October 24, 2004
I caught him the other day. Caught him in a moment of happiness. Caught him red-handed. We’re similar in some ways. Sometimes I forget things and doubt myself, and sometimes, when he’s in one of the dark pits of his illness, he forgets that there is more to his life than that. All he remembers, when he’s down there, is that life sucks, that it hurts, that there are things that no one can help him with when he needs help, that there are demons out to get him, that he is alone and sad and knows no joy.
That’s what he knows when he’s bad, and he forgets anything that gives lie to this illusion, or he buries it, or he dismisses it as a fluke.
And so I remind him. I remind him when he’s in a bad place, and when he’s happy and laughing and things are going well I point it out to him, I tell him he’s been caught, that life is not all bad and that there is joy in it. “Damn!” he says, or something similar, or he laughs, and I can tell that he feels almost embarrassed, that he feels as if he’s not even entitled to be “not miserable,” that perhaps he’s acting inappropriately.
We’re only driving to Barnes and Noble to go book shopping – we’ve had something to eat, we’re going shopping, then back to my place to watch TV. And he’s laughing, we’re talking and making jokes, and when I point out to him that he’s been caught being happy he’s almost ashamed, as if his illness should preclude such an event, as if he’s supposed to be miserable all the time.
He has just now been declared disabled and unable to work by the State of Washington. He has been unable to work for several years, but that was with private disability, and now that’s gone, so now he needs public assistance. And he thinks, I know he thinks, deep down, that as a recipient of aid, he should not be happy, or enjoy life.
This is, of course, absolutely ridiculous, but we are not always logical about these things. While receiving aid makes him feel worse, it can also help him. He is now eligible for other programs, for other aid, perhaps now he’ll be able to get help with medical and drug expenses. So far, that’s all been out of pocket, at retail, and the pockets are not particularly deep and some of the drugs are particularly expensive. (But they keep the demons at bay and are necessary for survival.) And perhaps now he can get some of his medical issues looked at. His bad eyes. He can’t be out much at night at all by himself, not just because he sees and hears things, but also because he can’t see very well. He is sick often, retching and nauseated and in pain. Perhaps his ulcer is back. All of this has been neglected because it is expensive and there has been no health coverage. Maybe, I desperately hope, some of this can be looked at now. I must see a doctor soon myself, but that can wait. It has to. I don’t have medical insurance. I need a couple of things looked at and I need a crown. But let’s not even go there.
The demons visited him the other evening again. They were behind him, hovering, and we chatted online about it, and I told him they probably just wanted to use his computer, that he should go to bed, get some sleep, and by morning they’d be gone. I think it worked. Of course, the concept of demons being computer literate does not do much for my peace of mind, but it would explain the increased spam I’ve been receiving. Who else would be involved in such things?
But I caught him being happy, and I pointed it out to him, and we laughed about it, and he was glad to be caught. One of his greatest fears is that he’ll be considered not disabled. It’s an awkward position. He IS disabled, but he can still be productive and happy and NORMAL, but if he is, it’s as if being those things negates being disabled. And if he’s not disabled, there is no help for him, he’d be declared “lazy” and “unwilling” instead of unable. I take the position that he can be all those things. Not lazy and unwilling, that’s not what I meant. Disabled. Unable to work in a conventional environment with conventional hours. He can still be productive (and IS), he can be happy, though of course his “issues” will mean he’ll have more than his share of unhappiness, he can be as normal as any of the rest of us wandering around doing our own peculiar thing. Normality is, in my opinion, not only highly variable but also highly overrated.
And it’s the little things we have to look for in order to enjoy life. Some days I feel overwhelmed and hopeless and incapable. And then the smallest thing, seemingly insignificant, will make me laugh, or be a positive indicator of things to come, or make me feel safe, and I will feel as if I’m the luckiest person on the planet. I tell him to try to see the little things, because that’s what makes up our whole. Happiness does not come in large chunks, but in little pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle, and we have to put it together ourselves.
But I’ve strayed. I caught him being happy and feeling joy, just doing routine things, and I pointed it out to him. That’s my job.
That’s what he knows when he’s bad, and he forgets anything that gives lie to this illusion, or he buries it, or he dismisses it as a fluke.
And so I remind him. I remind him when he’s in a bad place, and when he’s happy and laughing and things are going well I point it out to him, I tell him he’s been caught, that life is not all bad and that there is joy in it. “Damn!” he says, or something similar, or he laughs, and I can tell that he feels almost embarrassed, that he feels as if he’s not even entitled to be “not miserable,” that perhaps he’s acting inappropriately.
We’re only driving to Barnes and Noble to go book shopping – we’ve had something to eat, we’re going shopping, then back to my place to watch TV. And he’s laughing, we’re talking and making jokes, and when I point out to him that he’s been caught being happy he’s almost ashamed, as if his illness should preclude such an event, as if he’s supposed to be miserable all the time.
He has just now been declared disabled and unable to work by the State of Washington. He has been unable to work for several years, but that was with private disability, and now that’s gone, so now he needs public assistance. And he thinks, I know he thinks, deep down, that as a recipient of aid, he should not be happy, or enjoy life.
This is, of course, absolutely ridiculous, but we are not always logical about these things. While receiving aid makes him feel worse, it can also help him. He is now eligible for other programs, for other aid, perhaps now he’ll be able to get help with medical and drug expenses. So far, that’s all been out of pocket, at retail, and the pockets are not particularly deep and some of the drugs are particularly expensive. (But they keep the demons at bay and are necessary for survival.) And perhaps now he can get some of his medical issues looked at. His bad eyes. He can’t be out much at night at all by himself, not just because he sees and hears things, but also because he can’t see very well. He is sick often, retching and nauseated and in pain. Perhaps his ulcer is back. All of this has been neglected because it is expensive and there has been no health coverage. Maybe, I desperately hope, some of this can be looked at now. I must see a doctor soon myself, but that can wait. It has to. I don’t have medical insurance. I need a couple of things looked at and I need a crown. But let’s not even go there.
The demons visited him the other evening again. They were behind him, hovering, and we chatted online about it, and I told him they probably just wanted to use his computer, that he should go to bed, get some sleep, and by morning they’d be gone. I think it worked. Of course, the concept of demons being computer literate does not do much for my peace of mind, but it would explain the increased spam I’ve been receiving. Who else would be involved in such things?
But I caught him being happy, and I pointed it out to him, and we laughed about it, and he was glad to be caught. One of his greatest fears is that he’ll be considered not disabled. It’s an awkward position. He IS disabled, but he can still be productive and happy and NORMAL, but if he is, it’s as if being those things negates being disabled. And if he’s not disabled, there is no help for him, he’d be declared “lazy” and “unwilling” instead of unable. I take the position that he can be all those things. Not lazy and unwilling, that’s not what I meant. Disabled. Unable to work in a conventional environment with conventional hours. He can still be productive (and IS), he can be happy, though of course his “issues” will mean he’ll have more than his share of unhappiness, he can be as normal as any of the rest of us wandering around doing our own peculiar thing. Normality is, in my opinion, not only highly variable but also highly overrated.
And it’s the little things we have to look for in order to enjoy life. Some days I feel overwhelmed and hopeless and incapable. And then the smallest thing, seemingly insignificant, will make me laugh, or be a positive indicator of things to come, or make me feel safe, and I will feel as if I’m the luckiest person on the planet. I tell him to try to see the little things, because that’s what makes up our whole. Happiness does not come in large chunks, but in little pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle, and we have to put it together ourselves.
But I’ve strayed. I caught him being happy and feeling joy, just doing routine things, and I pointed it out to him. That’s my job.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home