Tempering the temper

It was going to happen sooner or later: I inadvertently fell into a black hole. The black hole was very small in circumference, but very malevolent in depth. And what did I find there? If you guessed a black dog, you are absolutely correct. It was very brutal.

It has only been a little over two weeks since I was pardoned from my hospital incarceration (it really was a prison-and the food was far from haute cuisine, I can tell you). It has taken me this long to recover; clearly, I don't bounce back as quickly as I did when I was younger. I found that really, really depressing.

I spent last weekend weeping. That was it: I cried all weekend. I had a tremendous pity party. Did I have the Jack Daniel's? No...I really only drink alcohol when I am out with other people. I don't even have wine at home, although it is supposed to be really good for you. I will never make a good alcoholic: more than two drinks and I am not on the floor, I am under it. I wouldn't be a very good drug addict either: by the time I could find a working vein anyone else in the room would have passed out from sheer boredom.

I understand depression. I've been depressed at various times since the gentamicin disaster...and afraid, so I understand fear, too. I try to compensate for both by making jokes-some funny, some-terrible. But I still try to find humor in just about everything, because that has been my coping mechanism all my life. Believe me when I say that there were not a lot of funny times in my life. So I used jokes to cope.

What I find interesting is that two of my favorite comedians (Robin Williams and Joan Rivers) also used humor to cope with times that were pretty dire. I was really angry when Williams committed suicide. How dare he deal with depression by offing himself!! But I can understand how it can all just be too much to handle.

So I got depressed, because this was my second admission this year-and for pseudomonas, too-and I was very afraid that the antibiotics wouldn't sort it all out. I still don't know if they did the job or not, because I had to go for my infusions last week and it took five tries to locate a vein that was working. And-nobody could find a vein to give up some blood for the bloodwork I needed. I was there six and a half hours-but I did wait until I got home to cry. It just hit me very, very hard. Well-boo hoo.

Sometimes I try to think about all the things I should be grateful for-and when I am being bitten in the backside by the black dog, gratitude is not exactly the first thing I think about. People who have absolutely no understanding of what I have been through are the ones who say, oh, be grateful. That seems to me to be a little condescending, you know? Don't tell me to be grateful. Tell me to cry, swear at things, boo hoo, and all that-but not to stay in the black hole with the black dog for any longer than I have to.

So I took two weeks to recover - both physically and mentally, I think - and now I am back in business. I ate a lot of junk food, cried, didn't clean my kitchen (well, then you know I was really depressed!), watched a lot of television...my balance and vision went out the window, and that was the toughest part of the past few weeks, because I know that everything goes south when I am on antibiotics. But even though I was falling over (again), and I couldn't see very well (again), I just decided that things would get better eventually. I kept walking and hoped that nobody would knock me in front of a moving vehicle.

I am fighting my way back. I always do. Sometimes it takes longer than others, but I still fight. And clean. And eat masses of Kettle Chips.

The other day some idiot walked past me and turned around and snapped that it must be nice, waving my stick around and tripping people. So I shot back, at least I am not ugly, fat and braindead like her. She gave me a dirty look and waddled away as quickly as she could. That was so unnecessary...and I should have kept my mouth shut, because you just never know when some maniac is going to turn back around and stab you (happens all the time in London. Everyone seems to have a weapon. And a temper that makes mine look mild). But she did have a face that looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and a backside the size of a double-decker bus...I very nearly told her to f*** off, but that would have been overkill.

I'm still having trouble with remembering how many people here are rude, inconsiderate, nasty-and just completely braindead. I need to pity them, not swear back at them. Personally I would like to punch some of them in the face. And I've never been violent! I need to work on my temper, because one day I will say something and I will deeply regret it. Somebody remind me!