The saga continues. I’ve been taking Celexa for almost 2 months now, and I continue to be amazed by what feeling like normal feels like. By what it feels like to think clearly and see the humor in life. The simple joy of an incisive and witty phrase well-turned.
I had forgotten what it feels like to laugh. Somewhere amidst all the darkness, I lost my bemusement and amusement at the daily absurdities we all confront. Instead of simply accepting that many parts of life are absurd and not within my control, I began to equate absurdity with injustice, two very different concepts. The latter requires conscious action by someone; the former simply is.
Every day, I feel better, farther away from that abyss I fear so much. Every time I laugh, I savor the kernel of joy that comes with that primeval response to humor. It tastes like sunlight with a honey, orange and ginger dressing.
The life outside my mind hasn’t changed. I’m still recently bereaved and trying to learn how to live as a single man. A man who’s rapidly aging. My life still revolves to a greater or lesser degree around medical appointments. I still have a blood clot and am still recovering from hip surgery. My work is still demanding, and my bank account still always too low.
My response to that reality is profoundly different, though, than what it was a couple of months ago. All those things seem manageable, somehow, in a way they didn’t. They were probably manageable all along, but I couldn’t see it. Not through all the darkness.
I still miss Shannon. That’ll never change. I miss my first partner, Rich, who died over 15 years ago. It took a while for that grief to modulate into a fond longing. It will take a while this time to.
But I can see that more clearly than I have been able to up until now. It doesn’t mitigate the pain, but I now believe the pain is survivable.
