Snap out of it


Six bleeding a.m.! Haven’t had to rip myself out of bed for a while because I woke up depressed; guess I was due. Held off for a whole hour before writing or smoking (and yes, that means I saw 5 a.m. today).

People are barbaric. I’ve had “people are basically good” floating around in my head the last few days – and I’ve found it jarring, because it’s a lie. As a child, “people are basically good” was taught to me. It became a mantra against all the evil I saw. And like most mantras, it didn’t do jack shit. The truth is, humanity has barely climbed out of the muck. We are still, as a species, more apt to fight than talk. Violence is our foundation: violence against other species, against the earth, against each other. It’s what our societies were based on, even if modern ‘post-truth’ prophets try to teach differently. So no, I do not expect the best from my fellow humans. I expect everyone to be a mean, self-centered, manipulative SHIT because that’s what most people are.

Weekend review: cleaned (big surprise). My 1.5 x 2.5 meter bedroom (yo – that’s four and a half feet by seven and a half feet) took three and half hours to clean. That’s basically an hour per square meter. Just a few things crammed in that space (tja; right)! Also got the basics done – hoovering, dishes, garbage and recycling. Thanks for my work: none. Was told by my bro to stop bothering him with talk about my own writing – that, after ONE time updating him on my progress. Was asked to re-read my bro’s writing for “flow”. Had my head bit off because my brother “was busy with real things, like trying to keep us from getting kicked out of the country”.

Just a small pile of shit this weekend: feeling unappreciated for what I do, undervalued for my own work, over-controlled on money issues, and basically scared because my bro revealed his own anxiety to me and that ramped up mine.

As a side note, it was my bro’s b-day on Friday so I’ve been trying to not be a huge bitch or call him out on any of it (thereby causing an argument).

Hit a Waterloo in my writing; I’ve got to come up with a summary for this one act play I’ve written. Even tho this script contains ten times the amount of non-speaking action on the stage, I still don’t know what to say about it. Spent over two hours yesterday, staring at my script, an open text page next to it. Have several paragraphs, none of which seem suitable. What’s the play about? Here’s what I want to say:

This play is a plea for understanding.

My disease is invisible: I don’t look ill, and on a good day I can move as easily as anyone else. Because of that, I’m often asked to do too much for my body. People assume I can do normal things when I can’t. People also expose me to a wide a variety of mild illnesses, not understanding a mild illness for them becomes a major illness for me. And when I try to discuss my condition or medical needs, people tend to tune me out or say things to me that seem callous and unsympathetic.

So, I wrote this script. The scenes say it all without me mouthing the words: here’s the pain, here’s the depression and fear, here’s how it feels to hear people’s comments or be overwhelmed by information from a doctor.

My low self-esteem tells me there’s very little chance of anyone ever doing this; it’s not a happy story, and rheumatoid arthritis is not a fashionable disease. But thanks for allowing me to submit it.

Doesn’t say anything about the script itself (lays out MY reasons pretty well, though). The story is pretty bare: we see the main character unwell, hear the diagnosis and health risks at the doctor’s office, sit through the boring long afternoons with the main character as she ‘recoups’, feel the character’s embarrassment over being unable to feed herself or go to the toilet without help, have ONE GOOD DAY with the main character who then gets hurt again, and go back to ‘recouping’ in the bedroom, the main character alone, with a final hopeful statement from the main character that someday she’ll be able to get out into the world again. It’s depressing. It’s almost claustrophobic in its small settings, cast, and scenes – and it’s meant to be. It’s basically my first three years with the disease after diagnosis. And my life during that time was depressing and claustrophobic. It was also full of pain and fear, and when I talk about being afraid of going back to what I was, this is the time period I’m talking about.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised I was up early today; this play and the reality behind it are heavy issues for me. All of it puts me in a bad mood.

Will head to the gym this morning and get the endorphins pumping. Gotta snap out of it.


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