Battling depression

The past few months, I have been relatively quiet – everywhere, not just on the blog. The depression is at it again. Forcing me to feel bad about myself and incompetent, and making me think of suicide. It makes me want to avoid meeting and talking to people or engage in group activities. The only thing that I have been wanting to do is to go home when I’m at work and to go to work when I’m at home.

Work keeps me engaged and the wonderful family of colleagues that I work with keep me relatively upbeat for most of the working day. Occasionally, one of them would send me an instant message asking me what’s wrong and remind me to start smiling and laughing again. At home, I spent most of the time consuming entertainment – movies, television series, sports, entertainment, social networking, etc. Nothing productive ever happens.

For the few gigs that I had during these months, I managed to work enough to just rehearse enough both by myself and with the bands. The only time I really enjoyed myself is when I was playing live in front of a receptive audience. Some of my friends in my musical circles seem to understand. But I can feel that my band mates are very frustrated with me. I avoid contact with them as much as possible and, on occasions, have postponed/canceled rehearsal sessions at the last minute.

For those who don’t know, I have broken up with Joe. Crazy stuff happened and I was depressed enough to let it happen and not take any measures to prevent the catastrophe. My nadir coincidentally coincided with the breakup.

The last time when I was such a low, Vinokur helped me out. He got in touch with my psychiatry resident friend here and asked her to prescribe something for me. She did. She put me on a cocktail. Escitalopram + Clonazepam + Haloperidol. I have been religiously adhering to the prescription for the best part of the last 3 years.

But now, I think I need a change. Maybe a new shrink. Someone who doesn’t  know me. Someone who can arrive at a diagnosis and start treatment afresh.

Persepolis

Yesterday, after a long period of time, I finished a book. Not quite a book really - well, it was a graphic novel called Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. It is a French-language autobiographical comic (translated to English, of course) by Marjane Satrapi depicting her childhood up to her early adult years in Iran during and after the Islamic revolution. It is an engrossing read and keeps you entertained and informed with tidbits of political commentary and humor sprinkled all over.

But the part that I related most to was the narrative about little Marjane's break-up with her high-school boyfriend Markus, who was found to have been cheating on her. I'll quote a little passage from the book which summarizes the way I felt and continually feel after my break-up with Vinokur.

My breakup with Markus represented more than a simple separation. I had just lost my one emotional support, the only person who cared for me, and to who I was also wholly attached.

I had no family or friends; I had counted on this relationship for everything. The world had just crumbled in front of my eyes.

“Leave me alone, please!”

Everything reminded me of Markus. This bedspread, it was his birthday present to me.

This posted, he bought for me at the Picasso show at the Museum of Modern Art.

His T-shirt. Oh, his T-shirt.

Aside from him, who else was sincerely interested in me during these four years in Vienna.

Where was my mother to stroke my hair?

Where was my grandmother to tell me that lover, I would have them by the dozen?

Where was my father to punish this boy who hurt his daughter? Where?

In this room, everything evoked Markus. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I took my bag, my passport, the plane ticket my parents had given me to visit them at Christmas, and a little money.

Of course, I don't have close ties with my family and parents, nor do I have plane tickets to go back home -- I don't want to go back home, actually -- the life of Marjane resembles mine in a variety of aspects. The way she breaks down after her break-up, the way she considers herself to be a loser and goes into depression after having failed at being what her parents had hoped her to be, the way she isolated herself from her friends and family, and the way her first marriage breaks up -- all this represents what I am going through right now.

I think I have gotten way too emotional with this blog post already. The take home message is, folks, read the book. Or at least watch the movie.

It's official, and it's over

In 2007, on this very day, I met Vinokur. The rest, as it's often said (perhaps inaccurately), is history. We had a wonderful time with each other and carried each other in our arms during crises. Most things which would have broken to mortals apart didn't affect us. Two oceans and three and half decades of separation, mental ailments and physical ailments, and other complications related to long-distance relationships -- yes, I'm proud to say that we stuck it out together well.


Well, until three months or so back, that is. Sometime in March, Vinokur met this wonderful new man who has brought love, hope, and happiness in Vinokur's life. The progression from like to love seemed effortless. Unfortunately, I began slowly slipping away from Vinokur's life and heart until I figured out that the situation was affecting both Vinokur and I negatively.

We decided to call it a relationship. That happened on May 4th -- exactly 2 years and 10 months, of love, joy, ecstasy, of pain, disappointment, and fantasy. It is extremely hard for me to move on because in all honesty, I still love him as much as ever. But I will have to move on, and I am making my best effort for the same. My friends, thanks for being by my side through this traumatic period!

Now, on the 4th of July 2010, on what would have been our third anniversary, I wish Vinokur the best in his life with his new love. I'm sure he wishes the same for me! Now, perhaps more precisely so, we can say -- the rest is history!

Intercontinental drift

When I woke up
There were messages waiting for me
When I sipped up
There were adulations waiting for me
When I looked up
There was a handsome face staring at me
When I dressed up
There were sartorial suggestions waiting for me

When I wait up
There were messages waiting to be read
When I climbed up
There were words waiting to be heard
When I dialed up
There was a loving voice waiting to be heard
When I gave up
There was a tender voice waiting to be heard

When I hooked up
There were words of wisdom for me
When I hung up
There was a soul who was dialng for me
When I rung up
There was a soul waiting for me
When I lived up
There was a soul waiting for me

When he hooked up
There was nothing from my end
When he fucked up
There was nothing from my end
When he was sucked up
There was nothing from my end
When we hung up
There was nothing from my end