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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
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Posted by malthus on September 6, 2004, at 18:56:17
I am a woman: little do I last
and the night is boundless.
But I look up:
the stars write.
Unknowing I understand:
I too am written,
and at this very moment
someone spells me out.
Posted by Atticus on September 6, 2004, at 21:21:03
In reply to poem...Boundless, posted by malthus on September 6, 2004, at 18:56:17
Hi Malthus,
I really like the way the language of this poem operates on multiple levels. There is the sense of our lives being shaped by vast and unknowable and powerful forces beyond our comprehension. Then there is the understanding that other people are also "writing" our lives, through their actions, whether loving or hurtful, and through their perceptions of us, by which they define us and by doing so create a version of us beyond our control and often without our knowledge. I tried to explain to my mother today, while day-tripping to my parents' house in Jersey, that she needn't worry about my illness. The problems I had over the past week had really put her head in a spin. I thought I'd explained carefully enough that my mental illness can be managed but never controlled and certainly never eliminated. But as you and I both know, in regards to love and lost love, understanding something intellectually and accepting something on a more emotional level are two very different animals. I think that since there hadn't been any major problems or new bouts with depression since my hospitalization, she somehow believed I was now in the clear for good. But it's now obvious to me that my relapse into a depressive spiral was more distressing to her than she let on. She now sees me as someone with a big red "Fragile" stamp on my forehead, and every bump I experience along the way as I live my life -- and the anticipation of future bumps -- is causing her to literally lose sleep. I didn't want to lie to her and say everything's fine now, but I didn't want to cause her more anxiety. It's a very difficult line to toe. Meanwhile, I do feel as if "boundless" forces as deep and mysterious as the night are toying with the chemical balance in my brain. I was as rattled by the recurrence of a severe depressive state as she was, but the increased meds seem to be now holding that at least in check. The side effects are making my thinking a little blurrier than it was, but not as sad. I really feel this poem in my bones right now. Thanks for sharing it. ;) Atticus
Posted by malthus on September 6, 2004, at 22:23:01
In reply to Re: poem...Boundless » malthus, posted by Atticus on September 6, 2004, at 21:21:03
Hi Atticus:
You are so right about the way parents react to mental illness. For example, my therapist thought it would be a good idea for my mother to come to one of my sessions to understand me better. And it was a fiasco. My mother had a cousin named Charles Henry that she was very close to when they were children. Charles Henry committed suicide when he was just 19, using a shotgun in the same manner Curt Cobain did. My mother was devastated by his suicide. It has taken her a long time to understand and to be compassionte towards me. Last fall when I was over at her house I expressed the anxiety I was having about leaving my apartment with my two cats alone. I couldn't enjoy myself when I was away from home because these intrusive thoughts of the apartment burning down and them dying was all I could think about. Plus when I would look and play with them I would start crying because all I could think about was the day they would die and how I would fall to pieces. I suppose because I was so concrete with my examples about how the anxiety was affecting me enabled her to understand what I was going through. My step-father was recently diagnosed with mild Alzheimer's and my mother has been in a support group with three other women for over a year now. I think that she has softened towards me because she has had to deal with his illness. She also bought the book "Darkness Visible by William Styron" and wanted to know if I wanted to borrow it. My mother reaching out to me has made me feel much closer to her in the past 11 months than I have my entire life. Plus I see her coping with Jean's illness and the great amount of patience she has developed (she was always always rather impatient growing up.) My father still doesn't like to talk about depression even though I believe he has battled it much of his adult life and last year had to take an AD and Ambien so he could sleep (he was trying to sell a house he had built in Arkansas where he had moved for a job but then retired and couldn't stand living in the boonies, but wasn't able to sell the house so he was stuck there.) Since then he has moved to Virginia, is much closer to his companion (somehow girlfriend seems a strange word for a 65 year old man--makes it sound like he's dating a 20 year old!)
Recently I sent him "Fusion" just to let him know what I was up to. He usually gets back to me on anything I e-mail him but not that! I just think for his generation depression was not to be discussed. Anyhow sorry to ramble on (great Zep tune) ;) malthus
Posted by malthus on September 6, 2004, at 22:26:12
In reply to Re: poem...Boundless » Atticus, posted by malthus on September 6, 2004, at 22:23:01
This is the end of the thread.
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