Dying Diary #23

I been going through some periods lately... periods that scare the shit right outta me. Depression. I've heard a lot about it, but I never really experienced it.

I don't like it a bit.

I would rather be asleep than awake, facing another meaningless day. So I sleep sixteen hours a day.I go to bed at 10:00, get up at 8:00, take a nap at 10:00, get up at noon or so, take a nap at 2:00, get up at 6:00...

Is this avoiding life, or what?

I got fed up with it last week, called the local doctor; we know each other socially kinda, but I've never seen him professionally. He prescribed some Prozac for me, and it seems to be doing some good. He said it'd take a month or so to really work, but I feel better knowing that I'm doing something.

Physically, I'm completely healed up. I limp a little, I always will now. But it doesn't hurt. And I can't lift my left arm above my shoulder, but I don't really want to anyway. And I really like the way my nose looks, I catch myself admiring my profile occasionally in the triple mirrors in the bathroom... and I say to myself, "quit that, old man!" and I laugh.

I heard from Murleen last week, that's part of what prompted me to call the doc... she said that I just didn't sound right. Nobody else acted like anything was wrong, but Murleen knew just from hearing my voice on the phone.

Anyway, she'll be visiting next week, and I'm really looking forward to that. She's bringing a niece along with her, a 17-year old who just wants to be with her boyfriend who just started college in another state. Murleen thinks that a trip will be good for her, and I plan on having fun while they're here.

I think that I'll start doing the outside chores. I've had a guy doing them for me, but there's no reason that I can't do them myself. I've just gotten too damned used to having people do things for me! That will make a man lazy and feel like he's worthless... and depress him.

I'm gonna keep the gal that cooks for me, though. I'm a guy who hates to cook... well, I don't hate it, it's just more trouble than it's worth. But this gal is a good cook, and she cooks stuff that's good for me, and it tastes good... and I don't want to give that up.

And yes, my wife was a lousy cook. Worse than me. The daughter's pretty damned good, though, when she takes the time.

We've been having atrocious weather here. Hot, hot, hot day after day after day. Rain? What's that? The lake is way down... people sucking water out of it to water their lawns. Damned waste of money... it just makes the grass grow and then you gotta cut it. Yeah, I'm guilty too. So sue me.

The guy that does the outside stuff... he's dependable and he does a good job... but... he doesn't do it the way I would do it... will do it. Some things a guy really needs to do for himself if he cares about it, I guess.

This is a long rambly thing, and I haven't said what I want to say, just beating 'round the bush.

I'm scared. Pure and simple. I hate being depressed, and I hate to think of how close I was to ending it all. It seemed very logical at the time. I was not having any fun, I was a burden to my friends, family and society in general. I was worthless, everyone would be better off if I would just... kill myself.

All I had to do was instead of going to bed, just go into the garage, turn the key on and go to sleep. No more problems. Easy. Way too fucking easy.

So fucking easy that I did it. Almost. Except for the going to sleep part. After two minutes, I switched off the ignition and went to bed. But I proved to myself that I could do it. That was important to me. I thought that I would be too gutless. Maybe I am. The time wasn't quite right.

And when I woke up from my nap, Murleen called. That woman has exquisite timing, doesn't she?

My Dying Diary #24