CT,
Thank you for sharing in forum what some may have long suspected.

You have learned to work with your condition, and in spite of the challenges have served our nation in uniform.  You continue to offer yourself in public service as you work with people who face enormous obstacles in their own lives.  Your different-ability makes you especially suited for the work that you do.

Again, thanks for sharing.
 

08/12/2016

 The mood is unstable.

 I want to preface this by saying I'm not in danger. For those of you who might, please don't worry. This is in my head and that's where it's staying.

 I have to write this. But it's so hard to face. And face it I do. Every year.

 I'm haunted.

 Not by horror story ghosts but the ghosts of every one of them. All the ones who died by their own hand. They tell me they changed their minds at the last second. That they saw the yawning pit of oblivion opening beneath them and they thought wait, stop, I changed my mind.

 And I wonder if they're telling the truth.

 Their sins hang on me like Marley's chains. Every one a different link. No cash boxes or safes. Oh, no. It' s decorated with the noose, and the pills, and the guns, and the razor blades.

 Every single person. Forged together by the worst decision they ever made. A decision that they finally realized was so very, very permanent.

 My mother's birthday was Wednesday. The anniversary of her suicide is September 1st.

 This is what I face. This is what I have to experience. Over and over again. There's no locking it away, there's no letting it fade. It's as hard and as sharp as the first time and it always will be.

 It's difficult to separate my feelings.

 I'm experiencing deep lows, manic highs, foggy melancholy, you name it. All over the course of an hour...or less.

 So it gets a little confusing.

 On the up side, I can feel myself leveling out. This is doing me some good.

 There's anger. Anger at her leaving me. Anger at her for making me the last person she spoke to in this world. For forging the heaviest link in the chain. The anger from this dredges up memories of the period in my life where we lived with a demon.

 It was large, six feet four inches. It was old, in its late fifties. And it hated children. And all the abuse, the mistreatment, the attempt to crush any dreams we might have, is right there.


 Sorrow, certainly. That is what it is.

 A certain detachment. As if I'm just observing.

 Anyway. The trip home was a nightmare and didn't help things in the least. I just got in the door but I really felt like I needed to do this so here it is.

 Gonna have a shower and lay on the couch, typing.

 Or reading.

 Or watching Netfilx.

 Anything but thinking.

 Thanks for listening.

08/29/2016

 The mood is...strange.

 That's the best I can do with that. It's not strange in a bad way, just abstract. Like the reaction isn't relative to the situation at all. Which, while distracting, is actually entertaining on some level. Like looking at all the same things but seeing them differently...somehow.

 Writing, writing, writing. I'm supposed to write about things. Things about my day. Or the week. Or that endless linear gauge. Hey, that was kinda profound.

 I have no idea what I should be writing about right now I feel like I have to do it but the direction is unclear. What path to follow?

 Today is Monday. My day...my whole week began in death.

 It's not that unusual. I handle Medicaid eligibility for the kind of people who are racking up ten-thousand bucks per month in medical bills. Folks who need around the clock care. Elderly and disabled. I make that distinction because not all of my clients are well past seventy.

 I've had people as young as twenty-three.

 But I digress.

 My very first task this morning was closing out people who died. Between the electronic and the paper notifications there were a total of seven. I look at their age. The year they were born. The year they began receiving Medicare.

 And powerful memories emerge.

 I was in basic training when she began receiving Medicare. When she was born, heavier-than-air flight was still rare. Airships plied the sky's. This was before The Great Depression. And The Dust Bowl. Earth-shaking disasters. World War's I and II. Korea. Vietnam.

 I think about how much the world changed in her lifetime.

 All of the things I grew up with were still on the horizon during her childhood. I try to step back to see the whole time-line but I just can't get a grip on the scale.

 I think about how much the world has changed since I was born.

 I went to Wilson Elementary in North York in first and second grade. The school had a library but we weren't allowed in. On Tuesday's and Thursday's, the teacher would hand out little slips of paper with book names on them; we were allowed to pick two. I would always pick Cars of the Future, every time. and anything that has any kind of aircraft for my second book.

 So that book is open in my mind. I see the pictures and read the words. Some of them are preposterous. A three wheeled rocket car? Yeah, that's what you want. Someone with their attention on the text message while doing 120mph.

 But, again, I digress.

 When I remember those pictures, I can just open my blinds and see all of the same cars. I have one myself. I carry a computer in my pocket. If someone built a computer with the same amount of power in the year I was born it would probably take up several rooms.

 It's just so fascinating. I can see the lines and angles of the present-day patterns and I can almost...just almost see the possibilities. It would take a lifespan measured in centuries to satisfy my curiosity.

 My past.

 And I'm living my past's future.

 As I said in the beginning.

 It's strange.

 Thanks for listening.

How frustrating!  Hope you soon get a good pair.

Tarnation wrote:

A glasses lens scratch is an annoyance.

A cataract would be a problem.

MD would be a crisis.

Perspective.

History of MD in my family.

Big concern.