Dave's Lament

I am writing this post, my first in a while, because of Dave's latest post.  In it, he said he used SZA as an excuse for shying away from people.  When, actually, he had been shy all his life.  I do things like that, too.  But then I wonder if my shyness at an early age was because my sz started then.  It seems like it has always been with me in some form (the sz.)

In kind of the same way, when I was still engaged in a daily battle with sz, a few years ago, I kept thinking, "Wow, I wish things would go back to the way they used to be."  And, "If I could only be the 'old me' again."  At some point, I realized that "things the way they used to be" and the "old me" were horrible.

Let me interrupt myself at this point to say I do have trouble remembering the good times, although if I force myself, I can remember a few.

Back to the horrible old times.  Honestly, it seems that a great deal of my life has been at least singularly unpleasant.  I'm sure it didn't appear that way to others, but inside myself it seems there was always despair punctuated by a very few episodes of hypomania.  My childhood was wretched.  Oh yes, I was an excellent student, went to church three times a week (maybe that was part of the problem!), and seemed to be talented at everything I attempted.  But there was always a kind of self-loathing and engagement in fantasy.  Was that just my particular character and personality, or was it a prodrome of sz?

I always had boyfriends in high school, I got top honors in art, went on to graduate with a 3.85 GPA in Applied Arts.  I also ran 5 miles a day for 20 years to try to get those endorphins flowing and to calm myself.  It worked better than yoga or meditation.  And yet through my late teens, I was suicidally depressed.  Then a marriage that was worse than hell, or at least a good enough taste of hell that I never want to go there.  And then to top it all off, a diagnosis of sz.  Many hospitalizations.  Three suicide attempts.  Many lost jobs.  19 ECT's.  Divorce.  Foreclosure.  Living with my parents.  And living with my parents was kind of a re-introduction to the horrors of childhood and it all seemed to be starting over again.  Like Dante's Inferno in a loop.

But now to the point.  Like Dave, I have something to blame for the me I have always been, past and present.  Schizophrenia.  Depression.  The lethargy of Zyprexa.  Dissociation.  Confusion.  Reclusiveness.  Introversion.  I can put it all under the heading of mental illness.  I have a good excuse now for the weirdness and unfounded paranoia.

And then came the difficult part: commitment to Recovery.  As I began to Recover with the help of therapy and medication, I began to realize that Recovery not only meant good personal hygiene and living in my own apartment and budgeting my money.  It meant I had a lot of growing up to do.  It meant taking responsibility for my moods and for my choices.  It meant learning I didn't have to be perfect even if others expected to be so.  It meant if I wanted to be shy and introverted instead of doing the hard work of making friends, at least I could admit that to myself.