Home » 2013 » October

Monthly Archives: October 2013

The Basement Records Part II

Serotonin Syndrome.
It’s been 2 Years.
I almost lost my life.

Recovery took 6 months.
I still had to educate since I’m not a Millionaire.

Moments, seconds of brain pain.

Hours of coma like sleep.
Night Terrors brought upon me with no escape.
Again, loosing so much time.

It took all of my strength to feed my animals.
I haven’t had a drop of anything.

72 Hours have passed from the two year echo.
SSRI Syndrome.


I continue taking this medication, I will die.
But, I need a SNRI for my Fibromyalgia and Occipital Neuralgia(I’m not ready for
Brain Surgery just yet).

The ”What Ifs” are drowning me.

What is a SSRI?
Selective Serotonin Re-Uptake Inhibitors.

I take a SNRI
(Serotonin–Norepinephrine Re-Uptake Inhibitor).
Norepinephrine may be related to alertness and energy as well as anxiety, attention, and interest in life; [lack of] serotonin to anxiety, obsessions, and compulsions; and dopamine to attention, motivation, pleasure, and reward, as well as interest in life.” [6] SNRIs work by inhibiting the reuptake of the neurotransmitters serotonin and norepinephrine. This results in an increase in the extracellular concentrations of serotonin and norepinephrine and, therefore, an increase in neurotransmission. Most SNRIs including venlafaxine, desvenlafaxine, and duloxetine, are several fold more selective for serotonin over norepinephrine, while milnacipran is three times more selective for norepinephrine than serotonin. Elevation of norepinephrine levels is thought to be necessary for an antidepressant to be effective against neuropathic pain, a property shared with the older tricyclic antidepressants (TCAs), but not with the SSRIs.”

Then, Why SSRI Syndrome?
Cymbalta mimics SSRI’s(like Prozac and Paxil) when in Discontinuation.

Is this pain worth it?
I am learning it’s not, but for almost two years, my mind has been clouded with Suicide.
The concept of Suicide.
The act of Suicide.
The memories of Suicide.
The art of Suicide.
*I did not reveal this sadness is due to a 3 year old conversation my Mother and I had.
She stated that she could no longer be available to my Depression since I was an adult.
And, If I felt that I needed help
i.e Psychiatric Ward/Institutions, she could not take me and deal with that anymore.

This in itself is a Side-Effect of Cymbalta.
But, my body is tormented by nerve damage, I kept taking this Drug.

April 7, 1998.
August 30, 1999.
August 25, 2010.

Dates of Suicide Attempt.
One keeping me away from High School and in the E.R. for 4 Days.
One sending me to a Private Mental Institution.
One that no one knew occurred as I let go before the hourglass was up.

So, now you know why.
This Drug can end me as it calms the waves of my fractured nerves.

I will never be healthy.
I will always suffer from Depression and PTSD.
But, I don’t want the thoughts and dreams of death by trying anymore.


The Lucid Appeal

Today, is Sylvia Plath’s Birthday.
*Saying Happy Birthday to the Dead is an oxymoron(especially if Suicide was the choice).

Alive. 81.
Death. 33.

Her daughter Frieda, has been alive almost twice as longer as her mother.

The Years. It makes you think, think about dreams. Time.

How we blink our souls and it’s decades ago.

I think. A story of reality and tragedy my (late) Uncle Karoly shared with my Mother then me.

New York.
Early 1990’s.
My (late) Uncle was living in Manhattan, and as everyday, he headed to the Subway for work
(He was a Writer/Editor for Time Life Magazine).
As he approached the concrete landing, voices were traveling fast. Eyes posted in a particular spot.
Stalled trains.
Empty tracks.
Another Soul given to Suicide.

My (late) Uncle said he had stumbled upon Subway death many times.
But, time went on and the years forgotten.

My question/inquiry/study/experience is this:
Is a person lucid when in flight?

As for Plath, her attempts by Pills left her alive. That’s why the gruesome tale of Carbon Monoxide Poisoning by the way of Suicide.

Was she lucid? Awake as she was dying?
Like the men in the Subway.
Were they aware of it all as a 220mph subway car was smashing their bodies into unidentified pieces?

My own experience was not as grotesque.
When I fell asleep, I told my soul, I would not wake up to the 5:45a.m alarm call.
That the 18 Pills I counted outloud and took one by one would silent my breath as my heart stopped and my life would end.
But, I woke up.
I used to think I had died, but I returned with a new Soul and purpose.
I was 17.

Then, I watched
Wrist Cutters, and my perspective on Suicide Lucidity changed into a semi-permanent season.
*I recommend this Film for anyone who has survived Suicide.

Sylvia Plath.
If she could come back, would she?

The reality of seeing the other side as the living could have given herself more time for self revision.


Anne Brigman
Dying Cedar

Excuses For The Dead

Good Morning Lovelies.

I awoke with bladder pressure and a 15 pound Tux whimpering at my feet.

I return to work today.
I am somewhat ready.
But, I’ll never be completely satisfied until the Big Move.

What am I listening to?
An excellent(and familiar) Topic.
How human nature can condition itself outside internal trauma.
NPR’s example:
”Britain during WWII.
The average citizen became ‘accustomed’ to German Bombings.”

How do we extract ourselves from continuous trauma?
This is a question people ask me OFTEN.

I feel I have to offer an excuse for my life, as if it’s all a mistake.
How can someone with so many health problems function day to day?

Well, as I drink my 1.5 Via Italian Coffee with Vanilla Bean, stirring in lotus position, neck in hand, exhausted, and alive.

That’s it.
I open my eyes.

“and I told myself — as I’ve told myself before — that the body shuts down then the pain gets too bad, that consciousness is temporary, that this will pass. But just like always, I didn’t slip away. I was left on the shore with the waves washing over me, unable to drown.” ― John Green


The Sangre Flower

“When you live with a potentially life-threatening condition you get used to the thought of dying. You accept it, you push on. The thing that scared me was the picture of dying slowly and painfully, the loss of independence and identity to illness.” ― Josh Lanyon

Que hermosa palabra.

It’s my word.
A present definition without a resolution.

I was sitting in the Chemotherapy Room on Thursday, waiting to see if I needed a Blood Transfusion.
Remembering the 5 RBC Transfusions I had in 2004, I was not focused on the now.

My CBC Results arrived with a double edge sword.
My Counts were stable, but the blood loss and pain is uncounted for.

Blood Loss.
I was in Super Target the night before, buying a new Outfit for my newer job, and as I was browsing the sweatshop goods, it is as if my Colon detached itself and swam out and away.

I fast paced my feet to the checkout line.
Sweat covering me.
Chills bringing me down.

I asked to leave my cart at the checkout, and found myself hovering over their toilet.
Blood inside the bleached bowl.
Blood on the stained white tiled floor.

I had 10 minutes to put myself back together as the store was Closing.

I was truly upset.

I had just taught my ESL 300 Class, drove the 50 round trip miles home, then to excite my closet with a new outfit, but to only find death once again.

Open my eyes like a flower blooming in dusk.
I was nauseous after my CBC
(an event that has not occurred in over a Decade)
I could smell the Cancer all around me.
The soft recliners that give hope as Chemotherapy drips into broken promises.

The Oncology Nurse was checking up on my nausea, as my Mother was uncomfortable.

I am thankful I did not need a Transfusion of any type that afternoon, but my Body is telling me its dying secrets.


“Y por que el sol es tan mal amigo del caminante en el desierto?

Y por que el sol es tan simpatico en el jardin del hospital?”
Pablo Neruda

”The claw
Of the magnolia,
Drunk on its own scents,
Asks nothing of life.” ― Sylvia Plath

Red Down

Good Morning.

It’s been awhile.
I do not like when I let time steal my words.

My finicky mind is awake with another sunrise, yet my body is disconnected.
It’s like my aged Desktop in my Office, the Monitor is powered on, but the PC is broken down, wires and cables hanging on as the power supply has been fried.

God, did I really just use a IT Metaphor?


But, what else is there to compare?
Definitely Not.

As of August 2013,
my Occipital Neuropathy has worsened, which means future Brain Surgery.
I have to have multiple Mammograms done on my Left Breast(Two Lumps were found).
My Fibromyalgia has begun to disrupt my digestion.
My SCN, tired immune system as the minute I came into existence.
Depression. On.
Feelings. Off.

Depression is my spouse, my partner, my lover.
My Red Down.
A midnight lapse of happiness will never be, but with this wrecked body, only the darkest days for me.

And to your answer:
Yes. I am fine with that.
I would rather be alone, drowning in sickness
then surrounded by the eyes and noise of the heartless.