Slave No More

For 10 years now, I have been prescribed medication for my depression and anxiety. After that much time, the root cause for the medication is a moot point. However, the desire to do away with the handful of pills, not to mention the cost of said pills, I have to take every day grows.

The question is: Why? Why must medication become more prolific, and stronger, for a problem that seems to be stagnant, (although it IS persistent.) I’ve tried prayer. “O, God, please cure me of this disease.” Or words to that effect. At any rate, God will not cure me from this disease, because it is my “cross to bear.” Those of you familiar with the bible will get that one. I was once told by a man-of-God that I still highly respect, not to pray for me to be cured of the disease, but to pray for the day when I didn’t need the medication anymore. I didn’t really understand that until now.

But, what did depressed people do before all these fantastic expensive medications came along? I’m not talking about the give-them-lithium-and-electrocution-treatment-crowd. I’m talking about people like me and the majority of depressed people out there.

The day has come. I am going to attempt what may seem truly scary to those around me, but to me feels like the gateway to liberty. Three antidepressants, are one anti-anxiety medication, are going to be phased out of my life gradually over the next few months.

I believe there are natural, God-given substances found in nature than can effectively treat depression. I know for a fact that regular exercise, (preferably outdoors in my case) can help balance brain chemistry. Prayer and/or meditation have been scientifically shown to significantly reduce the amount of stress in a person’s life, if they’ll just take the time to DO IT. These are the weapons of my battle. These are the tools I will use to build a happier me.

The human body was never created to sit in a cubicle and type at a computer station all day. The human mind was never created to be a slave to what others want it to think – it was designed to come to decisions on its own. Television, video games, and yes, the internet, these are the culprits of the decline of our minds, bodies, and most importantly, our peace of mind and perspective on life. (MUCH more on this later.)

So, I will slowly, slowly, titrate down off my medications and onto natural substances to mitigate the symptoms of my disease. Call it what you will, I have faith that this will work. And faith may be the most powerful medication of all in the end. Exercise of the mind, body, and spirit will be a daily priority. If there seems to be no time, I will MAKE time.

I am the guinea pig here, people. Needless to say, DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME, especially if you are on medication for the aforementioned afflictions. I’m not a psychologist or psychiatrist, but I’ve been under the care of them for so long now, I can recite the causes, both chemical and emotional, of depression and anxiety in the human mind. If I didn’t have this experience, and the knowledge I’ve gained over the last 10 years, I wouldn’t even consider doing this. But the bottom line is, I feel like a slave.

As long as depressed people are told by doctors to take a pill made by a pharmaceutical company, (that can and will charge whatever they like for that pill) we are slaves to the capitalistic fantasies of a bunch of chemistry majors turned businessmen. As long as we are told by doctors, “there is no other way,” and we believe it, we are slaves to someone else’s educated guess as to who we truly are inside.

I refuse to be a slave any longer. And I’m willing to bet my life on the fact that I can break the chains and escape.

The Name of the Blog Is...

Perhaps you wonder why I have named this blog "Poor In Spirit." As I see it, the accompanying Bible passage, one of the beatitudes where Jesus is speaking, is directed at people who are depressed, sad, in mourning, or possibly even mentally ill. Who knows what they prevailing name for such people were in that time?

I am a depressed person. I have a chemical imbalance in my brain that keeps it from making enough of a chemical called seratonin. That chemical imbalance has affected my emotions through a wide range - everywhere from euphoria to suicidal. But, the chemical imbalance IS NOT WHO I AM.

Despite how my brain may tell me I feel, I still have the power to choose to feel that way or not. I have the power to choose to be positive or negative, happy or sad, up or down. Choice - it can be the problem, or the solution.

Choice is not easy. Some days it is very hard to even summon the will to choose how you will feel that day. And EVERY day, someone will touch your life in either a positive or negative way, and you must CHOOSE how that contact will affect YOUR outlook on life. Whatever you choose, there are consequences. But consequence is actually the fabric of how we live out every day. We choose to get out of bed in the morning and live our lives, and the consequence is doing the actual living. HOW we live is what matters.

So, "Poor In Spirit" may be the name of my blog, and it may describe a chemical imbalance in my brain, but it is not who I am or who I choose to be. It's just a description for a collection of words.

The Gift Of Unemployment

After today, I am officially unemployed. I've only been here once before in life, and it didn't go so well. It took me four months to find a job, and a crappy one at that.

So, I will have no job, since el jefe didn't see fit to keep our appointment, for the duration of the Christmas and New Year Holidays. It feels really weird to not have to work around Christmas, especially being a once and (hopefully) future cop.

In a strange way, it's very liberating. There is no money to go shopping with. Any gifts I am to give are already purchased, and they're not much. But, for the first time, I don't feel like I went overboard on Christmas by buying too much, asking for too much, and by not giving from the heart. Each gift I have given this year is from the heart. It isn't much, and in two cases, required absolutely no imagination, but everything I'm giving tells those people how much I love them in the best way I can.

So, for all of you NOT receiving material gifts from me, MERRY CHRISTMAS. You are in my heart and prayers every day. May you be blessed this year, and in the year to come. For those of you I am fortunate enough to give something to, Merry Christmas, I love you, and I hope you enjoy the gift as much as I've enjoyed giving it.

Welcome to the Crazy Zone!!!

Became so sick of worrying about crap that's not under my control yesterday, that I entered into the "crazy zone." The aforementioned music running through my head sped up and ran at Alvin and the Chipmunk speed. Thoughts? Ha!

Thoughts came and went so fast they were more impressions that what you'd call a thought. But the brain did slow down long enough to process two important facts.

1. Worrying myself sick over whether or not the Chief will call is ludicrous. He'll either call and ask me to come in for a talk, or he won't. If he doesn't, I'll schedule an appointment, just so I can explain what he'll be losing if he doesn't re-hire me. If he says "sorry, can't take you back," I WILL BE ALL RIGHT! I WILL FIND ANOTHER JOB, A FUN JOB, AND I'LL LAND ON MY FEET SOMEWHERE. The possibilities are endless.

2. I don't have to stay in this damn town anyway. Roads lead out of town, and not everyone in the nation is unemployed, and there are still places I want to go and see. I'll sell everything I have to so I have money to LIVE, (as opposed to SURVIVE) on. I WILL BE ALL RIGHT.

Damn, that felt good! I was in my crazy zone, singing weird songs, (NOT Christmas music) and yelling at the world and talking to God and smiling and laughing for no apparent reason. Maybe I'll become a comedian. I may be a better communicator in written form, but I'm far, far funnier when I talk. That's a good thing as far as I'm concerned. I have trouble taking life serious anymore. It must be the Irish in me. The Irish traditionally treat life as a funny story - it must be all that rain.

Won't you join me in the crazy zone? It's sort of like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory without the Oompa Loompas. ;-)

Invasion of Ideas

Ideas. They never stop for me. I am under constant bombardment of though – whether original or unoriginal. Ideas assault me all day and into the night, while I try to quiet my mind and rest. I cannot sit still because of ideas.

Yesterday, the idea came that one of the storage buildings should be cleaned out, so that I could get some things out of the garage/shop. So, I went and made room in the storage building. While in there, the idea of yet another yard sail forced it's way into my head. What else would I do with all this extraneous stuff I was having to manipulate yet again to make room for more extraneous stuff?

The yard sale, barring inclement weather, having to work overtime, or other catastrophe, will be this coming weekend. The prices will be so low people will be forced to buy all this stuff.

A funny thing happens as more and more useless junk heads out the door. I feel more and more freedom. Freedom from the encumbrance of possessions. Freedom to DO instead of HAVE. I'd spend my money experiencing something any day over buying something. It's a good thing too, because right now, I'm experiencing being the “working poor” and not buying anything but necessities because that's what I can afford. The yard sale may help, a little. What doesn't get sold is either going to the dumpster or to charity.

See? Ideas. They constantly come at me like I was some kind of celebrity and they're the paparazzi. Music also runs through my head constantly. Weird? Tell me you've never had a song you can't get out of YOUR head. That's what I thought. My problem is, it's a succession of music. It's a parade through my subconscious ear. Years ago, I feared this would drive me mad, but as time has gone by, I've become used to it to the point that it's sort of a musical accompaniment for the thought train rumbling through the brain.

My own research has shown that Ideas are most likely to strike in the following places and times:
the shower
when you are falling asleep
during dreams
in the bathroom when you're “indisposed”
when you are ANYWHERE that you can't write the idea down to record it.

Maybe I'm finally losing it. Maybe I'm becoming like Harrison Ford in “Mosquito Coast,” a hyperactive middle aged man that flits between one idea and another and can't help himself. At any rate, I can feel them. The Ideas. They're out there, all around me, just waiting their turn to rush into my mind.

If you see me trying to build an ice machine in the middle of the jungle, please stop me, okay?

Lighten Up, America!

Aren't you just sick of bad news? Are you tired of hearing about all the doom and gloom in the various industries lining up for a government handout? Every day, we hear about more people losing their jobs, their houses, their retirement plans, blah, blah, blah...

ENOUGH ALREADY!!!

Lighten up, America!!!

O.K., so you've lost your job. You're broke. Your in debt up to your eyeballs. You're afraid of what your future holds. Are you still living above ground, and not sleeping in a coffin six feet under? Are you eating at least once a day? Are you sleeping under a roof, up off the ground?

Well, smile, dammit! You're better off than 95% of the world's population.

Who needs 500 channels of satellite T.V. Anyway? You can't watch them all at once. Stop you're whining because you don't have the big flat screen television with Dolby surround sound in your living room. Read a book. Read a magazine. Read a newspaper. For that matter, read Dr. Suess. You might learn something. Hell, you might even enjoy yourself!

Talk with your family in the evenings instead of turning on the cop and medical dramas. Laugh, crack jokes, burp, fart. Let go of all the crap in your life that doesn't mean anything anyway. Look at it this way, if your domicile burned to the ground TONIGHT, wouldn't your first concern be that your loved ones survived? Would you care about all the junk that burned? Or would you rejoice because you and your family got out in time and survived to rebuild another day.

If you lost your job today, would you see it as a tragedy, or an opportunity?

Think about all your possessions. Think about all that “stuff” (to put it politely) crammed into your attic, your closets, your storage sheds and rented storage. Does that stuff make you happy? Does it make you who you are?

Next time you're driving down the highway, and you see a hitchhiker loaded down with a big backpack, maybe a little dirty and scruffy, don't look down your nose at them. Chances are, they're not a mass murderer just waiting for you to pull over so they can kill you and take your car. That hitchhiker is living life on his terms. He is the freest individual you are likely to ever see. Don't feel pity for them either. Feel pity for yourself.

Christmas Music - Cheer or Torture?

I despise almost all traditional Christmas music.

In the Spirit of the Christmas Season ( and IT IS CHRISTmas, NOT “the holidays”) I thought I'd tell you about that particular quirk of mine.
ALMOST all of it. I still like one or two songs – one of them being “Oh, Holy Night.” The other depends on the mood I'm in, but trust me the list is short. No, I'm not the Grinch, but props to Jim Carrey for his outstanding portrayal of our green fiend. I especially love it when Jim, as the Grinch, does his Ron Howard The Director impersonation.

Anyway, traditional Christmas music has become so much audio vomit to me. Beginning November 1st, radio stations and store audio systems bombard us with every Christmas song ever conceived. Now, the NON-traditional stuff that's been composed since the 1950's or thereabouts, I can tolerate, and sometimes even enjoy. I particularly enjoy Black Sabbath's “I am Santa Claus” parody of their own song, “Iron Man.” I also like Al Yankovich's “Christmas at Ground Zero.” It's a little cold war era, but still funny. And of course, there's always “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.”

I can hear your chorus of “BOOOO!” from here on that last one.

Another point is why do the radio stations and the stores, and whoever else, still play songs paying tribute to the birth of Jesus Christ when they've done everything they can to take Him out of Christmas...oh, I mean “The Holidays.” Doesn't really make any sense.

Now before you misquote me as shouting “Bah, Humbug!” from the rooftops, let me tell you that I absolutely LOVE Christmas, despite the music. Christmas is the one time of the year when you can be both creative and sneaky, and no one will think you're crazy. They'll know that you're just another Christmas Shopper! Christmas is the most fun when you have smaller children. They're grateful for EVERYTHING they get. They're not picky. As long as it comes in a box wrapped in shiny colorful paper with ribbons and bows, it's just got to be a good thing. And watching their faces light up in excitement when they see what's inside is priceless. It's also funny to watch them toss clothing gifts to the side like so much garbage. “Oh, a shirt and pants. Woopee. I'll just throw this over in the corner for now. On to the next present!!!”

And by the way, Santa DOES SO EXIST!!!

So Merry Christmas! And turn off that Bing Crosby Christmas Album! It's making me sick.

Telephone Evolution

Remember the days of rotary dial phones? (Those of you under the age of 30 can stop reading now). Remember a time before answering machines, when businesses had to hire and ANSWERING SERVICE staffed with REAL PEOPLE that answered the phone for them when no one was in the office.

Remember when cell phones cost about $2,000 JUST FOR THE PHONE? They were about the size of the bag that that military aide to the U.S. President carries the nuclear launch codes in. Usually they were only mounted in a car. My friend's dad had one of the first ones. Every time the phone rang, the horn on the car honked continuously until he answered it.

But I digress.

When my family first moved out in the country from “in town,” we had a party line with three other houses – and, you guessed it; ROTARY DIAL PHONES. No cordless phones for us. No way. Too fancy. Too expensive.

It's funny how communications have evolved. Now we won't even leave a message on the voicemail of our best friend's cell phone. We're too impatient. Why do we even have voice mail greetings? No one will even leave a message! So what do we do? WE TEXT MESSAGE THEM. That'll get their attention for sure...

Texting. This is the gift of the generation who doesn't even know what a typewriter looks like. They didn't take “typing” in school, they took “keyboarding” on a computer. They barely know what Liquid Paper is. I didn't even SEE a computer in school until I was a Junior in High School. It was a Radio Shack TRS-80. That you had to program in BASIC. That's all it did. Run one program and store the information. On a tape recorder.

If we told everyone under 40 years old that they couldn't use their thumbs for 24 hours, all communications would probably cease because people couldn't text, and there would probably be mass suicides among video gamers.

So, hey, if you want to blow someone's mind, call them on their home phone line from a pay phone (if you can find one), and when they don't answer and the voice mail comes on, leave a lengthy message and tell them it was great to go back in time with them.

First Entry

So, it is Monday. Last Friday, I gave my two weeks notice at the job I work at now. For those of you who don't know, I used to be a cop. I miss it. Alot. My letter to the Chief asking to be reinstated has gone unanswered for almost two weeks now.

Yeah, I know. It seems like I'm in the "Ready, Fire, Aim" mode again. As if this move hasn't been thought through. Responsibilities weren't taken into account. I jumped off the cliff and hope the parachute works. Wrong.

Mucho thought and prayer has gone into this decision. One doesn't go back to the career that made a substantial dent in one's mental health casually.

But, the decision is made. I will live with the consequences, whatever they may be. No matter what, I'll make it somehow. I'm the Indiana Jones of escaping financial ruin.

In case you're wondering what happened to the old blog, it is deceased, deleted, and dead. I hated to do it, and I won't get into the reason here, but it had to go. Too bad. Some of my best stuff was on that blog.

This is the new one. Get ready. I hope to make this one somewhat more lighthearted, as there is enough doom and gloom in the world. Who knows? Maybe more people will read it if it's a little more humorous.

If you're wondering about the URL for this blog, www.corvata-caja.blogspot.com, the corvata caja means "Necktie Box" in spanish. It's the Tex-Mex translation of my name. Hey, I had to come up with SOMETHING.

Until next time, my friends. Just live one day at a time. Tomorrow will come. And, if tomorrow doesn't come, your troubles are over.