absurdity, prose, social commentary, style, surf, and culture

this is a continuation of a series on identity I started a few weeks ago.

1999- 2000

from August of 1999 until December of 2000 I was completely lost inna haze of mal-prescribed psychopharmcalogy, high-grade trees, and booze.

for several months I didn’t work and instead smoked a lot cigarettes, drank excessively, surfed little, smoked ganja, and rode my bike a lot. I was lucky at the time to have a roommate who quietly respected my downward fall and never lost sight of who I’d been before my zombie state. I lost most of the friends I’d made over the 5 years I lived in Orlando due to my bizarre and often unhealthy behaviour.

after a few weeks of not being able to function due to low mood and incessant crying, I was convinced by my loving family to go and see a doctor. so I called my corporate job health insurance, who provided me with coordinates for a psychologist. perfect I thought, she’ll help sort out my feelings of low self-worth and since she can’t legally prescribe medication I won’t have to take any drugs.

boy was I wrong.

after my second visit to my insurance Doc she convinced me that the best way to treat my ‘depression’ would be to have her nurse practitioner prescribe some anti-depressants, sleeping pills, an anti-psychotic, a couple of different narcotics for anxiety, and some pills I can’t recall now. in short – I was fucked up. her therapy was a sham for collecting paychecks from the insurance company. my prescription drug program was not monitored at all.

I’d find myself zigging and zagging in and outta traffic on my bike down a traffic clogged Colonial Drive in downtown Orlando without any regard for my safety. how I wasn’t killed is beyond me.

after a while I started training to race bikes -the sun, exertion and social interactions with my training partners boosted my natural anti-depressants and I had enough clarity to realize that I needed off the drugs. the Doc of course refused to lower my doses -said I wasn’t ready.

I knew enough about the drugs to know that I couldn’t cold turkey them lest I be beset by a serious chemical imbalance. I threw away the narcotics, sleeping pills and anti-psychotics. then I began to methodically cut my doses of the anti-depressant. because I was unable to get a prescription for a small dose of the anti-depressant, I was forced to finally go off completely. for a week I was disoriented and dizzy but I knew that the drug woud release it’s grip and my body would adjust.

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a word on psychopharmacology, health insurance, and insincere medical practitioners.

I am not against drugs to treat mental illness, nor am I against psychiatry or psychology. the science of the brain is still in it’s infancy and while treatment for mental illness is fraught with errors, there are many evidence based treatments with and without drugs.

but I did learn some very important lessons.

be careful with strangers who want to give you drugs. and always trust those who love you most.

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my Mom and Dad pulled me out of that first experience with depression. there were also some really good friends who stood by and maintained the thread of friendship. D$ being one those -he taught me lessons about living intentionally and healthy -lessons I am still trying to learn today.

so why the depression? perhaps there are many reasons. I won’t go into it here as I’m saving those thoughts for another project. but I relate the above episode because it has shaped my identity in ways that I would have never expected.

first of all, we are never who we think we are. that is, we each view the visceral world through our own cultural expectations and personal experience. and as I’m often reminded by my beautiful B when I think someone is pissed at me – “no one thinks about you more than you do.”

I often question the importance of identity. a long time ago now I came to a conclusion that the most important parts of life were personal relationships with loved ones, a sense of good health, and passion.

the year and a half that I spent in the depths of self deprecation left some bad habits and many bad memories. but is that who I am? are we really defined by how we spend our time? and what is the real value of how others define us?

the last question is one that confronts me each additional day that I go without being employed. just today I received yet another nice rejection note:

read your resume and have a chance to respond in greater detail. We have contracted a project manager.

identity in the street level sense is a slippery concept. at most it is a way for each of us to find our rung in the social ladder. and now that we can have an Internet identity (my Klout score is 51) as well as our walking identities, things can get a little cluttered.

and while I generally don’t believe in blind faith and absolute statements, there are a few lessons which help me to define me for me:

my ability to run long distances has taken a long time to build. through perseverance and learning to love the mental challenge of physical exertion I am reaching into a primal urge to move through space with my own grit and sweat.

I am these bones and muscles and tendons.

friendships too are built over the years with honesty, integrity and humility much in the same way -only love is the primal urge.

the paradox is that everything happens slowly over time and time is getting shorter everyday.