Questioning the Whirlwind
Who is this darkening counsel with words lacking knowledge? Job 38:2
Saturday is the night when I lay out my morning meds for the week and I nearly always find that I have misplaced one of the bottles. I mark that it is my Effexor once more. Frantic digging in my medication box and begging Lynn for assistance help find it inevitably — if it is there to be found. The Universe seems particularly keen on hiding it from me. If I am well, I curse the coincidence and forget about it until the next time; if not, I go even more mad.
Most of the time, I don’t pay much attention to the random patterns of life. But when I am in an episode, a motif like the Effexor that goes missing week after week without any sign of the mechanics that cause its disappearance obsesses me. How come it is always the Effexor? Why do my hands and my brain conspire to hide it from me every time? I ask the question repeatedly until my neurons deflate beyond exhaustion. Someone must know the answer. So I ask the people around me to shed light on my finding, but either they don’t know or don’t want to be bothered with my question. Why is this? Are they cruel? Are they out to get me? Is it part of a greater plot to reduce my brain to a loose mass of gummy worms?
I constantly question the whirlwind. There must be an answer. And that takes over and diminishes the mind.