Face Red, Eyes Dead, Soul Fled

Face red, Eyes dead, Soul fled.  That has become my spontaneous mantra every time I look in the mirror and view the unrecognizable soulless stranger staring back at me.  The psychotropic drugs that I am being force fed are not only causing physical weakness and pain, severe nausea, chronic headaches, fluid on my brain (the red face),and weird brain rushes, but also are alienating me from my soul and spirit.  This causes deep depression in me.  I am severely depressed right now, and I am starting to feel hopeless because I don't think I am ever going to be drug free (and happy and healthy, strong and joyful) ever again.  All I have to keep me going is my faith.  I am reminded of a commentary by a Christian as to why millions of Jews struggled to survive in the concentration camps instead of fighting back in a massive uprising.  The response was that when you face so much evil and hate, you no longer wish to be any part of such a world.  That is the way I feel.  I can no longer fight.  I knew that when my own mother lied to get me admitted into a mental hospital and I was force fed Risperdal which totally destroyed my brain forever. I am not going to struggle like I did a year ago, running up a thousand dollar bill on a credit card, as I vainly tried to escape the poison by going to motel room after motel room.  I just wish to die now, and until I am dead there is nothing I can do but anesthesize myself.  Fortunately, that is what comes naturally now.  I no longer have the drive, desire, ambition, or ability to engage and transform the world through love and joy.  For that, I need to be in touch with my soul, and my soul is utterly fled, hiding and protecting itself from the ravages of the chemical poison that is invading my body.  I knew this yesterday, when I listened to the phone calls I am going to be taking at work.  Everybody on the floor is beat down, demoralized and depressed on the calls they are taking (a combination of a demanding customer ingrates with a very fractured support infrastructure, and badly messed up accounts).  Normally, I would say to myself, "where there is no love, put love, and there will be love.  But as I listened to those calls, I knew I was powerless to draw upon my soul and spirit to sustain and nourish me.  I can only suffer.  When I went to yoga, I tried desperately to get back in touch with my soul, but I just couldn't.  I went through the physical motions, but I could never reach my spirit, not even during corpse pose.  It was horrible.  Whenever I have a bad day, I pray in the spirit, in order to bestow meaning, and draw spiritual strength to persevere.  I couldn't do that yesterday, and now I have to go to work, depressed and beat down with no access to my spiritual resources.  I honestly don't know how long I can continue this.  All I want to do is lay in bed and cry.  But I guess I will do what millions do--just walk through the day half dead.  I am so tired of being half dead. Last night I dreamed I was prostate before  a bishop, but even though the bishop was pleased with himself, every cell in my body knew "this is not me."  The powers that be are symbolized by the bishop (and what an apt symbol of worldly power), and they have me prostrate on the ground.  They may put me under the ground, but I still will die proclaiming who I am--a free daughter of God.  I may not have my life right now, but I still my voice, and I will scream it out THIS IS NOT ME. THIS IS NOT ME.  THIS IS NOT ME.  THIS IS NOT ME.  All I can do is cry and persevere in faith, and long for the day when I am able to be me again (and God help me, it may not be until my death).