I’ve never been one to like endings. As a child, I never mourned the loss of a fairy tale at the end, but then, all fairy tales end with ‘and they lived happily ever after’, and even as a child I realized that wasn’t the end. Ends go on, until they hurt. Until you become so full of the end that it must happen, it must conclude, or it would break your heart to continue.
Doesn’t make them easier.
Today saw the end of my language class. Silly reason to get all emotional, I know. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve shed more than one tear over leaving the class and my teacher. I get attached so damned easily.
In a month I’ll be in a new class, with a new teacher, at a new facility. That thought feels awful lonely right now. Not one other student in my class will be joining me. My brother has the option, but he’ll probably continue with the others at a slower pace due to his autism.
And I know that gives me the exciting option of meeting new people, making new friends, and finding new connections. But first must come the end, and all the sorrow that saying good-bye brings.
Like England waking up and regretting the Brexit vote, I’m very close to regretting the speed at which I learn.
In the meantime…
Managed to follow thru with all the phone calls I had to make to make an appointment with my rheumatologist. Although I’ve not walked into my GP’s office to talk about a colonoscopy, I have thought it through – thoroughly, and feel confident I’ll take the plunge within a week. That’s what it feels like; a plunge. I can talk myself though it, pep talk myself there to get there, but taking that first step is just letting my foot hang off the precipice. I know I’m gonna be scared and fighting hard not to freak out. That’s okay. It’s a perfectly natural response for someone like me (or so I keep telling myself).
Been cutting back on smoking the last couple of days. The gift of trying to be healthier brings its price; I’ve had headaches to deal with. Trying to ride that line, keeping the headaches at bay while still holding back. I find myself either side of middle most of the time. Either I’m reaching for a smoke that’s not rolled or I’m fighting through a headache and not wanting to smoke. I’m seriously considering chucking smoking altogether, and just making some marijuana brownies. Dosage is always the problem there; you eat what you eat and away you go. Smoking allows me to take a hit here or there, a little bit at a time.
Goddamn. I need to invent a time released THC pill. THAT’S what I need.
Can’t even begin to count the number of times my news alert button on my browser has gone red over the past week. Loads. Seems like every time I check in on the net I see red – literally. That’s depressing. Am I imagining it, or are things getting worse?
It takes a lot lately to not get upset. Too easy to cry, too easy to rage. I know there’s a balance in me. I can see it. I just can’t seem to get there.
So I’ve sloughed off a lot. Haven’t been studying. Haven’t been doing so much cleaning, either. Watched a ton of films, mostly post apocalyptic stuff. You know – one person rising above all odds. It lights a fire in me. Also been listening to harder music; Lacuna Coil and Queensryche have been on the menu.
Guess I’ve been a bit angry. If my body could actually keep up with my fantasies the world would have to watch out. I’d really be kicking some ass right now.
As it is, I rail against the world here and do my best to let it go. It doesn’t help me to hang onto that in the real world. People get…unsettled around me, when I do. My bro claims I throw out a shitload of energy; the type of outpouring you can’t see but everyone within a 100 metre radius can feel, regardless of how carefully I school my expression. And I do. I’m not blind – nor stupid – to what I do. I just haven’t cared in the past.
Now I’m trying to change that.
Perhaps my own beginning in this post should give me a clue. Something in me is ending. It might not be a pretty part or a nice part of me, but if I want to change some aspect of me, of my personality, some part is ending. I hope it will get replaced by something better and stronger. But isn’t it wrong of me to try to stomp all over myself and disregard whatever mourning process I need to go through to change?
I suppose letting go of that fire in me is a little bit scary. It’s kept me safe, loads of times. But fire is fire, and sometimes it burns out of control and destroys stuff you don’t want destroyed. I’ve seen that, too, in my life. Sometime along the way I realized the harm was outdoing the safety. So I need to put down those matches. Keep a hose nearby to douse any burning embers.
And I don’t have to kill the fire, just get it back in its place. Prevent it from taking over.
Keep the pyromaniac at bay.