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About this blog

Echthroi are the spirits of soul-erasure in Madeleine L'Engle's Time Quarter Sequence. These faceless man-shaped voids are the perfect metaphor for depression. This is a chronicle of my battle with the Echthroi.

 

 

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Entries in this blog

Buspar: the missing piece

I'm on 10 mg of Buspar for anxiety. I think that I've found something that really works. For months, my therapy group told me that I had anxiety. I eventually had my doctor put me on Klonopin. It had no effect on me. Maybe it helped with sleep. I had heard it was addictive, but it did nothing at all. There was no difference between taking it and not taking it. I told my doctor that, and she gave me a low dose of Buspar (10 mg; 15 mg is the recommended amount to take) and my mood changed in

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Timeless Time

The week my mother died, last week, is frozen in time. Time moved differently. It was slow, then it was fast. Mom had the best room. It was sunny and overlooked a forest of December-bare trees. The last night she was alive, snow fell in the evening. It was blue and silver. I listened to music, held Mom's hand as she slept, drifting in a morphine clouded waters. She died the next afternoon. Her eyes opened briefly when she took her last breath. I saw the arcus that ringed her brown eyes. It

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Here, in Cold Hell.

Everyday I wake up filled with dread.  Will today be the day I get horrible news about my mother. She's fallen. She's died. I dread calling to check up on her. This holiday season will be cold, bleak, full of anxiety and fear. Days are getting darker, in more than one sense. This downward spiral is endless. No beauty, no hope.

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KLONOPIN DAZE

Doctor A is from South India, of Teleguvaara descent. Her thin wispy hair is mostly gray, but it is streaked with black, tendrils of obstinate youth that cling to her skull. She wears dowdy blouses in weird colors, like pumpkin and hunter green with black or gray slacks. She always looks tired and I can tell that she is counting down the days until her retirement. Doctor A has seen me through Paxil (tremors), Prozac (green emptiness, the color of her blouse), Wellbutrin (lust with a heaping side

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Scorpio Falling 1

First day of 50. I made a list of reasons to **** myself 1. The lack of financial stability. My credit is shot. Money is not flowing my way 2. Lack of love and friends. If I were to die, some people would grieve. Mostly in the form of Facebook posts. 3. I have a couple of illnesses. Diabetes. Asthma. 4. The depression is relentless. Occulding. Veiling. Poisining. Soul-destroying.  My mother's decline will be the death of me.When she dies, so will I. Reasons to live. 1. My writ

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Turning 50

Still vaguely depressed because my 86 year old mother had a dementia episode on the eve of my birthday. She's doing ok, though. I'm going out to dinner with a close friend soon. The picture below sums up my mood. The menacing Henrietta Hippo; the relief of the woman. And the weirdness of growing up in the 70s.  

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The Groop

Went to a support group for people who suffer from BiPolar and Depression. It was very helpful being around people who understood the nuances of the disease(s). There were people from all age groups, races and sexualities. All shared thier stories and I found that I wasn't alone. Some people, of course, carry such a heavy burden. They have families and lovers who they must support in addition to the pain they have to drag around. I was glad to be of some help to them, as they were helpful to me.

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Vespertine

I've been revisiting the work of Bjork, particularly the album Vespertine. It has a few songs --"Undo" and "It's Not Up To You"--that refer to deep depression. I find the music, made of harps, electronics, and childrens' choirs, very absorbing. The lyrics are about the vagaries of fate and the need to decompress. "It's not meant to be all strife," she croons in "Undo". It's true--life is not meant to be all strife. The achingly sad swirl of music bolsters Bjork's vulnerable vocals.

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Miz Unda-Stood

I did go to Thanksgiving. It was fun but fatiguing. Fatiguing--because I end up getting tired of faking joviality. One of my major pet peeves about this condition (Clinical Depression) is that people think it's like the Blues. It is not a matter of "cheering people up." It is misfiring neurons and screwed up chemicals in the brain. Forced socialization doesn't fix what is a broken brain. Serotonin levels, trigger avoidance, medical intervention are things that repair broken brains, and cause it

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Isolation

I am skipping Thanksgiving. I have no desire to make small talk with people and pretend to be happy. I'll be better later.

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Angels And Absinthe

It's the last day of a two year job assignment. I'm untethered. I'm floating through the ghost world. Spinning eternally. Everything out of focus. I want to lose myself in the liquid world. Green fairies are nicer than angels, who are cold and logical. Angels are disengaged from humanity. They watch us coldly while we flounder. Give me absinthe anyday.

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The Unshakeable Demon

They put me Klonopin. The dulling effect has helped me deal with some difficulty, as in the loss of my job and stopped my desire to harm myself. However the sadness still hovers around, a wan pathetic ghost. It wants to break in and possess me, like I am innocent Regan and it's Pazuzu and wants the whole head-spinning, vomit side show.But it and Celexa are keeping the demon of self injury at bay. Mostly it just makes me tired. "Please release the straps," says my sadness. The drugs won't let me

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Echthroi

Madeliene L'Engle, in her Time Quartet trilogy, had these antagonists called Echthroi. They are the embodiment of nihilism and depersonalization. The Echthroi exist both on the macro and microcosmic level, where they eat and destroy the essence of a person. I feel consumed by them right now. No lover. No job. I'm just a bag of blood and pi** filled with pysch drugs. The only weapon against being taken over by the Echthroi is being named, which is the speciality of the Cherubim Proginokses. I co

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