I remember the morning my dad came and picked me up from my mom's house vividly. I had woken up extra early because i wanted to get a bit of skateboarding in before I had to go back to Georgia....back to the yelling...and now back to a job I was almost certain I wouldn't be able to handle. I truly felt like my dad was asking me to run a marathon without any fucking legs. I didn't see how I was expected to do this, but I had no choice. We arrived in my cousin's driveway and I was in full panic.
"This is your cousin Darwin." My dad said as Darwin walked outside and waved hello. It seems almost comical explaining this situation because there was technically nothing "wrong" or "dangerous" about this situation . It was just two people meeting. But for my central nervous system that had been hijacked and gone completley haywire, it was like I was meeting Freddy Kruegar and was about to have to fight for survival. My dad drove off and it was not just me and ol' "Freddy". There was no way small talk was about to happen so I did the only thing I could and that was try to explain to him that I wasn't well. I apologized ahead of time if I didn't understand what he was saying or if I stuttered a lot. I just told him the medication I used to take messed me up.
"It's ok man, I understand that people get into drugs and stuff. Im glad you're off of them now though"
We got in his truck and rode to the Permits office so I could get a fishing license. Once again, I know this doesn't sound like a daunting task, but to me in my current condition it was like were were riding toward Mount Doom in the Black Land of Mordor from the Lord of the Rings novels. How was I supposed to walk in that office and answer questions while my eyes were bulging out of my sockets and I couldn't understand anything??
Please also keep in mind that I hadn't always been like this. I used to have attractive girlfriends, made friends fairly easily, rocked out job interviews, and would perform music for random people in the street for fun. So the fact that riding in a passenger seat with my cousin and talking to a secretary in an office was TERRIFYING is not normal! But somehow I got through it with my big, stupid pupils and shaky voice.
Afterward, he dropped me back off at my dad's house where I grabbed my guitar and began to practice in an a feeble attempt to feel some comfort. God why was this happening to me? I had already suffered those 7 long hard months of tapering and these five months of being completely off the meds had only been harder. I wanted to die. This fight didn't seem worth it and I ached for death. Fortunately, practicing guitar continued to be an escape from my suicidal thoughts, and I had even begun to grow quite pleased with my musical progress. I would post videos of me playing on Facebook for my friends back home to see, and their positive responses gave me an incentive to keep fighting through the depression. I tried to keep telling myself that one day this would all just feel like a bad dream and that my angst would soon be replaced with profound joy. I remembered what I once heard my mom say years back "If you're going through hell, keep going" which I now know is a quote from Winston Churchill. I drew a bit of strength from this and just thought to myself "one day"...