TheBanyanTree: The Diaries, July 20, 2004

[Monique]

The Diaries are now being blogged at www.schizodiaries.blogspot.com. Check
in to see what our intrepid hero is up to today! (Our intrepid hero owes me
an essay, not that I want to be pushy about it or anything . . . )

July 20, 2004

Not much to report on, except perhaps yesterday's little meltdown, but that
was dealt with in short order and life returned to a semblance of normality.
I was in Puyallup at a business meeting that was just ending when he called,
and when I answered I could tell this was not a social call.
 
I like social calls the best. They indicate that the world is moving forward
as it should. This was not one of those calls. He'd been fine earlier that
day, despite being concerned about me losing my keys.
 
I lose everything. Keys included, and especially. 
 
But when he called he was not okay, and I didn't know why there would be
such a sudden change. It seemed sudden, though of course that's how these
things work, suddenly and often without advance notice. 
 
Too much stuff going on sometimes everywhere. Too much stimulation, too much
noise, too much heat, too much difficulty in getting through what many
people consider normal, too many obstacles. And he's so tired of being so
tired. He's exhausted. And it's hot lately, and he doesn't do well in heat.
(Neither do I.) 
 
I hunched over a counter at the office I was at and talked him down. Or up.
I ssshhhhhed and murmured and I reassured and I let him know that it's okay
to be frustrated and angry and it's even okay to be tired and it's certainly
not abnormal, not with what he has going on and the meds he's on, the side
effects can be so debilitating, that's why people often go off their meds.
To get rid of the side effects. To feel awake again, to feel like they're in
touch with the world before the firing of the synapses starts to resemble a
war zone.
 
I don't know what any of that means, but I thought it sounded good. 
 
I told him I'd be home later that afternoon. He was better after talking to
me, or me to him, or someone to anyone, I'm not really sure, but by the
afternoon, when I saw him again, he was doing much better. 
 
I've assigned him a task for tomorrow. To start cleaning out his truck. But
not to look at the accumulation of stuff that's accumulated in there and
say, "I need to clean this all out now," then get discouraged and fail to do
anything at all. Instead, take care of two items tomorrow. Just two. Three
if he's up to it or inspired. Don't push it, don't expect any more than
that. Just a small start. It's okay to take incremental steps toward our
goals, to take our time, to not expect ourselves to have everything right
where we want it when we want it right now. 
 
We can take our time and do it right. 
 
He still owes me an essay. (Are you listening, Stew? I need an essay!) (Of
course he's listening. This is his book -- he has to listen.)
 
Overall, I'm rather happy with things. He's done well. I hate to see the
pain, I wish there was something that could be done about that, but in the
absence of a solution we'll have to just do the best we can with what we
have.
 
And me? I'm in a good relationship with a special person. Life is proceeding
as it should. I have too much work to do and not enough time, but that's
okay -- it beats the alternative.

Monique