The response to my post about micro-dosing surprised me. Having never heard of the term prior to Monday of this week, it seems as though I was simply not in the loop.
|One does not get this medicine from Big Pharma...|
“What is it?” asked one good friend so I explained that it was ingesting small (hence, micro) doses of psilocybin mushrooms, though other folks substitute different substances for the mushrooms.
The idea is to infuse enough of the medicine into my system to make a difference on my life outlook, but not necessarily enough to make me feel like jumping off the roof of the house to prove I can fly.
Because I have done no research and have little experience, you can take or leave what I have to say. What I am experiencing with the loss of Annie is not depression, but sadness. I distinguish between the two because I have a mood spectrum disorder, what old-schoolers call being bipolar II.
In my case I am manic 99% of the time and depressed about 1%, and the depression component requires a trigger. Annie’s passing certainly falls under the category of a trigger, but I had seven-and-a-half years to prepare for that inevitability. No, I am not depressed these days but I am deeply saddened.
Having my grandson Little Man visit every day is the reason why I am not depressed. His innate curiosity, his sunny disposition and his vice-grip on my heart combine to erect an effective barrier to depression. But when he is not here, sadness abounds.
|Life glows and glitters when this character is here.|
That sadness is going to be with me until time grinds some of it down the hard way, one minute at a time. The micro-dosing softens some of that grind, allowing time to pass as though it were in the fast lane instead of crawling along on the shoulder of the highway. Some days time seemed stalled along this highway of life, but stalled is not stopped, so the days, they pass.
I no longer see a murky abyss, blocking forward progress to the future. My marriage, my partnership with Annie, was so beautiful and so profoundly essential to my happiness, that I will undoubtedly try to recapture what I can of that experience.
The logistics of being able to reorganize my life, to allow me more access to what is out there in this world, seem overwhelming. That being said, love is the greatest power in existence, so pursuing it should lend wings to my sandals.
Would that it were so easy, but nothing in life that is easy, is worth much of anything. No, this will not be easy, but the harder it is (she said) the better it will turn out to be.
Who am I to argue with that logic?