How empty the blog-o-sphere is without Trash Diaries brightening up the place. Just can’t quite get over it. I’ll miss reading Zoe’s posts. They made me feel safe in a way. What she shared and how she shared it was so forthright it always struck a chord with me. Made me feel like I wasn’t the only one out in the world losing it. I’m happy to still have several strong bloggers around to read. I just wish I could reach out and help all of us at once.
Spending the weekend with my arm clamped tight to my side. My shoulder is acting like I may have a rotary cuff tear; I can’t move my arm in front of my body without a lot of pain. Don’t know if that’s the case or not, don’t know if I’ll go in to see a doctor about it. Why should I? From what I’ve read they’ll tell me to not use it for a while (duh) and maybe try to shoot me up with cortisone again (getting afraid of that; had a lot of cortisone shots in Ireland. too many). Other than that, it’s looking at physical therapy (can’t afford it) or surgery (really can’t afford it). Plus, I don’t actually know if it’s anything terrible or just a slight tear that’s feeling really bad because my RA is bad right now. Truth is, I can tell you I have pain, too much pain to be comfortable in any sense, but I can’t say what it’s from. For all I know, it’s straight out my fucking imagination.
Got dissed last night by my bro. He dissed my pain. I told him if I went and got a medium length knife and shoved it into his deltoid muscle he’d have an idea of where my pain level was. My bro scoffed – literally scoffed at me. Okay. So my statement was an exaggeration and he called me on the fact that I’ve never been stabbed so how could I claim my pain felt like that? Fine. But the entire conversation felt more like a put down of my pain, not how I chose inappropriately to describe it. This is the dude who spent all day bee-yitching about an ingrown toenail while I sat waiting to go to hospital because I had a broken bone in my foot. Ingrown toenail>broken bone in my brother’s language. He’s a wuss with pain, and he’s admitted it. Still, it rankles. Like, if he’s waiting for me to go down screaming in agony before he’ll take me seriously I’ll die. Die on the floor by a heart attack or what the fuck ever while he’s fucking telling me just to breathe and get through it. I’ve envisioned THAT one more than once. Me gasping for breath and him just telling me to breathe and trying some hocus pocus energy transfer shit while my fucking heart is actually giving out. I suppose I should talk to him about it and make sure he knows when to call a fucking ambulance. Sometime I think it would be better to just let it happen, tho. Just die on the floor. Let go.
Death is only a tragedy for those left behind. I’ve never felt death was bad. Surviving the death of someone is far worse than dying itself. I don’t see many people giving a shit when I die. ha! Only my brother, who I live with. No one else will do more than pause for a moment when/if they hear the news. Their face will go sad, and then they’ll mumble something about how sad it all is and how much they’ll miss me. Miss me my fucking ass! I’ll remain what I now am to them – a memory, a flit of something they once knew. No one fucking talks to me.
Strange how when your life is empty of friends, even cyber comments from strangers begin to mean a lot.
Fucking hell I’m on a morbid run this morning.
Okay, so I guess I’m feeling lonely. Not a huge surprise. I’ve moved around so much it’s amazing I’ve even gotten to know anybody the last few years. Of course, I get to know them and then I move on for one reason or another. Sometimes I know I’ve fucked up. Sometimes I know the other person fucked up. But the fuck ups never quite get resolved. I can never go back to the place before the fuck up happened. That’s me. I can’t stop blaming the other person or myself. Either way, I blame. And blame breaks things.
…That’s so profound for me I’m not sure what to say. Other than I think I should start a new band or musical project under the name ‘Blame’. Fuck.
Alright. I’m gonna experiment on myself again. Gonna try to not blame anything or anyone today. If I catch myself blaming I’ve got to own the blaming and re-state. Those are the rules. I’ll see how much I do it and how hard it will be to correct myself. Maybe it will help. Fuck if I know anymore. Grasping at those goddamn straws again.
As for my loneliness…
Geez, that’s almost harder. It’s hard to establish anything other than a passing acquaintanceship with most adults. Like, adults act like they don’t want friends. They’ll enjoy a chance chat or meeting with you, maybe even have a lot in common, but then they’re reluctant to get back together. Why? Me no understand. Maybe it’s just me who enjoys the time, the talk, the laughter. Maybe I’m reading it wrong the entire way. Do people do that? Would you do that? Sit there and fake enjoyment, even taking extra time initially and then brush people off the next time and the next?
I’m shaking my head. I don’t get it. I wanna give up. Not even try to go out there in the real world and find a friend. It’s too tough. It means putting myself out there time and again to get rejected. The only people who try to be friendly with me are the men who want to fuck me, and as soon as they find out I don’t want to fuck, they split. Men are disappointingly easy to get rid of. It’s too bad, ’cause I always enjoyed male friendships. Women can be much harder for me to understand. If they’ve got a tomboy in them, cool, then we get along in spades and maybe even get a real friendship going. Problem is, not a lot of women seem to still be tomboys. I’ve only met half a dozen as an adult. We are few and far between.
All I want is one good bud, you know? One girlfriend to call and meet up with and talk girly things with if I want to. One girlfriend who I can point out an excellent passing bum to and say ‘nice one’ and she’ll grin and give me a thumbs up. Maybe we’ll take walks together. Maybe we’ll sit and smoke together. Don’t care. Just want one in my life. One that isn’t there because of her own agenda. One that wants to be there and have that as much as I do. That’s it. Just one.