The Goddess is taking me seriously, even if my doctors aren’t. In the (almost) two years I’ve lived here, I’ve never – NEVER – walked to a metro station in a casual manner and been 20 seconds early for the next train. Yesterday it happened twice. No time to stand on the platform, no time to contemplate the tracks below. Got there, checked the sign for the next train, gee! it’s the one I want, off I went.
Saw my feet immortalized in plastic; they weren’t as ugly as I thought they might be. Played Cinderella (even the guy at the shop said that; the first set of shoes is basically my specialty insoles in a clear, hard plastic shoe). Notes were made. A little loosening there and tightening here. Two weeks I go back for a leather version. Those shoes I’ll take with me, to walk around in for a week. I could feel the difference at once. My right foot is worse than the left, so that’s the one that felt it the most. Took a minute for everything to kind of re-settle, and then my feet felt pretty comfortable. After I took them off my regular shoes felt weird. I said that, and the guy from the shop laughed and said that was a good sign that the insoles were doing their job.
I ate too much for dinner, or at least more than what my stomach wanted. Didn’t make myself sick, but I still feel full this morning.
My brother got some smoke and apologized to me for doing so. I told him I don’t mind. If I can’t smoke it, I at least like to SMELL it. Marijuana smells good to me. Sweet, like incense. Just not as cloying as incense. I suppose I’m getting trace amounts of THC breathing in the smoke in the house. I could give a rat’s ass. My bro reminded me that yes, quitting for 30 days is noble and all that, but the real goal is to stop smoking every minute of every day and I’ve done that. If somehow I’m “cheating” by breathing in the scent of it around the house, well…then I’m cheating.
Got a headache this morning. I did cry a lot yesterday, and crying always gives me a headache. Watched ‘Despicable Me’ in an attempt to lighten my mood. Laughed once or twice at the minions, then felt extra flat afterwards. Not sure it was the right choice. Not sure that anything is the right choice at the moment. It’s just a choice, with consequences I have to live through.
Gonna try to make the call to Heike and Addiction Central today. Or so I’m telling myself. It’s a monumental task. Too big to see it all right now. All I can concentrate on is getting past the receptionist. I’ve tried talking aloud, practicing what I’ll say. I get off track, ramble, lose my thread of thought. And I’m just talking to myself. Talking to someone else will make it worse. I may have to write down what I want to say, just to make sure I get it out of my mouth.
I want that call off my back.
I want this 30 day bullshit off my back, too. Keep telling myself the day is almost over, I can get thru it. Soon the week will be over. Just keep distracting myself. Let the time pass. Get thru it however I can. I’m tired of it already. Wish I could enter a coma at will and just stay there til this is over. I’m fed up with being fed up. Irritated with my irritation. Angry at being so damned angry. Miserable because I’m so fucking miserable. Got to save up any calm I’ve got for the times I’m forced into public. Or I wish I could. Get a damned piggy bank of calm going for these rainy days.
Another blank day in front of me. Fill it up with nonsense.
At least my smoker’s cough has disappeared.
Managed to come to one decision about what I want to buy for myself this month. I want a set of dumbbells so I can start to exercise my arms more. Swimming has built up my biceps, but not the backs of my arms (which now REALLY hang like mini bat wings). No hope of losing that entirely, but I do think I can tighten it up a bit. Or maybe I’m just looking for another way to beat myself up, give myself something else to berate myself over. Whatever. I’m doing it. It’ll serve to pass 15 minutes of each dreaded day. That’s a good enough reason to do it.
The forecast is for clear weather. I’ll walk. Don’t want to. Don’t care about it. In danger of hurting my feet or ankles or knees because at least THAT pain would be physical. But I’ll go, and I’ll do my best to take care of myself while I do it. Maybe I can manage to look UP from the pavement today. We’ll see.
Trying to not feel too bummed out over the fact that the only direct message I’ve received lately has been from a known narcissist from my past. The few real friends I feel I have all suffer from some form of depression themselves. My recent notes to them may have come at a time when they’re depressive, too. And unlike me, they have lives. Jobs. Lovers. Things to do outside of writing to me. It’s not that they don’t care.
It still feels lonely.
Maybe it’s better, though. There’s probably nothing anyone could say that wouldn’t make me want to clam up even more.
I feel I may never talk about my problems again.
Another lonely thought.
Lone wolves are aberrations in nature. Wolves are pack animals. The wolf that goes it alone has something wrong with it. It’s rabid or sick.
That’s what I feel like: a lone wolf. I don’t fit. Anywhere. I’m just howling at the moon, in the cold.