I have not written in here for a long time. During that time, I have drafted some posts but for one reason or another have not posted them. They are not perfect and I post them with some trepidation.
I wrote this last month.
This is a very difficult post/email for me to have to write. I have been very sick for several months and as a result I have not been very productive. In general, I do not know how to both accept personal responsibility and yet forgive myself and move forward.
As most of you know, I suffer from a mental illness, severe depression with psychotic features. When my symptoms are active, I have problems functioning. In addition, I also suffer from Ankylosing Spondylitis, which causes my bones to fuse together.
Last September, I fell and apparently suffered a hairline fracture in my back. I was in a great deal of pain, and required a lot of pain medicine. I slept a great deal. Unfortunately, many of my responsibilities as Head Organizer of Next Steps fell victim to my inability to function, and went undone. For that I am very sorry.
Fortunately, I got a shot which relieved my pain, and my energy increased. I may need to get one or more shots so the pain reduction will be permanent. I am hoping to rebuild Next Steps and hope many of you will be willing to help me do that.
Over a year ago I wrote
I am writing this on the train to Springfield on Sunday night on the way to a news conference and rally on Monday. I have not written in here for a long time; partly because I never seem to have the time, partly because I do not know what to write.
I tell stories, mostly stories about myself and my experiences. I have told the stories over the last ten years and the words come out easily; rubbed smooth with constant repetition .
“I am very sick and very poor. I suffer from a severe, chronic and persistent mental illness. Ten years ago I lost almost everything important to me; my wife, my profession, and most of my possessions, including my home of ten years.” I must have said these words hundreds, if not thousands of times. They almost always move my audience, and almost always move me. Yet…
We, you, the reader of this note; and I, must find a way so others do not lose almost everything. My story does not matter much, except to me and those few who love me.
I do not know what to do except what I have done for the last ten years. It is not enough but it is all that I know to do. I feel alone. I suspect that it is my illness speaking but how can I know?
I have been told that nobody really cares about my problems; they have enough of their own. Others say that I should be a positive role model. That I should provide hope for those who do not have hope for themselves. I try but sometimes when I do, I feel like a fraud, because I do not have hope for myself. Others say that I do not listen to the pain of others and that is often true. I find hearing others’ pain hurts me. In the psychobabble I have learned, it triggers me.