Thought of the Week: Depression Is…

It’s been quite some time since I’ve turned my hand to poetry, but since I’ve been writing such a voracious amount of prose lately, it felt about the right time. I make no promises for its quality, but maybe it’ll ring true with one or two of you.




Depression Is…


Night time vision on a sunlit day

The inability to accept proof of reality

Feeling your stomach churn at the sight of happiness

Knowing you’ll die alone



Sleeping all day when there are things to do

Writing furiously and loathing the outcome

Knowing your life is worthless


Scars on an arm that you hide from everyone

Wanting to drown in black memory

The past being ever better than the present

Knowing there is nothing yet to come


Going to work every day, not knowing why

Coming home to mess, and anger, and disappointment

Wanting to forget everything and everyone

Knowing there is no escape…no hope


Featured image from:


Satis Logo 2014

Thought of the Week: We Apologize for the Inconvenience in my Head

I’m sitting here right now, doing my best to cope with my head’s decision to have a total breakdown. I assure you, it’s not a pleasant experience. I apologize if this is disjointed or nonsensical.

Downstairs, my wife is making General Tzo’s Chicken. She’s doing her best to cope with me. I assure you, it’s not a pleasant experience. It took me three hours to manage to cut up the broccoli.

I don’t know if I’d call it a panic attack; I certainly feel somewhat panicky. Overwhelmed; all the little things are too much. I don’t mean little things like cleaning the house. I mean little things like Lego figure heads, the scrap of paper on the floor, the itch in my left tear duct, the vaguely numb sensation of too much acetaminophen. The leaves on the trees that don’t line up, the hole in my underwear, the fact that the window I’m typing in on my computer isn’t perfectly centered in the screen. These are the little things that are all too much.

I end up on my hands and knees, rocking back and forward incessantly like a crazy person.

Wait…am I a crazy person?

It’s a rare lucid moment that’s allowing me to write this. Maybe it’s therapeutic. I missed my therapy appointment on Friday – I forgot about it. I haven’t called The Lovely J (to borrow a phrase) to apologize or reschedule. I don’t know if I can. I feel worse every second that goes by, and it’s stopping me from actually doing anything about it.

I don’t want to clean the kitchen tonight.

I don’t want to have Movie Night with Little Satis tonight, but don’t tell him – he’d be devastated. I think I’m going to have to force through it.

I think I must be crazy.

There’s too much recycling.

I have a friend who used to have panic attacks. She said it felt like she couldn’t breathe. I don’t feel like that. I feel like I can’t exist. I feel like I’m exploding, from the gut out. I had a crazy notion chopping the broccoli to ram the knife right into my stomach. There was a crazy flash of relief at the thought, but I didn’t do it, obviously.

I was playing Plants vs. Zombies…it was helping to still the storm, until I got to a level I can’t beat. Now that’s worse. Why doesn’t anyone make games that are just simply easy, all the way through? Wish Heroin Hero was a real game.

Maybe an episode of South Park will clear the crazies.

I feel an incessant, burning desire to work on something related to the The Redemption of Erâth, but there’s no way I’m in a state of mind to do anything about it. I tried another cover design, but I deleted it before I was halfway done. It sucked.

I’m so desperate for a cover design and I have no idea where to go for it.

I’m listening to Kamelot on Pandora. It’s fast, and kind of matches the spinning in my head.

This has helped. I apologize for the rambling, and I’ll be back next week with something more sensible.

Thank you.

I’m sorry.

Thank you.


Featured image from

Satis Logo with ©

Thought of the Week: Diagnosed Bipolar…

…and pissed about it.

So goes the tagline of one of my favorite bloggers, lifeonaxis1. As of last Tuesday, it turns out she and I have something in common.

Such was the offhand remark my psychiatrist made when I went to see him about having stopped my medication. “Well, we’ve been giving you these four different medications for a couple of years now, the results have been so-so, you’re having withdrawal symptoms and oh, by the way, you’re bipolar.”

Thanks, doc.

The funny thing is, I don’t feel bipolar. I actually feel pretty level most of the time – anywhere from just plain ordinary to mopey and depressed, but never hyper. Never gone through manic periods, never had wild mood fluctuations, never felt like I was in charge of the world. For me there’s just depressed and more depressed.

At least that’s what I thought, until I looked back at the past few days and weeks. Since going off my medications entirely, I’ve written five chapters of my book. That’s 28,000 words in less than four weeks. I’ve written nearly every lunchtime at work, nearly every night before bed.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, since going back on my meds my mood has stabilized immensely:

Wild mood swings…

Wild mood swings…

See that point about two weeks ago? Yeah – that’s when I started the meds again. It just so happens that one of the medications (actually several, I think) is used to treat bipolar disorder. It was the last one I stopped taking, and the first one I started again. It suddenly feels like a paper bag being popped – out exploded all this nervousness and anxiety and manic obsessive behavior that I didn’t even know existed. And now, I’m trying to cram it all back into a new bag.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about it; I’m not sure if it even changes anything. For years (decades, almost) I’ve been desperate to have a diagnosis, a sign of something, of “this is what’s wrong with you”. And now I have one, I feel very let down; it’s as if what’s wrong with me is something mundane and ordinary – something anyone ought to be able to deal with. Perhaps it was the way the doc said it; perhaps it’s how I took it. Either way, it doesn’t change the deep down feeling I have that what’s truly wrong with me is that I just can’t cope with life like other people can. That I’m just bad at being a person.

But then, isn’t that kind of what bipolar disorder does to you?

Disclaimer: you’re not a bad person, lifeonaxis1. Just me.

Featured image from

Satis Logo with ©