogs in the world (but it’s possible I’m a little biased). Some days I also go to an AA meeting a few miles from home; it’s a daily meeting, and it is one of the few places I’ve made friends as an adult.

After the dog walk, Mandy and I usually go to the gym. This takes us to noon, or a little after. The afternoon I spend running errands, usually, though I prefer to have time to write. That is one of the reasons I prefer living in the foothills (where we spend 1/4 to 1/2 of our time); it presents fewer distractions to my writing.

Mandy usually cooks dinner, and I either do the clean up alone, or with Mandy’s help. I actually prefer to do it by myself because, truth be told, Mandy does 90% of the housework; I have never been one to assist much. I feel guilty about it, but evidently not enough to pitch in on a regular basis. That’s another reason I like being up at our mountain place: there is a great deal of work to do outside, around the land. That way I can contribute to the function of the household, since I am poorly motivated toward cleaning and doing the indoor work.

In the evening we typically watch a rented movie. Then I do one of two things. If I am feeling OK, I spend more time at the computer. Unfortunately, very often I get depressed as the day ends, and I retreat to a dark room, curl up in a ball, and try not to think. I focus on my body and its sensations in order to escape the torment of my thoughts. Not a pretty picture, and obviously not one I am proud of, but there it is.

When I am writing my guilt about not helping around the house is alleviated. Since my surgical career ended in 2000, I have spent six months in graduate school, three months teaching high school, and eighteen months doing public speaking for the California Department of Public Health (about childhood lead poisoning). Other than that, and some volunteer computer programming and other unpaid work (oh, and also a little recent work as a patient advocate) I do not have any earning capacity. For now we are coasting along OK, but someday an income will be needed. Since I have crashed at every endeavor since my career imploded, the only thing I have left is writing. But at least it’s an attempt at helping out the household (as part of a long-range plan) so I feel more like I am doing my part.

Writing as a living is obviously a very, very uncertain thing. Especially for someone with so little background in the field. I have what I think is an interesting story to tell, but whether I can tell it in an interesting way is an open question so far.

Believe it or not, those eight (rather short) paragraphs sum up the better part of current life. It is simple, uncluttered, and sometimes boring. The difference between what I do now and what things were like back when I had a clinical practice is impossible to overstate. Back then I worked fifty hours a week (half of those in the operating room), worked on our vintage house in San Francisco on the weekends, and spent the rest of my free time either sculpting or reading about sculpture. I was busy as hell. I felt productive and proud of myself. I was probably a little arrogant.

I also had little spiritual sensibility. I tended to see things from a materialist perspective, and gave almost no attention to the murmurings of my heart. Stress consumed me.

Which is better? For all the loss, grief, depression, and defeat, I am now a more enlightened, understanding, and humble (when I’m not taking it too far and feeling humiliated) person. That’s how I like to think of myself anyway. Mandy might have a different take on things.

So that’s my story. I don’t know if anyone will care, or even make it this far into my post. But I want to try to put in some stuff that shows my real experience, rather than always putting up opinions which, the more I look around at other blogs, are rather sadly naive anyway.

Lately, I’ve been battling a low-grade conviction that life is s**t. My grip on living has been slipping, and I find myself dreaming of the long fall off the Golden Gate Bridge, just like the old days. (When I was in the hospital, the therapists grilled me about why I was fixated on the bridge, when as a doctor I could–they thought–easily get my hands on some pills to die painlessly. My answer came down to what I mentioned in another post: my mother loved the bridge before she died. It seemed to represent something to her, even as she faded into the mists of depression back in Michigan.) That’s why I gave in and boosted the Cymbalta again. (Speaking of which, take a look at my reply to Susan’s comment on my CymBLAHta post: it links to a great video on her site.)

Since the dose increase, my mood is perking up. Of course, I pay the price of diminished sexual responsiveness, and the feeling of not making any progress in my goal of getting free of pharmaceuticals. But at least the nagging feeling that life just isn’t worth the trouble has left–kind of.

I’d like to end on a better note, but that would not be true to my current condition. When I started this blog my hope had been to show everyone a path to freedom out of depression: I felt my progress had been so great. But as always happens, I’ve slipped back into the pit, though fortunately not too terribly far. I have every expectation that things will look bright again before too long. I even have prayers of feeling connected, once more, with the cosmic resonance that I feel at my calmest times, especially when surrounded by arrow-straight pine trees and dozens of birds, whose clicking, chirping and trills remind me of God’s voice.