Growing up West Indian affords us many luxuries. Beautiful weather, most times and access to some of the world’s most incredible beaches comes to mind first. It’s a more easy going lifestyle than our first world compadres, though it is becoming less and less so. First worlders and third worlders are socialized differently in many aspects of growing up, as to be expected, because different environment requires different training. We are reared according to our situations, be it growing up in poverty or wealth, loving households with one or two parents, or neglect. We don’t have much control over certain things in our lives until a certain age, which is good and bad depending on how f*^ked up our parents are. We are basically at the mercy of your makers.
Now growing up, I would say I lived in a fairly tense household. Unfortunately, I know all too well how do deal with uncomfortable situations, because I have had to deal with them so much as a child. I learned how to cope on my own. Writing was always a great source of comfort and release and I would say that it probably saved me from going off the deep end. It was my outlet. We all need them. Some people sing, dance, read, draw, paint, cook, eat, have random pointless sex with strangers, abuse puppies, kill small creatures, masturbate, smoke, watch pornography, you name it. Anything to take the edge off and make ourselves feel less tense or stressed. But what happens when none of those things work?
Now I have battled depression on occasions, nothing to drive me to drink or take medication for it, but I have had instances where the cloud turned into a storm and it took a long time to get back to myself. I experienced a bout of postpartum depression after my son was born. It was not severe, but it took me a while to really get into and truly enjoy being a new mother again. I was not going to take any medication for it though. I absolutely refused to see a doctor about it, because I was afraid they would give me one of those medicines that caused dry mouth, indigestion, nausea, headache, thoughts of suicide, foul vaginal discharge, excessive sweating, temporary blindness, shortness of breath and uncontrollable farts. I mean, I even hate taking aspirin for a headache.
I am mostly functional when I am depressed however. I am not one of those people who will stop showering or cleaning my house or doing the things I have to do on a day to day basis. I just shut down and stop communicating, but I am not self-destructive. At least I don’t think so. 🙂
Now, as a confessed hypochondriac, I have self-diagnosed my mental deficiencies. I’ve done a lot of reading and I watch enough Discovery health to know when things are wrong. 😀 My obsession right now is Hoarders and Dr.G Medical Examiner. Uplifting, yeah, I know. Hoarders drive me absolutely bat-shit crazy. I am very anal when it comes to tidiness and I like things in order in my house, at my desk whenever, but watching a show like hoarders brought something very interesting to my attention. I AM just like some of those people, but I do the opposite of hoarding. When ever I am stressed or something is bothering me, or I have some kind of project on mind, I retreat. When my coping mechanisms like writing and blaring my I-Pod in my head
or masturbating don’t work, I go off the deep end and start cleaning. When I am done cleaning and I still don’t feel any peace, I start throwing shit out. I DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS! The Red Cross loves me. I feel the need to cleanse, so I do. The difference between me and those hoarders is that they feel the need to acquire stuff and stare at it and I feel the need to get rid of stuff. I feel blocked, suffocated and stagnant and I need to breathe. I yell at the tv when I watch hoarders. I want to get a big fire-man hose and turn it on them and their house at full blast and wash them and their bullshit away.
Another thing I found that I have in common with hoarders, is that I don’t feel like I have anyone to talk to sometimes. I have a few amazing friends that I KNOW I can talk to, but have you ever experienced some crazy ass thoughts, where you think even your best friends would run for the hills if you told them, no matter how much you knew they loved you? Sometimes, I wonder if I should speak to a professional, and I don’t mean a prostitute, I mean a therapist or psychologist. The thing about the way we grew up, or maybe I should say the way I grew up, is that I was socialized to keep shit to myself. Keep it in, hold it in, family business stays in the family. West Indians are not like most first worlders, who are always encouraged to share their feelings, let it out, whoosah and shit like that. To clarify it, we are constipation and they are diarrhea. We keep shit to ourselves, they let shit out. I think first worlders are responsible for TMI (Too Much Information), because they never never seem to STFU, or they always wanna share their feelings. Hence we have things like the care bears, Facebook, and that Twitter nonsense, that is responsible for more verbal diarrhea than normal human beings can flush out.
I feel like if having to speak to somebody makes me a failure, I can’t work it out on my own, something must be really wrong, I must be cracking up. My sensible self knows that, that is all just bull shit, but my paranoid self can be really strong sometimes, and it’s like an inner battle just to function or follow through with the basics of day to day living.
“Anybody have a spare psycho-therapist I can borrow?”
Expressing myself has become a must now, after my last date with discovery health channel. (Thank God for Blogs) 😀 .I nearly fell of my chair yesterday from shock , after watching an episode of Dr.G Medical Examiner. I saw her perform an autopsy on a handsome, 32 year old guy who literally died from stress and depression. We usually associate deaths that relate to anything like mental issues with drugs and or alcohol. Yesterday I discovered
“You ain’t gotta do any kind of drug to die from depression.”
The gentleman being autopsied, was at first a mystery to Dr.G. He looked emaciated, bruised, he had bed sores on his ass and he wore an adult diaper. Mind you, I said he was 32. Her first thought was AIDS, but after doing some inspection, she didn’t see the physical signs that would have been left behind, had he been infected. Dr.G did blood work just to be sure, as that was the only true way to be certain if he had been positive for the virus. To her horror, when she cut him open, she encountered a smell she described as
“More foul than any decomposing carcass she had ever had the mis-fortune of being close to.”
Trying to locate the source of the smell was now her mission. What she came across was also another first for her, in her 20 years as an examiner. This gentleman had an impacted colon, and it was sooooooooo enlarged at the bottom, that it was the size of a basket ball. When she cut his colon, it was jam packed full of rock hard pieces of stool. Basically this guy was literally full of shit. What triggered his death was that the e-coli that would normally be trapped inside the colon, started to seep out, because the wall was stretched so thin. It got into his blood stream and he died from a blood infection. Now what the hell does that have to do with depression? Well Dr.G was puzzled herself , because she wondered what could have caused such a young man to be in such a state on her table. The pain alone from having an impacted colon, should have forced him to go to a doctor, as it should have been unbearable. She was more puzzled than ever, so she called his sister, who was next of kin to get some answers. Then the sister explained.
His wife left him, took their daughter to the other side of the Untied States. He was a very loving and hands on father, so that knocked him down. He then lost his job, and in doing so he was unable to continue making payments on his mortgage so he lost his house. After losing his house, he had to move in with his sister then sunk into a deep depression. She said he would not get up for months and when he did, it was only to use the toilet and eventually he stopped going to the bathroom altogether. Finally he developed a fever and over the period of a week. They thought it was the flu. She was with him giving him cold compresses, then he indicated he wanted a glass of water. She went to get him the water, and by the time she returned, she found him laying dead on the floor of his room.
Dr.G expalined that the reason for the colon to become impacted in the first place was because he just laid there not being active and because of how he was eating. His colon became sluggish, and the foods that he was eating was probably not the best. It got harder and harder to break down, and eventually he couldn’t pass anything. His waste then started to build up in the colon and the only thing that could pass through, was very little fluid and he had no control over that. Hence the adult diaper. Can you believe that? That shocked the hell outta me. The pain of his depression was apparently more over bearing than the pain of an enlarged colon full of feces, so he literally laid there and slowly died. This is apparently the reason why Elvis Presley ultimately died, (an impacted colon). He was actually found on the toilet trying to go, before he went. Talk about taking shit for granted.
After that episode, I got up and started sweeping, mind you I swept and did all that stuff already, but I needed to keep moving. I even went and sat on the toilet. 🙂 As a confessed hypochondriac, I now need to know how often everybody is and what it looks like. Is it a healthy person’s poop, or that of a sick person? I am officially obsessed.
Screw it!! I can’t afford that shit, I’m calling Salma. 😀