I'm Shocked (Not)

I'm not surprised by this result. If you're curious about whether or not you fall into the ADD spectrum, click on the graphic to take the quiz. Realize, of course, that this is hardly a professional diagnosis.

Dreamscapes

Chatting with a friend yesterday, I ended up on the subject of dreams and we were soon comparing the colorful products of our subconscious minds. Dream analysis has become something of a fad in recent years, with a proliferation of books and internet sites devoted to interpretation, some of it so programmatic and superficial that one can imagine the Old Testament figure of Joseph spinning in his grave. (My sons recently watched a Veggie Tales version of the Joseph story, retold as a western in "The Ballad of Little Joe." Very entertaining and thought-provoking for little boys who are just now starting to remember their dreams.) But back to my conversation . . . Naturally, we tried to find the veiled meanings in this eclectic dreamscape.

Upon comparison, we quickly learned that both of us had experienced some pretty standard types, dreams that affect most people: dreams about falling or being chased, for example. During times of stress I also have dreams in which I'm back at the Virginia Military Institute, getting ready for a parade or inspection. Invariably, I'm running late and can't find all of the pieces of my uniform. So I'm running about looking for shoes, or belts, or pieces of brass, in a panic that I won't make the upcoming formation. Over the years I've talked to a number of VMI graduates, including alumni from the 50s and 60s, and we all have the same kind of dreams under stress. Whether we graduated five years ago or 40 years ago, we all find ourselves back at the Institute in the same situations. Funny how the experience affected us - down to our subconscious selves - in such a similar fashion. (Oddly, I don't recall having had nightmares in which I've revisited the traumatic experiences of that first year, a subject which would seem fair game for a subconscious reaction to fear and stress.)

Several months ago in this blog I talked about the recurring dream that I've had intermittently - and unpredictably - over at least two decades, in which I'm stuck in a multi-story house. These houses - smaller and simpler in the early years, and incredibly large and complex in the last decade - always have a dark, locked upper level, in which there's something menacing and malevolent. I never actually make it onto this level, but sometimes approach the door, with the feeling of malevolence growing as I get closer. I've been told that the house represents me and my life, which like the dream-house, has grown and become more complex over the years. The dark attic represents the darker aspects of my personality - anger, for example - which I don't want to let out into the open. A friend well versed in Jungian dream analysis almost salivated over this scenario because it so closely reflected the Jungian interest in the "shadow" aspects of our subconscious selves.

More recently, my dreams have returned to the house imagery, but without the darker aspects of my old nightmare. For example, in one recent dream I was trying to go on vacation with my family but we couldn't find all of the things we needed to leave. Much of the dream was spent searching through my "house" - a fantasy residence with a rabbit warren of rooms and no relation to my current housing situation.

Two weeks ago I dreamed that I had found a house for sale on Virginia's Eastern Shore - a ramshackle, white clapboard Victorian home - that was being offered for the unbelievably cheap price of $22,000. The exterior and interior of the house needed considerable work, and I recall the elderly woman who owned the place showed me through rooms that were stuffed full of curio cabinets containing "depression glass" and countless examples of cheap pottery and ceramic items. Ironically, many of the items tucked away in the curio cabinets were pieces that I've collected over the years, but are now in storage! (I'm still not sure what to make of this one!)

Finally, over the weekend I dreamed that while visiting family I attended some amorphously-defined fair or fundraiser and won a contest in which the prize was a house. I can still remember from the dream how my name was announced loudly on a speaker system . . . with my wife and I running to see what we had won. Weird . . . but interesting how houses have become a dominant symbol in many of my recent dreams. I'm not sure what the underlying meaning is in all this, but I welcome any thoughts, whether Freudian, Jungian, or your own personal take. I'd also love to hear about any recurring dreams you've experienced.

My "Far Side" Life

I've always been a fan of the Far Side cartoons. Frankly, I think Larson said as much about the human condition as any of the greatest 20th century philosophers. The last few days have not been the easiest in terms of my mental health . . . so I thought it was appropriate that this cartoon popped up as yesterday's installment in my Far Side day-by-day calendar. It really expresses how I've felt (and probably how my wife has regarded me as well).

"Your son is a fucked up genius . . ."

Ok, maybe the shrink who evaluated me at age 10 didn't use quite those exact words, but that represents the crux of his conclusions. Over thirty years later, I mainly remember the battery of tests and puzzles that I had to endure for them to reach this conclusion. To say I was a moody kid is an understatement . . . but back then, circa 1974, they didn't throw pills at the problem. My parents and I were sent on our merry way with the suggestion that perhaps a change of schools would might prove helpful. And that was the result: I changed schools.

Fast forward to 2007 and I'm still dealing with the problem, albeit armed with a bit more insight and patience than I had in 1974. I've also had some good meds, from zoloft, prozac, depakote, and topamax to strattera, having also been led to believe that I suffer from adult ADD. Hmmmm, where was I??

I bring this up now, because I've had neither pills nor a doctor in a year. (I won't go into the reasons ad nauseum. Let's just say a combination of frustration with the process and a gap in health insurance prompted a cessation of treatment.) Yet I'm starting to feel as if I need to revisit the couch. One of my doctors had said that I exhibit some of the classic bipolar symptoms, although not to an extreme degree. I'll admit that I've had my share of emotional rollercoaster rides. In my manic stages I tend to spend money like crazy and obsess about sex. Before I had kids, manic phases led to the purchase of cars on two occasions: a classic 1972 BMW 2002 and an MG Midget. Sure, they were fun cars that I had long coveted, but they were foolhardy purchases at the time, given my status as impoverished grad student. Having children has provided a natural check to some of these sprees - certainly lessening their severity - but I'm still prone to stupid spending. Conversely, my depressive phases would leave me without energy or passion for anything. I'd have to force myself to get up and go to work. Again, having children heightened this sense of responsibility and forced me into the office regardless of how I might feel.

Finally, about four years ago, I sought treatment after years of fighting it without any weapons. Started on prozac, eventually shifted to zoloft about two years into the process. I think their main benefit was lessening the severity of each phase . . . think of a sine curve getting flattened out a bit so the climbs and dips aren't so extreme. Sometimes they would leave me in a fog, unable to think in a linear fashion, which is frustrating/enraging if one is trying to work, deal with a spouse and children, AND find time for creative endeavours. On antidepressants I had no creativity. What's the old van Gogh-inspired adage about depression inspiring artistic expression? (Off the medicine, I'll get into a manic phase of painting in which I want to paint everything I see AT THE SAME TIME . . . which is similar to my manic attempts to read EVERY BOOK on my "To read" list AT THE SAME TIME. Both efforts yield nothing but frustration and unfinished paintings/books.) As for side effects, the only side effects I ever experienced were of the "certain sexual side effects" variety mentioned on commercials. In my case, the pills made it more difficult to achieve orgasm. It would take forever, about which I can't say either I or my wife ever complained. Who doesn't want the stamina of long distance runner?

Then there's the ADD label. How to explain this . . . Over the years I've been handed the usual nicknames of "geek" and "nerd" by detractors and close friends have added "polymath" and "renaissance man." I blush over either appellation (and now wear "geek" or "nerd" as a badge of honor. Truth be told, I have a natural curiosity in lots of fields. Sure, I have a ph.d. in history, which says as much about my masochistic tendencies as anything else. I'm also into science, gardening, politics, cooking, philosophy, sports, antiques, architecture . . . and the list goes on. I've also found it easy over the years to pick up new skills pretty quickly, particularly when it's computer related.

When I answer a question or tell a story, I can't do it without giving you the background info plus footnotes and a bibliography. And I can be long-winded in conversations as a result. This personality trait enrages my wife, who prefers "yes or no" answers to just about everything. When I apologized to a friend recently for digressing during one of our environmental think-tank sessions, he replied, "Go right ahead; it's part of your charm." That's always nice to hear - certainly after your wife has stormed away for the umpteenth time because you couldn't answer "yes" or "no."

Without sounding arrogant, I do have an incredibly large amount of info - from myriad subjects - at my fingertips. Don't ever play against me in Trivial Pursuit. But what good is it, one might ask, if I can't marshal these resources, if I can't channel this ability to digest info and skills into extra income or notoriety . . . not that one's quality of life is defined by either income or notoriety, our celebrity-obsessed society's fascination with both notwithstanding. So as I said in the first post of this blog, this is one of the reasons I write: to try and make sense of the maelstrom swirling about in the gray matter. And given the added clutter of late, I guess it's time for some spring cleaning with a visit back to the couch. Will meds again be a part of my equation? Probably, if only to take the edge off some of the anxiety and sleepless nights.

Several months ago I executed a painting of a fire escape on an apartment building on Perry Street near my home. Since I finished it, it's become the work I'll pull out if showing someone my paintings for the first time. (I posted it on this blog a couple of months ago.) It really speaks to my artistic emphasis on the interplay of light, geometry, and architectural texture. But it also says something about my personality vis-a-vis the stark contrasts between light and shadow in a bipolar context. I guess one could also say something about the implied choice between climbing up or climbing down. And, if one looks closely enough through the window, there's the faint outline of someone there. It's me, I think, trying to observe the world without being seen.

Recurring Dreams

Most people have recurring dreams, which isn't surprising given the whirlwind activity of the subconscious in processing our experiences and thoughts. Although I'm sure psychologists/psychiatrists explain recurring dreams in myriad ways, I'm guessing from my inexpert vantage point that many of these episodes are a product of stress. For example, when I'm under pressure at work and have deadlines looming I'll often have a dream in which I'm back at VMI. Typically in these dreams I'm late to a parade, inspection, or class and can't locate all of the pieces of my uniform. Ironically, I've talked to other graduates of VMI, including a friend from the Class of '69, and they've reported having the same dream. Obviously the intensity of the VMI experience rewired circuits in our subconscious and - decades later - still exerts an influence over the way we deal with stress.

Last night I had one of my recurring dreams . . . one that I've had for many years, although this was the first episode in quite some time. In this dream, I'm in a multi-story house and at the start I'm on the first floor. I recall that when I was younger, the house was rather small, just a narrow two-story. In recent years the house in the dream has expanded and often resembles a giant, rambling English country house or castle. On some occasions it seems vast, a rabbit warren of rooms, grand halls and numerous staircases. I've even had multiple episodes of this dream in which there's a vast room with cases full of the antiques I've either collected or lusted for over the years. There have been pools. Elevators (including last night). In short, the house has varied considerably over the history of this dream. But one thing never varies - and here's the critical point of this dream. In this dream house, regardless of its size and orientation, there's always a top floor or attic that is dark, forbidding, and always seems to harbor some awful, malevolent presence. I never actually make it to that top floor. I'll stand at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the hazy darkness, which sometimes appears fog-like. It's at that point, encountering the stairway to the darkness, that I wake up.

My last shrink concluded that the house represents my "world" . . . and just as my world has expanded since childhood, the house has expanded from narrow row-house to expansive mansion. And the darkness? The darkness represents my inability or unwillingness to deal with the darker aspects of my existence, whatever those might be. My wife, who is always quick to jump on the Freudian dream bandwagon, concurs with this evaluation. Any thoughts?