Day 1.8.
Up after a nap, after swimming my legs off, after an early rise at 4:35 a.m. (damn, that’s a shitty sentence, isn’t it?). Wondering where my brain has gone. This is the first time in a long time the emptiness of the page seems intimidating. Maybe I’m not awake yet. Fucking nightmare, not being able to communicate. To say what I mean to say. Think I have autism in my soul. Or medulla oblongata. Whatever.
Just had a 40 minute conversation with my brother. A conversation, mind, not a lecture. He let me respond and interact. He listened to me. This is his second day on his new meds. How can I even begin to describe what’s happening here, tribe? You’ll have to all suspend your disbelief for a bit. ‘Cause the docs are all over this shit. Seriously. Just got the low down. My bro is monitoring his condition via a journal. His docs are ready to pull him in and take him OFF the shit the moment he gets negative reaction number one. Wow. For everything I’ve read out here about bad reactions to meds I never expected this. Suddenly, he’s got a team of people helping, communicating, getting him through. You’ve no idea how pleased I am to hear all of it. No idea how pleased I am to have a conversation again!
He did slip in a mention that I really need to get my ass to the fucking counseling center for my what-ever-the-fuck-it-is. *groan*
Do I gotta?
Silly question. I have no desire to open this can of worms, but if I don’t the mother fuckers are gonna ooze out the sides and cause havoc in my life, regardless. Realize I’ve been metaphorically taking the bull by the horns out here, addressing my shit in the darkness of mornings and the glow of friends I’ve gotten to know. Now I’ve got to step up and do it for REAL. Really real. In the daylight so everybody can see the scars real. It’s become a thing like losing weight: talk about all you want to, but are you gonna DO it or not?
I can hardly believe my ‘week off’ from school is almost over. WTF? Tomorrow I’ve GOT to get my hair done, either the dark color I’ve been wearing or GREY for fuck’s sake. Too much growth. Download some audio files from one of my instructors. Try that audio platform again. Fucking try that on-line registration for the counseling center again, too. And somehow find a few hours to finish tinkering with my story. When did time start to move so fast? I remember when a week would stretch out for FOREVER. Now, blink your eye and it’s fucking gone. Bleh. Youth IS wasted on the young (I get that now).
Cram more words in. Try to remember how to write coherent sentences. Sleep, when you can. Move your goddamn fat ass. Stop eating so much. Why are you smoking? God, your hair looks like shit. That skin is really dry; is it psoriasis? Are you gonna make music again or is that it? Did you see the dust bunnies under your bed? And when ARE you gonna see a dentist?
Fucking hole of a mind. Shut up.
It’s Thursday, goddamn it. THURSDAY. For all I fucking know I’ve got the winning goddamn lotto ticket sitting by me unclaimed. And won’t you feel like an ass when yes, I win the jackpot and soooooooooooo many of these troubles you keep harassing me about go the fuck away. ‘Cause whatever bullshit certain people want to throw around, money solves a LOT of fucking problems. Yes, my dad was right when he said ‘If all it takes is money, it’s not a problem’ but when you ain’t got the money to see the doctors or get the inserts for your shoes or get your goddamn mother fucking hair done, it BECOMES a fucking problem. And yes, I’d still have to live with my fears and find my courage and all the rest. But here’s what money could do for me now:
- I could hire a personal translator, someone who could come in and get through all the goddamn Dutch I need to sift through before I see the counseling center. There’s a lot of jobs for this person to do; modifying my insurance policy, helping me with my own learning, etc. Full time, 9 to 5. For as long as I need, maybe a month or two. That would be nice.
- I could go to my beloved swimming pool anytime I want to. And I could join a gym and get a personal trainer. Take THAT, fat.
- I could finally buy an atomizer. Zero carbon in my lungs; all THC.
- My hair would be glorious. Full on stunning. Same for my clothes; all new wardrobe. I’d find new outfits to slob around in rather than my cheap sweat pants and t-shirts.
- The most expensive lotions and oils would be rubbed into my skin by hot young men at spas. 😉
- I could buy new equipment. Find a real studio space, get that out of the house. Oh yeah, I’d make music again.
- Hire a cleaner for the house. Abso-friggin-lutely.
- Tja, doctors, dentists, counselors, oh my! Wouldn’t give a shit if it’s not covered by insurance. And I’d see a goddamn physical therapist, too, stupid brain, since my stupid knee keeps fucking hurting today.
Got anything else to bitch about up there? …. No. I didn’t think you would.
I DO enjoy winning arguments in my head.
lettersnevermeanttobedelivered 
Dear god we had the same fucking day. The same day from hell of abusing ourselves. I’m lost all of the arguments I had with myself last night. All of the raging and crying and berating and belittling. I took it all to heart and cried myself to sleep and woke up feeling even shittier than I did before. I have to start winning these arguments with myself. I’m so glad you won yours today. All we can do is keep fighting. Keep arguing. And yes. HOORAY for you for seeking counseling. I’ve got this number I keep meaning to dial. And I keep arguing myself out of it. I think it’s time, though. It’s time. Before the darkness is completely impenetrable. Major props to you. Do it. Follow through. And keep winning those arguments!
And I’m super happy and excited for your brother. I don’t know the full history – one of these days I need to read your backlogs. 🙂 But it does sound like a major breakthrough. I hope it keeps moving in that same direction!!
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Ah, Steph, so far today is just an extension of yesterday. This anxiety over calling for an appointment is pretty fucking high. Been trying to distract myself, but that doesn’t work. Been creating mountains out of molehills. That tires me out, but it doesn’t get me anywhere.
Can’t stop thinking ‘take the bull by the horns’. Don’t know why. I guess it’s the image it conjures for me. I do feel like I’m getting out of my comfort zone, and that’s always a raging bull situation for me. Never sure how to handle it. I just want to sit the bull down over a cup of coffee and ask what’s going on. But the bull doesn’t sit down or drink coffee or talk. It’s just there, with its horns and hooves and big body, pushing at me.
Feel like it’s time to surrender. Stop pushing against the bull, just step aside. I hope I can move fast enough.
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Brilliant. That’s a brilliant metaphor; thank you. I hope today/tonight is better. I know it’s easy to say that, and it seems it so rarely is truly better. But we need to get better at acknowledging even the incremental victories. Which you’ve been doing – not taking that away from you! 🙂
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🙂 Thanks for reminding me. Doesn’t always feel that way…
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How’s life without legs? And I have your brain right here, it’s beeping on a shelf between an African wild dog made of trap wire and a sketch of a fever tree. If you’ve got mine, wanna trade? Idk about cans of worms and can openers… One of the best things shrink one ever did for me, was to pretty much order me to stop looking in the rear view mirror, somehow that was pivotal and kicked my ass into remission from c-ptsd. But you’ll know best, whether you need to stare some demons in the face and then fuck them up with a barbed wire covered baseball bat. It’s a choice, beeps, and it’s your choice.
I’m going to send you every hot man I meet, I have no need for such things myself.
As always, strongs!
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Dude, life without legs sucks the big one. Don’t care if I have to become cyborg-Beeps; I ain’t going in a damned chair! THAT fucking threat has been hanging over my head since I was 17. Undiagnosed RA caused all sorts of problems in my feet. In typical mother manner, I was sent to see a podiatrist (foot specialist) who told me the bones of my feet were mashing together and putting stress on all the tendons and ligaments. Told me he could perform surgery to take out the damage, but if it continued I’d be in a wheelchair by the time I was 21. Mother fucker. I hate him for saying it, but I guess in a weird way I should thank him, too. I dug my heels in and just never stopped. I am NOT going in a chair or using a walker. No. Fucking. Way.
Whew. Watch out for that vomit spew. My bad.
I promised. I promised myself I’d try. The most important promises we ever make are to ourselves, and I can’t let myself down. I won’t let myself down. I’m dragging my feet and dithering, that’s all. Screwing up the courage. *sigh* Sucky time.
Send the hot men, by all means! As long as I’m working on my body issues I might as well be surrounded by eye candy.;) xo ❤
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I think the hot men would be happy to assist you with your body issues.
That’s hectic, about your feet, but look at you now, all of 22yrs old and still no damned chair. Amusingly enough (wait, does amusing mean with no thinking) before I read your previous comment, I was chatting to an old friend who said something along the lines of, not to worry – by then you can be a cyborg and you’ll be an awesome cyborg. She’s Swedish, so I proceeded to amuse myself by making her eyes roll – I said if she’d get ikea to sponsor the mech, I’d call myself Bjorn Sighborg. Ah the joys of tedious stereotypes.
That bull-headed stubborn streak you got going there is a damn fine one mate, it’s carried you a long way already.
Oh yeah, before I forget – what’s your voice mail message?
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LOL! Thanks for the compliment AND Bjorn Sighborg. What a great fucking name for a bipolar cyborg. Lovin’ it!
My voice mail message is simple. It announces that yes, you’ve got me and no, I don’t speak Dutch well so please speak slowly. Beep. Should it announce something else? 😉
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No no, I was just checking that it contained the word beep as well as the sound. You can be Stallone Slyborg if you like. Or Cloudy Skyborg. Etc.
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LOL! I only be Beeps out here. That would just confuse the masses even more. I face conundrum after conundrum now when I’m asked to give my name. Which one? I go by seven..eight more besides Beeps. Yeesh! I NEED to be a cyborg just to remember all the names I’ve given myself. 😉
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