bandfan
10-20-2016, 07:27 PM
From his recent bio, incident occurring for him after 60 years of age. EXACTLY how it is FOR ME, when it gets bad:
“I had an attack of what was called an AGITATED DEPRESSION. During this period, I was so profoundly uncomfortable in my own skin that I just wanted OUT. It feels dangerous and brings plenty of unwanted thoughts. I was uncomfortable doing anything. Standing…walking…sitting down…everything brought waves of an agitated anxiety that I’d spend every waking minute trying to dispel. Demise and foreboding were all that awaited and sleep was the only respite. During waking hours, I’d spend the day trying to find a position I would feel all right in for the next few minutes. I was not hyper. In fact, I was too depressed to concentrate on anything of substance.
I’d pace the room looking for the twelve square inches of carpet where I might find release. If I could get myself to work out, that might produce a short relief, but really all I wanted was the bed, the bed, the bed and unconsciousness. I spent good portions of the day with the covers up to my nose, waiting for it to stop. Reading, or even watching television, felt beyond my ability. All my favorite things – listening to music, watching some film noir – caused such an unbearable anxiety in me because they were undoable. Once I was cut off from all my favorite things, the things that tell me who I am, I felt myself dangerously slipping away. I became a stranger in a borrowed and disagreeable body and mind.
This lasted for six weeks….I affected me physically, sexually, emotionally, spiritually, you name it. It all went out the door. I was truly unsure if I could ever perform in this condition. The fire in me felt like it had gone out, and I felt dark and hollow inside. Bad thoughts had a heyday. If I can’t work, how will I provide for my family? Will I be bedridden? Who the fuck am I? You feel the thinness of the veil of your identity, and an accompanying panic that seems to be just around the corner.
I couldn’t live like this, not forever. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I FELT I UNDERSTOOD WHAT DRIVES PEOPLE TOWARD THE ABYSS. The fact that I understood this, that I COULD feel this, emptied my heart out and left me in a cold fright. There was no life here, just an endless irritating existential angst embedded in my bones. It was demanding answers I did not have. And there was no respite. If I was awake, it was happening. So…I’d try to sleep; twelve, fourteen hours weren’t enough. I hated the gray light of morning. It would mean the day was coming…I couldn’t get out of bed. Hell, I couldn’t even get a hard-on. It was like all my notorious energy, something that had been mine to command for most of my life, had been cruelly stolen away. I was a walking husk….Finally….I phoned my pharmacologist. I explained to him things were CONDITION RED.
He asked, “Does anything make you feel better?” “If I take a KLONOPIN”, I said. “Take one”, he said. I did and it stopped, Graciously, mercifully, thankfully, yes there is a God, it stopped. After a short period on KLONOPIN, I was able to stop the medication and the agitation did not return. But it was a terrifying window into mental debilitation, and I don’t think I could have gone on like that indefinitely. The only thing that kept me right-side up during this was Patti (wife). Her love, compassion and assurance that I’d be all right were, during many dark hours, all I had to go on.”
“I had an attack of what was called an AGITATED DEPRESSION. During this period, I was so profoundly uncomfortable in my own skin that I just wanted OUT. It feels dangerous and brings plenty of unwanted thoughts. I was uncomfortable doing anything. Standing…walking…sitting down…everything brought waves of an agitated anxiety that I’d spend every waking minute trying to dispel. Demise and foreboding were all that awaited and sleep was the only respite. During waking hours, I’d spend the day trying to find a position I would feel all right in for the next few minutes. I was not hyper. In fact, I was too depressed to concentrate on anything of substance.
I’d pace the room looking for the twelve square inches of carpet where I might find release. If I could get myself to work out, that might produce a short relief, but really all I wanted was the bed, the bed, the bed and unconsciousness. I spent good portions of the day with the covers up to my nose, waiting for it to stop. Reading, or even watching television, felt beyond my ability. All my favorite things – listening to music, watching some film noir – caused such an unbearable anxiety in me because they were undoable. Once I was cut off from all my favorite things, the things that tell me who I am, I felt myself dangerously slipping away. I became a stranger in a borrowed and disagreeable body and mind.
This lasted for six weeks….I affected me physically, sexually, emotionally, spiritually, you name it. It all went out the door. I was truly unsure if I could ever perform in this condition. The fire in me felt like it had gone out, and I felt dark and hollow inside. Bad thoughts had a heyday. If I can’t work, how will I provide for my family? Will I be bedridden? Who the fuck am I? You feel the thinness of the veil of your identity, and an accompanying panic that seems to be just around the corner.
I couldn’t live like this, not forever. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I FELT I UNDERSTOOD WHAT DRIVES PEOPLE TOWARD THE ABYSS. The fact that I understood this, that I COULD feel this, emptied my heart out and left me in a cold fright. There was no life here, just an endless irritating existential angst embedded in my bones. It was demanding answers I did not have. And there was no respite. If I was awake, it was happening. So…I’d try to sleep; twelve, fourteen hours weren’t enough. I hated the gray light of morning. It would mean the day was coming…I couldn’t get out of bed. Hell, I couldn’t even get a hard-on. It was like all my notorious energy, something that had been mine to command for most of my life, had been cruelly stolen away. I was a walking husk….Finally….I phoned my pharmacologist. I explained to him things were CONDITION RED.
He asked, “Does anything make you feel better?” “If I take a KLONOPIN”, I said. “Take one”, he said. I did and it stopped, Graciously, mercifully, thankfully, yes there is a God, it stopped. After a short period on KLONOPIN, I was able to stop the medication and the agitation did not return. But it was a terrifying window into mental debilitation, and I don’t think I could have gone on like that indefinitely. The only thing that kept me right-side up during this was Patti (wife). Her love, compassion and assurance that I’d be all right were, during many dark hours, all I had to go on.”