Drowning

At church on Sunday, the sermon was about weathering life's storms. Which is good and all, but what about when there is no storm per se? No catastrophic event or circumstances. No deaths or job losses or major illnesses. Just forty days and forty nights of a soft gloomy rain, flooding the landscape. I suppose the answer to that is, "Be on the ark." But I don't have an ark. I'm clinging to a flimsy life preserver, worried that it too will slip through my fingers, or that I'll fall asleep and let go.

So what exactly am I saying? I'm saying that today was a typical day for me lately, not even a particularly bad day. And yet I spent ten minutes in the bathroom with tears streaming down my face, all because I didn't return a call in a timely enough fashion. No, I wasn't in trouble. No one was angry at me. I just couldn't handle it. Lunchtime rolls around, and after I quickly eat at my desk, I go out into the world, where I find a bench near a corner which reeks of urine. I sit there, in the corner, thinking how I deserve to be surrounded by urine odors. I think about different ways to die, suicidal and nonsuicidal, but talk myself out of doing anything. Finally, I regain my composure enough to sit with a couple work friends who are having lunch nearby, although I'm quiet, commenting only on how bad of a pet owner I am. The rest of the afternoon was relatively uneventful, and I just felt mildly sad. Driving home, I fought back tears which I couldn't attribute to anything at all. I also fought the urge to go buy alcohol, any alcohol, so that I could go home and numb myself and die inside.

I made an appointment with my doctor for Thursday, but I'm afraid he'll see that I'm not an immediate threat to my own safety and will just leave things the way they are. He hasn't changed my medication in over a year, and I've been worse than I am now. And really, I feel ashamed to be seeking a chemical solution to this problem. But how much more of this can I take before I do become a danger to myself?