Catching Up With an Old Friend

The Rev and I have been friends since back in our retail days. A cool guy who likes who he is and makes no apologies for it. He is one of those friends that time can span years and we when speak, it is like it was only yesterday we were laughing about something at work.

I was taken back to my childhood when I was listening to records with him, that’s vinyl kids. The sound is amazing and makes me wish that I had kept those few albums around along with a record player.

I also get schooled when we talk about music because he is a riot and knows everything. But learning something new daily is great. We talked about books and Nikki Sixx. As I have said before, those truly creative people, the ones that touch me the most have endured dark lives. This could be by their own doing (drugs, reckless behavior and such) or it could be the cards they were dealt with in terms of family and how they were raised.

Like I have said before, I am fascinated by those truly tortured souls that pour their emotions out in songs and books. I like to think that I am a creative person, that putting a bunch of words together in paragraph form will touch someone, anyone. But I was raised in a pretty normal family, quirky yes, but normal. I was not without until things like cars came into the picture. But even then, they helped me out.

I don’t even count the fact that my half siblings are strangers to me as something tragic. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it was just how things were. I didn’t know any differently and in that little kid mind, it didn’t bother me.

While I could pout about having to work while in college, the reality was, it was my choice and since I wasn’t smart enough to do well in school, I had to work. I also liked to shop, so hey, I brought that on myself.

My dark places come from what I have inflicted on myself and I am old enough to know that I am the cause of those dark places. I have learned from them, they allow to really dig deep and think about things.

The Rev and I talked about our panic issues. We laughed about them like you would laugh about a silly, ordinary thing. It gives that issue much less weight when you do this. We talked about coping mechanisms, how we were before getting that diagnosis and everything else in between.

I made light on here about possibly having ADD because I can never get my brain to just settle down and just rest. He offered up a thought that many who have panic attacks are intelligent and always thinking. It kind of makes sense to me. I am smart when it comes to some things but others. . .well, I am dumber than dirt about those things! And it doesn’t make me sad or angry, it’s just a matter of fact thought.

Would I love being a nurse in the NICU? Why yes, that would bring so much joy to my life! But I suck at biology, chemistry and math. My strong points come in writing and cooking. Two things that give me joy and relax me. Does my brain still go 100 miles a minute? Yes and I wish there was something I could do to make it slow down!

Spending time with him is a ball, mainly because you never know what he will say but the other part is, he understands that manic state my brain is always in. I shared with him that I take Paxil to ward off any panic attacks, something that has helped me greatly. He asked if it dulled my emotions or reactions.

Yes and no. Part of my slowness to freak out now is from the medication and the other part is how I deal with things. I shutdown when something bad is happening because I don’t want to burden friends. If I am upset, I want to deal with it. When I am ready to talk about it, I call those friends and talk to them about it. Do I cry? Yes I do but again, I often shutdown until I can get to my car or my apartment.

While I might be a little slower to react emotionally, the upside to all of this is I know that it will take a whole lot to get a panic attack going. Some disagree with taking a medication to “fix” psychological disorders, some friends are included in this, but it is what keeps me glued together. Having had a trip to ER three years ago, I prefer not to go there again. It makes them worse, it is scary and quite frankly, it is expensive.

As we parted ways, we hugged and he ribbed me about it being another five months or so before we talk again. He also lent my Lemmy’s autobiography. I cannot wait to read it because it will give me further insight to the creative mind. Something that I enjoy greatly.