Depression, Lethargy, and/or Writers Block

Hints of excitement and promises to change the world.

I sat in front of my computer at 1:30 AM and produced nine words. It’s now 7:18.

Visions have been dancing in my head, taunting me with ideas since early January. Or maybe they are warnings. They could be premonitions—The Ghost of Christmas Future predicting misfortunes that lie ahead if I don’t unfuck myself now. I tried following the argument just write something, but nothing springs forward to elicit reminders that I will never stop, rallies that I will never quit.

Instead, my focus today is the hellhole created when everything hits this trifecta.

Does one affliction come into play before the others? When my mind refuses to ignore one of the hapless nomads running rampant—spinning their tale all hours of the day and night, but I never use my words to create the form I can touch, taste, and hear—is that when everything grinds to a halt? Perhaps the start is when my muscles refuse any activity where my body must get out of my chair, away from my desk, stop playing video chess or streaming mindless movies.

What do I blame? If I can’t name the architect, am I forced to live out the sentence it created for me? Bouts of self-pity turned to loathing as the days dragged. One by one, candidates present their case for my troubles. Multiple sclerosis progression is inevitable; perhaps I am merely in the next stage of my decline. Catchy abbreviations send me scurrying to my Google search engine when I wonder if my problem is CTE onset from multiple TBIs. Maybe I’m a fraud; my 14-year run of reaching for the low-hanging fruit of catchy quips and shitty stories has reached a cheerless close. Depression is not curable. Perhaps mine is back. Perhaps it never went away. I could be lazy.

I don’t think the possibilities are endless; none of the outcomes are pleasant.

Unless it’s just writer’s block, a debilitating and painful bout of writer’s block. As I lean forward to rap my head on the desk, my mind and voice struggle to dictate a story. My inner voice is screaming, “Write something, but don’t just write anything. Make it meaningful and put your heart into every word.”

Two more restless nights of sleep. Two more long days of agony. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 15,000 calories.

If this works, I can ignore the first two months of 2024.

I really hope it was just writer’s block.

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Suicide, 35 Years Later

I don’t remember much about you, Dad, but you are my focus in this attempt to reflect on the moment everything changed. Many of my friends and loved ones need to understand what suicide will do to a child for the rest of their life.

Snapshots of the man I knew until I turned 16 are often random, quirky moments that carry no significance beyond their proof that we were together at some point. As far as I know, relating to children was difficult for you. I just fell into your same routine, doing things you would do even when I was not around. A Yankee game blaring on the television while you cooked up a bluefish we reeled in earlier that day. Of course, we must have visited the ballpark a time or two. I don’t remember any of those trips. Our story is stuck on one random day you cooked bluefish.

You taught me how to play pinochle down at the Half Crown. I am still an excellent bad pinochle player. My strategy is solid, but I get lost trying to total the melds. I don’t remember who else played or what I drank. It was probably just soda—what else would they serve a kid as he sat at the end of a bar with his dad?

We were jogging out in Pelham Bay Park the day I first told you I started an application to West Point. You seemed proud, but I remember your reaction was somewhere along the lines of, “That’s a tough place to get into. Don’t get your hopes up too high.” I don’t remember my response, but I did not listen, instead putting all my eggs in that one basket. You would have been so proud watching every step of my journey.

Only a handful of other memories bounce around in my head. TBI from a car accident when I was 25, multiple sclerosis, and time washed most of my recall, leaving only translucent whispers.

Of course, I have pictures. Not as many as I should. Grandma died three years before you (I remember nothing about her death or funeral). In the throes of whatever demons you faced, all the history from your side of our family ended up in the trash. Those photos Mom kept after your divorce are my proof you existed, evidence that I once lived a vibrant and happy childhood.

Gaps in my memory are toxic soil where nothing grows. Surrounded by beautiful images of your granddaughter and troves of magical experiences that I struggle every day to keep is that wasteland. Its voids are peppered with arbitrary traces of times abandoned for unknown reasons. That is where you exist because we have planted nothing new since October 8, 1988.

One memory I wish would fade is seven minutes of that day. I feel like it happened this morning.

You looked so peaceful when I walked into your bedroom. Serenity was my first warning.

“Dad?”

I called out twice in a hushed tone, hoping you overslept and forgot we were supposed to get together that Saturday morning. I don’t recall what we planned, but I remember your haunting image, face-down under the covers. Your left calf was stiff to my touch. I still see the horrifying kaleidoscope of blood and chunks splayed from your left temple when I lifted the pristine powder blue pillow used to muffle the gunshot. I never looked for the .38 nestled in your right hand. A single bullet hole in the wall was enough confirmation. I dropped the pillow and sat alongside your body. It is the single most peaceful moment I have ever experienced.

“When did you start to lose memories?”

“When did constant noise and chaos first flood your mind?”

If I had an answer to the first, I might piece together the second. The best I can say is that at some point soon after October 8, 1988, I began to run. Perhaps that was the moment I started to purge memories.

Maybe not.

My entire life is a consequence of that crisp fall morning. As much as I continue to deny any claim that I am a victim, that my poor choices and their repercussions are not the results of that first brush with horror, what you did put a silent exclamation point on everything I have been since the day you committed suicide. It took me 35 years to come to grips with this reality.

Here is the message I need to share.

I wish my curiosity had turned into questions rather than fear when I was a younger man. “Why?” would have sparked conversation. Many people offered to help me search for answers, but I rejected their outreach. Terrifying images became my nightmares that triggered a fight-or-flight response. There is nothing about your suicide that I can fight—there never was. Instead, I jumped from one life to the next with little disregard for what or who I left in my wake. For more years than I care to admit, I ran. Unfortunately, those foolish mistakes are the times my mind chose to keep.

The image I cherish is not the man who thought he had wasted his best chances for happiness. Among scattered shadows that stare back at me and say, “Hold on to that memory,” I keep photographs on my refrigerator. They serve as reminders, challenging me to recall the sights, sounds, other senses, and emotions from those days. The irony is that your picture is from over three years before I was born.

The face I see is a man I never knew, one who would become the faint image still in my mind. It is your file photograph from when you joined the NYPD, on your way to a noble career serving the people of New York City. You were young, strong, and confident. I sometimes wonder if you were excited about the future. You accomplished so much in your lifetime, achieving marks that still leave you in the superhero category of my heart. Did you think you had overcome your turbulent past? I look at your picture and smile because I want to believe it was a good day. To my friends, I say this: What memory you pick does not matter. Hold close something that was good.

The last thing I need to do is remember there were many bad days to follow. I don’t know what you could have done to change your outcome, but I don’t think you tried hard enough. The bottles left behind, the prescription meds collected in excess, and the relationships you shunned in favor of distractions did not ease your pain. They only pulled you closer to the day you left a bloody corpse in a bed for your 16-year-old son to find. We both traveled dark paths, but the image of your last bad day was a blessed reminder in 2003. It forced me to reach out to loved ones for a lifeline. It forced me to talk. I don’t know how many more bad days I could have endured, but you showed me how emotional pain only worsens when it’s not treated. I no longer have an obscene collection of discarded bottles or medications. I’m trying to not shun relationships, even if my life is still an avalanche of distractions meant to ease the agony.

Sometimes, I try to wish things were different. I wish you had a chance to meet your granddaughter, to hold all five of your grandkids. I wish my daughter knew you as “Grandpa” or “Pop-Pop” and not just “your dad.” But that is not the case, and there is nothing I can do to change the past, so I move on. I want more than lost opportunities.

October 8 is a Sunday this year. It will be a day I never wanted to describe until I discovered the power of my words. Now that I have finished our story, your memory will once again sit silent in my heart and mind.

For the first time, Rogue and I will ride together at bike MS on September 23. I’m trying to change something I don’t understand. She knows many of my demons—I never met yours. She sees my body weakened and struggling—I only remember the confidence of a man who never faltered. I will continue to be the dorky dad, showing up in her world no matter how out of place I may feel—you only invited me into your routines, unable to see life through the eyes of a child. I don’t want to kill myself—I don’t think that was your plan. Hopefully, I will be enough to end our cycle.

My reaction to your suicide, those gripping emotions that are impossible to share, turned to inspiration. “What if you could capture and re-create sensations?” I answered that question with my next story. With a smirk on my lips, I chose to release Sensations on October 8, 2023. Selfish promotion? Lemonade out of lemons? Perhaps, but stories are the only way I can illustrate my turmoil.

My favorites are those based on the utter confusion in my head that I just can’t quite accurately describe; the alternate fantasy world became a surrogate for the chaos I was unable to express otherwise. (“Chaos” 2018)

I am going to take full advantage of our mistakes and pain. I earned that.

On that Sunday, I travel home from my 30th West Point reunion, where I will have celebrated that milestone with my beloved classmates. They embrace me, though I remember very little of our time together. Two days earlier marks 24 years since I first read the words “possible multiple sclerosis” on my lonely drive back from a Korean hospital.

Just like October 8, 1988, just like October 6, 1999, my mind races today with the thought of, “What’s next?”

Many more bad days are sure to follow, but I hold on to the memories of everything good. The fear that builds in me will become questions, thoughts, and stories I share with the world.

If your story helps one person, if mine brings someone a single night of comfort, our mistakes were not in vain.

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Please consider a donation of support for Rogue and Kevin, riding together in Bike MS: Oregon 2023.

How My Fight Against MS Broke (and what happened next)

For 15 years, I have reached out to friends, family, and colleagues with one message: the fight is not over and it won’t be over until a cure is found.

My delivery of that message has morphed over time.

In 2003, I was strong and felt the need, “to show thanks for those who helped me along the way, to fight for those who can’t, and to ensure our next generation will never hear the words, ‘You have MS.’”

Slowly, my theme changed.

2005

“Brie and I deal with the effects of MS every day.  Fortunately for me, the continuous treatments/aid/support that I have received since my diagnosis in 1999 have made the difference.  It is a fight.  The fight, however, is not over.  For me and for the 1,250 persons with MS living in Delaware it won’t be over until the cure is found.”

2007

“My medical condition stabilized (to a point).  Though still somewhat debilitating, I am able to function day to day.  I am under constant treatment through the Veteran’s Administration healthcare system.  Through their treatment and support, I am ‘healthy’ today.  Physically, I am as stable as I can hope to be until we find a cure.”

My words documented a declining, but hopeful, fight as my MS progressed.

2011

“It has been 11 years now since I first heard those words, ‘You have MS.’ Like many others, my course is a daily struggle with pain and damaging effects ever since the first onset of my disease.   I am able to fight back, though!  Through the amazing medical treatment that I receive from my doctors at the Veterans Affairs Hospital, my body is strong.  Through the constant love and guidance from my friends and family, I have been able to maintain my daily life.  All the time, the support from advocacy groups like the NMSS have kept me prepared for today, and whatever may happen next!”

2015

“My arms and hands are failing; my voice is weak; my days upright and mobile are fading.  My fight, however, remains strong.  A World Free of MS is still the vision.  The new cases of multiple sclerosis diagnosed daily remind us, we don’t yet have a cure.  The rapid worsening of my own disability is a reminder of the paramount challenges for all affected by MS.

“We will win this fight.  My goals still remain set on the recovery and rehab I’ll need to dance with my daughter, Eleanor, again.  If I don’t reach that target, I’ll continue fighting to ensure her generation never must hear the words, ‘YOU HAVE MS.’”

Each year, my tale of adversity and resilience had a strikingly haunting tone, one of familiarity. My progression, while unfortunate, is all too common in our MS community. I didn’t want to believe my course; sure I would be the exception that proves we are on the verge of defeating multiple sclerosis.

As summer wore on, and heat became a critical factor, the treasured motivational burst I normally experience before/during/right after Bike MS sputtered and stalled. Shortly after the ride, my condition worsened again. My leg weakened and my arm lost more function.

I grew restless from the seemingly futile efforts of generating motivation and fundraising for, what I began to see, a fictional future. Anxiety and depression kicked in without my realization, something I simply passed off as a byproduct of a highly stressful period in my life.

But, hey, that’s my specialty, right? I take pride in my ability to excel amidst such adversity.

This was too much. This has been going on for too long.

I Stopped

I stopped reaching out to fundraise, no longer focused on my fight to defeat MS. Instead, my energy switched towards higher priorities, repairing my personal life and focusing on my writing outside of the MS world. Unfortunately, I didn’t make any headway in either those areas. I wasn’t going anywhere; my fruitless efforts merely occupied time until a day would end. I started again when I woke the next day, right where I left off, still in limbo.

My depressed state may have snuck up on me, but it did not go by unnoticed. Documenting my dilemma in the Inconsequential Ramblings of a Condemned Man blog series was my attempt at a therapeutic confrontation of my fears. Coming face-to-face with, let’s call it what it is, this huge mountain of shit didn’t have the effect I had hoped for. I faced the complexities of my disease and finally realized they are not going away anytime soon.

I Quit

I didn’t have much of a reaction as my world slowly crumbled down around me. I didn’t hit the bottle; my drinking actually dropped significantly. I didn’t go out and further self-destruct my life. Instead, I didn’t do much of anything except hope for this to get better somehow. I was idly waiting for my Deus Ex Machina.** My anxieties and fears only heightened when I accepted the fact there is no salvation primed and ready to go. There are no more treatment options. A cure or effective treatment for me, if one exists yet, is still in the pipeline of research, discovery, development, manufacturing, or testing. My body and my mind must bear the burden of hanging on until our day comes.

This is where I spent the last several months, in a perpetual cycle of increasing debilitation, anxiety, and depression. My symptoms are worsening. It’s difficult to tell if my slide is medically induced or fed by my depression. It’s probably some combination of the two, but there’s no way to know for sure. Neither factor is going away anytime soon.

The fight is not over and it won’t be over until a cure is found.

It will never stop…nor will we

It will never quit…nor will we

This is why we fight!

As I watched this year’s fundraising season move towards a close, I sat by in amazement as the unthinkable played out over and over.

·         I stopped reaching out and fundraising, yet our friends and loved ones continued to provide incredible support. Over $60,500 came in. Together, we propelled Eleanor to the #1 fundraiser rank for 2017!

·         I stopped recruiting riders and building support for Team Amulet, yet another incredible array of friends, both old and new, rallied to ride and celebrate. Together, we raised over $84,700 as Team Amulet in 2017! Since our inception in 2003, Team Amulet has now reached an incredible milestone of over $633,000 raised!

Though I felt strangely alone, my friends, family, and loved ones rallied around our fight. Many found inspiration in my words. Eleanor and I were honored to speak and celebrate with the National MS Society – Kentucky/SE Indiana Chapter. We appeared in promotional videos for both the Oregon chapter as well as a national marketing campaign. Countless times over, I was praised for my great work and dedication. As my world continued to darken around me, I finally began to see the light so many others are generating in support of our fight.

I received a shocking reminder of something I had lost sight of long ago. The fight is not over and it won’t be over until a cure is found.

It will never stop. My body and mind will stumble. Times may come when I will break, hopefully to pick up and start again soon, but the collective WE will never stop.

It will never quit. While I face this gut-wrenching struggle to keep fighting and not give up, the collective WE will never quit. I am not alone in this fight.

I can’t even begin to express my love to all who helped carry me, even before I realized I was in need.

So now what?

That, my friends, is a question for which I would love to discover the answer! I don’t know. Even as I write this note, I’m trying to formulate an answer in my head.

My first step is to address some of the clutter clouding my mind and feeding my fears. Personal issues (divorce, moving, finances, etc.) do nothing but pound on a weakened body. Most issues are close to final resolution, for the time being. Maybe then I can assess what is real and what is my mind creating.

My next goal is to accept the fact I am a disabled man. Simply fighting to discount my adversities is pointless, they are here for the long haul and will probably worsen.

If you haven’t seen me in a year, my disability is far greater now.

If you haven’t seen me in a month, my disability is worse now.

You haven’t seen me in a week…

I need to learn how all of this affects my life from this day forward. There are no options when your body fails and functions are lost, you simply must learn a new way to live. That’s what I must do. My first blog is year was 45 Is the New 0. I didn’t realize how much worse everything would progress in such a short time, but I guess my commitment still stands true.

It starts today

Focus switches back to three priorities: my health, my mind, and My Little Love. Eliminating distractions, I’ll direct focus on my physical progression.

My attention will be both towards the rehabilitative and medical efforts I need to recommit as well as the logistical preparations for when my condition progresses beyond self-management.

Reducing the anxieties caught in my mind will surely be a welcomed remediation. I’ll take a break from outside distractions and focus on serenity. I’m looking forward to posting this blog, then immediately stepping away from my all-too-consuming social media distractions. I’ll get back to my writing, fantastic stories which have nothing to do with multiple sclerosis.

Finally, I’ll relish in renewed magic with My Little Love. Eleanor is finally at the age where the memories we make last a lifetime. If my body only has a short window of opportunity, those memories will be fantastic.

I don’t know how long my “sabbatical” will last, or what condition my body will be in when it ends. The fight against MS is surely not over, nor is my personal battle. Your continued support is definitely needed and immensely valued.

Most of you who know me already realize I don’t reach out very much, if at all. Writing is great because I get to share all my fears, concerns, joys, and imagination without having to open myself up at all (yes, I get the lunacy of my logic). I sincerely look forward to describing what this journey looks like when completed, and I prepare for the next adventure.

Until that day comes, please receive my sincere thanks for all the support you continue to give all of us fighting MS. We need every bit of it, and I apologize for not saying thank you enough.

Love,

Kevin

The fight is not over and it won’t be over until a cure is found.

It will never stop…nor will we

It will never quit…nor will we

This is why we fight!

Never Stop… Never Quit…^®

Kevin Byrne

Portland, OR

neverstopneverquit.com

neverstopneverquit.blogspot.com

 Never Stop... Never Quit... Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off.

** Deus Ex Machina: The term has evolved to mean a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the inspired and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Its function can be to resolve an otherwise irresolvable plot situation, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or act as a comedic device.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina

Emotion, Depression, and Other Inconsequential Ramblings of a Condemned Man

Finally, there is a topic in which I have zero concern! Yep, no problems here.

Thank you for reading.

…

…

Since you are still waiting, I assume you already know me and await my caveat, or you’re merely anticipating juicy bombshells. OK, here’s one:

* On several occasions, I completely lost the ability to manage and control the emotional effects of my MS. My condition has led to withdrawal, mood swings, irreparable damage to relationships, depression, and thoughts of suicide.

“Why would you admit such a thing?”

Good question [gold star for you]. There are so many reasons to come clean about my emotional fallibility.

First, if you know me already, I’m probably not dropping any bombshell. Perhaps you recognize my predicament and feel sympathy for me. Maybe you just think I’m an asshole. I would like the opportunity to change your perception.

If I constantly remind myself this condition exists, my awareness may be the tipping point to staves off catastrophic results in my next encounter.

And third, if I share my story enough, hopefully, someone out there will understand they are not alone in their fight. Because you are not alone.

I have spanned an infinite loop of emotional changes countless times over. I fully expect to revisit everyone throughout my long and prosperous future. The 5 Stages of Grief & Loss do not have one pass through, but as many as you can handle. I haven’t shared many of these before, but, since we’ve become so close, I figure I can confide in you.

My first struggle lasted more than four years.

Denial

The shock of my initial diagnosis was softened by the fact that I could continue to do my job in the Army. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, my commanders approved my request to remain in command of my Air Cavalry Troop in Korea. It was the greatest act of trust, faith, and confidence for me, a non-deployable soldier, to remain deployed overseas in command of troops. I worked to minimize the effects of my disability by charging full speed into my work and alcohol. Nine months later, I chalked up my return to the States as ‘their greatest mistake’. For my new life in the civilian world, work and alcohol remained always by my side.

Peppered throughout this stage were manic highs and lows, as I struggled to find a better life.

Anger

3 ½ years after diagnosis, which included seven moves, across three states and three continents, I crashed (literally) out of the first stage. In my wake, I left a lot of shattered relationships and despair. I grew angry with my MS for all it had taken from me.

Silliest reasons of all was war. I was angry my MS stole my life in the military before 9/11. I’m ashamed to admit I marginalized the suffering and sacrifice of so many by referring to it as something I missed out on. This was 2002 and 2003; I had yet to realize some of the amazing accomplishments I proudly boast of today; had I an ounce of foresight, my bar tabs would have been much, much lower.

Peppered throughout this stage were manic highs and lows, as I struggled to find a better life.

Bargaining

It was around this time when I drafted my first suicide note. I created a logical list of reasons why life is unbearable and unfair; on the opposite side, I crafted my fears, my hopes, my dreams. Multiple sclerosis and suicide peppered every thought. I would give anything, do anything, to figure how I can move forward past this state. I ran to the only place I could think of: to my mommy, my sister, and my brother. I was willing to give up everything, though I truly had nothing, if I could find an answer.

So, my sister took me in as I gave up everything; I stopped struggling through manic highs.

Depression

For seven months, I struggled through trying to rebuild the life and once had before multiple sclerosis, only to realize it was neither the life I wanted nor a life I was capable of achieving. Career searches, neurology appointments, psychological counseling, they all kept me just slightly on the correct side of sanity.

Acceptance

“If I just get a job, I can get back to my feet.”

“If I just get a girlfriend, I can get back on my feet.”

“If I can just get back to my feet…”

I finally stop searching for my fix, finding solace in where I was and what I had to offer. Volunteering at the VA hospital, I learned about true suffering… true sacrifice… true service. Only then, did I want to only build upon where I was in life/as a person, regardless of why I got there, and not where I should be.

I used to feel gratitude for the fact I went through the stages before I met Brie, before Eleanor was born. That round was merely the first, the most pronounced. I have struggled through so many rounds of Denial – Anger – Bargaining – Depression – Acceptance:

* Every hospitalization, every setback with my multiple sclerosis.

* The approach of my 43 years, 79 days birth date (the age my father was when he killed himself).

* The process through my disability classification of ‘100 % Total and Permanent’.

* The death and disability of friends, family, and loved ones, and the realization I don’t feel far behind.

There will be so many more stages to face, as there is much grief yet to come. In between this, there is an endless string of emotional windfalls and emotional challenges.

I accept that challenge.

[Challenge Accepted!]

And, I raise you one bit of sarcasm, courtesy of Eleanor.

[What do you call a puppy on a bicycle?

            A puppy bicycle!]

Exactly.

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Emotional Changes

Can be a reaction to the stresses of living with MS as well as the result of neurologic and immune changes. Significant depression, mood swings, irritability, and episodes of uncontrollable laughing and crying pose significant challenges for people with MS and their families.

Depression

Studies have suggested that clinical depression — the severest form of depression — is among the most common symptoms of MS. It is more common among people with MS than it is in the general population or in persons with many other chronic, disabling conditions.

http://www.nationalmssociety.org/Symptoms-Diagnosis/MS-Symptoms

The fight is not over and it won’t be over until a cure is found.

It will never stop…nor will we

It will never quit…nor will we

This is why we fight!

Never Stop… Never Quit…®

Kevin Byrne

Portland, OR

neverstopneverquit.com

neverstopneverquit.blogspot.com