G
Guest
Guest
I couldn't drop this OT post in here and leave it sit. This should be a light hearted board. If you have some time, and can handle full tilt reality and pain, please read this:
A Walk Through Hell
Thanks,
Ryan
Edited to add in (and thus perserve) the original text of the post on OT UHall for posterity...lest that link go dead in the near future. I hope that's alright, Ryan. ~Dor
<blockquote><hr>
A Walk Through Hell
This is the single most personal thread I have ever started and posted. The last six days of my life have been amazing. This is a true story of agony, triumph and self realization.
Normally, I would post on the Sonoma Boards. It's my home, but this is a deadly serious topic, better left for those that are interested in reality, and not a game discussion. I want to thank Major Minor for making these forums a reality. He was one of the originals when I called Uhall my home. And so, my tale begins....
Well, to start, 2001 was a trying year. I was sued, filed bankruptcy, and turned thirty. My job was stressfull, my roomate of three years declared he was moving out, and the reality of where my life was heading hit me.
The month of November I shut down. Spoke to no one. People at work became distant, friends stopped calling.
In December, I broke down. I had stared at my hand gun, placed against my head, and felt the cold barrel. "Just pull" I said, "just pull, its ok." The pain of my perceived failure was too much.
December 4th, I was diagnosed with sever depression. Medication was prescribed, and I battled my disease. The medication failed me.
December 26th, 10:41 am. I found myself,at 30, shaking in violent lunges as I cried violently in the bathroom of my work. I had lost my control mechanisms. My emotions were flowing with uncontroled furry. I was slipping. I visited the doctor and they placed me on disablity.
December 28th, I told my mother on a phone call, that "If she and my father knew my pain, they would let me go." Sheriffs arrive, take my handgun. And I took a trip to the hospital. My doctor changes my medication, I begin therapy.
Things look better.
January 28th, I return to work, I am anxious, edgy, but I am happy to feel a part of the workforce. Emotionally, I am scattered in thought, full of energy and extremely high on adrenaline. Latter, this would be defined as "manic".
January 29th, my doctor calls me at work and tells me that she needs to see me the next afternoon. She explains that the medication isn't working, and that she feels she is in over her head. I begin to loose hope.
My mother is already in therapy. I begin to rationalize that I have destroyed my mother. I'm not thinking clearly, but I cannot be stopped. I formulate a plan. I decide to quit my job of four years. In my mind, at that time, I figured that if I could elimate my friends at work, then I could close that part of my life. And since I have "destroyed" my mother, I could then end my life.
I tenure my resignation, and my boss (god bless her) of four years, refuses to let me go. She can see I am not well. Had she accepted my resignation, I would have driven to Benicia, and jumped off the bridge that spans the stretch of water there.
As a child my father used to point out the "Mothballed" fleet when we took beautiful spring drives around there. I thought that it would be a focal point to look at as the concrete water embraced me. But, my boss stopped the plan...
I went home to my folks, and released more pain.
Wednesday, January 30th. On disability again. My doctor desperatly tries to find a way to stabilize me and makes an error that almost kills me outright. At this point, you that know me on the Sonoma Boards, get my last post around 2pm.
My doctor figured that my medication was being taken in two doses of 150mg in the morning, and 150mg at night, like a "bookend", to balance my medication effectiveness. Her theory is that one dose at 300mg will raise me up in the morning, and let me "glide" until evening. The problem was the glide ended at 5pm, and I was still awake....
A simple phone call set me off and I felt the depression choking me. I'm sliding. I want to die. I call my father and he tells me to get to their house now.
The drive over....
Sweet jesus how did I make that drive? I'm shaking. This bottomless pain is overwhelming. I am a failure. I'm alone at thirty. I have nothing. I am nothing. I grip the wheel and measure oncoming traffic. Cement trucks and large vehicles pass and through the stream of tears I tug at the wheel. Twice. I come close. I don't care. I want to drown in emptyness. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt, and no one can hold me. I'm ashamed of the weakness. I am ashamed of the fact a man can't be like this. I WANT TO DIE.
I realize I am at the turn to my parents house. Numb...
I make it there. Over the next few hours, we get to a psych hospital. They evaluate me, and decide that I am borderline. I hide my torment well. In the end, I am staring at an admisions nurse, my father, and my mother. They ask me. "Ryan, it's your call, you can 5150 yourself". A 5150 is a medical or police tag that denotes a person is a threat to themselves or others. This status is usually involutary for the pacient, meaning they are taken into a psychiatric hospital for evaluation against thier will. They may be held there for 72 hours. My, decision was oxymoronic. I volunteered to go involutarily. lol
This was the single bravest decision of my life.
Could you do it? Commit yourself to a facility where you know you might run across others more unstable than yourself? I had to. I needed a Psychiatrist. You see, a doctor can diagnose and treat depression. Many are successfull. But a Psychiatrist makes mental problems thier career. They specialize in diagnosis and treatment of these disorders.
So, you have stuck with me this far? Ok, it's all up here from here folks. First, they immediately cease all medications you are on. I see the psychiatrist the next morning and he diagnoses my as Bi-Polar. Simply put, it's a genetic condition that manifests itself as depression and manic states.
What usually happens is that someone gets manic, they have all this energy and stay up for 16, 24, and 48 hours a time. Thier brain will go into overdrive. Ernest Hemingway, Michaelangelo and many other brillaint people are recognized as manic.
Then flip side is the depression, marked by sleep, self abuse and fits of anger.
The doctor gave me a specific medication called Depacote. On the lowest dosage, I gained instant clearity. I had no side-effects.
Friday morning, I looked out over the Eastern skys of California from my window. I watched the sunrise, and cried. I could see the frost of the grass. The green-grey tinge to the creek, running below. The patterns of branches. And I thought "I get it." I understand now.
The visit held so many things for me. So much self realization. Confidence, and strength. Self worth.
All my life, I have wanted to be a Knight in shining Armor. Always. I have read about and studied the time periods in which chivalry was a word that held meaning. I thought myself to be born in the wrong time. I realize now, that I have always been what I wanted to be. I am a Knight.
I know I don't have the horse, lance or armor. But I cut with my words and charge with my mind. I am chivalrous, brave, resolute and honorable. I am a Knight.
I had to let you all know the depths of this disease. I am still a long way from done with this battle. It will take close medication monitoring and therapy. I need to rediscover who I am and learn to live life, instead of exist in it.
One last thing, I thought about all of you when was in the hospital. I thought about what to say, lies, ways to soften or hide this. But I can't cheat you of that. It is what it is. Judge me if you will, but the flame exists to show your problems not mine.
It's time to live now. I WANT TO LIVE NOW
Sometimes, one must walk though the flames of hell to rescue ones soul.
God bless you all,
Ryan Tauscher
<hr></blockquote>
A Walk Through Hell
Thanks,
Ryan
Edited to add in (and thus perserve) the original text of the post on OT UHall for posterity...lest that link go dead in the near future. I hope that's alright, Ryan. ~Dor
<blockquote><hr>
A Walk Through Hell
This is the single most personal thread I have ever started and posted. The last six days of my life have been amazing. This is a true story of agony, triumph and self realization.
Normally, I would post on the Sonoma Boards. It's my home, but this is a deadly serious topic, better left for those that are interested in reality, and not a game discussion. I want to thank Major Minor for making these forums a reality. He was one of the originals when I called Uhall my home. And so, my tale begins....
Well, to start, 2001 was a trying year. I was sued, filed bankruptcy, and turned thirty. My job was stressfull, my roomate of three years declared he was moving out, and the reality of where my life was heading hit me.
The month of November I shut down. Spoke to no one. People at work became distant, friends stopped calling.
In December, I broke down. I had stared at my hand gun, placed against my head, and felt the cold barrel. "Just pull" I said, "just pull, its ok." The pain of my perceived failure was too much.
December 4th, I was diagnosed with sever depression. Medication was prescribed, and I battled my disease. The medication failed me.
December 26th, 10:41 am. I found myself,at 30, shaking in violent lunges as I cried violently in the bathroom of my work. I had lost my control mechanisms. My emotions were flowing with uncontroled furry. I was slipping. I visited the doctor and they placed me on disablity.
December 28th, I told my mother on a phone call, that "If she and my father knew my pain, they would let me go." Sheriffs arrive, take my handgun. And I took a trip to the hospital. My doctor changes my medication, I begin therapy.
Things look better.
January 28th, I return to work, I am anxious, edgy, but I am happy to feel a part of the workforce. Emotionally, I am scattered in thought, full of energy and extremely high on adrenaline. Latter, this would be defined as "manic".
January 29th, my doctor calls me at work and tells me that she needs to see me the next afternoon. She explains that the medication isn't working, and that she feels she is in over her head. I begin to loose hope.
My mother is already in therapy. I begin to rationalize that I have destroyed my mother. I'm not thinking clearly, but I cannot be stopped. I formulate a plan. I decide to quit my job of four years. In my mind, at that time, I figured that if I could elimate my friends at work, then I could close that part of my life. And since I have "destroyed" my mother, I could then end my life.
I tenure my resignation, and my boss (god bless her) of four years, refuses to let me go. She can see I am not well. Had she accepted my resignation, I would have driven to Benicia, and jumped off the bridge that spans the stretch of water there.
As a child my father used to point out the "Mothballed" fleet when we took beautiful spring drives around there. I thought that it would be a focal point to look at as the concrete water embraced me. But, my boss stopped the plan...
I went home to my folks, and released more pain.
Wednesday, January 30th. On disability again. My doctor desperatly tries to find a way to stabilize me and makes an error that almost kills me outright. At this point, you that know me on the Sonoma Boards, get my last post around 2pm.
My doctor figured that my medication was being taken in two doses of 150mg in the morning, and 150mg at night, like a "bookend", to balance my medication effectiveness. Her theory is that one dose at 300mg will raise me up in the morning, and let me "glide" until evening. The problem was the glide ended at 5pm, and I was still awake....
A simple phone call set me off and I felt the depression choking me. I'm sliding. I want to die. I call my father and he tells me to get to their house now.
The drive over....
Sweet jesus how did I make that drive? I'm shaking. This bottomless pain is overwhelming. I am a failure. I'm alone at thirty. I have nothing. I am nothing. I grip the wheel and measure oncoming traffic. Cement trucks and large vehicles pass and through the stream of tears I tug at the wheel. Twice. I come close. I don't care. I want to drown in emptyness. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt, and no one can hold me. I'm ashamed of the weakness. I am ashamed of the fact a man can't be like this. I WANT TO DIE.
I realize I am at the turn to my parents house. Numb...
I make it there. Over the next few hours, we get to a psych hospital. They evaluate me, and decide that I am borderline. I hide my torment well. In the end, I am staring at an admisions nurse, my father, and my mother. They ask me. "Ryan, it's your call, you can 5150 yourself". A 5150 is a medical or police tag that denotes a person is a threat to themselves or others. This status is usually involutary for the pacient, meaning they are taken into a psychiatric hospital for evaluation against thier will. They may be held there for 72 hours. My, decision was oxymoronic. I volunteered to go involutarily. lol
This was the single bravest decision of my life.
Could you do it? Commit yourself to a facility where you know you might run across others more unstable than yourself? I had to. I needed a Psychiatrist. You see, a doctor can diagnose and treat depression. Many are successfull. But a Psychiatrist makes mental problems thier career. They specialize in diagnosis and treatment of these disorders.
So, you have stuck with me this far? Ok, it's all up here from here folks. First, they immediately cease all medications you are on. I see the psychiatrist the next morning and he diagnoses my as Bi-Polar. Simply put, it's a genetic condition that manifests itself as depression and manic states.
What usually happens is that someone gets manic, they have all this energy and stay up for 16, 24, and 48 hours a time. Thier brain will go into overdrive. Ernest Hemingway, Michaelangelo and many other brillaint people are recognized as manic.
Then flip side is the depression, marked by sleep, self abuse and fits of anger.
The doctor gave me a specific medication called Depacote. On the lowest dosage, I gained instant clearity. I had no side-effects.
Friday morning, I looked out over the Eastern skys of California from my window. I watched the sunrise, and cried. I could see the frost of the grass. The green-grey tinge to the creek, running below. The patterns of branches. And I thought "I get it." I understand now.
The visit held so many things for me. So much self realization. Confidence, and strength. Self worth.
All my life, I have wanted to be a Knight in shining Armor. Always. I have read about and studied the time periods in which chivalry was a word that held meaning. I thought myself to be born in the wrong time. I realize now, that I have always been what I wanted to be. I am a Knight.
I know I don't have the horse, lance or armor. But I cut with my words and charge with my mind. I am chivalrous, brave, resolute and honorable. I am a Knight.
I had to let you all know the depths of this disease. I am still a long way from done with this battle. It will take close medication monitoring and therapy. I need to rediscover who I am and learn to live life, instead of exist in it.
One last thing, I thought about all of you when was in the hospital. I thought about what to say, lies, ways to soften or hide this. But I can't cheat you of that. It is what it is. Judge me if you will, but the flame exists to show your problems not mine.
It's time to live now. I WANT TO LIVE NOW
Sometimes, one must walk though the flames of hell to rescue ones soul.
God bless you all,
Ryan Tauscher
<hr></blockquote>
