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Separation – Moments with Sir
Sir settles onto the couch beside me. He doesn’t look at me right away, but he puts his hand on my leg, a warm pressure. He doesn’t look at the TV, either. His mind seems focused on other things. I can’t name a specific reason I think this, but I am sure of it as he settles beside me, and lays his hand on my leg. The Walking Dead is on the TV. Screams, gunshots, and rasping groans fight to win my attention, but they were already weak contenders, and Sir’s presence easily overpowers them. I wait a breath, feeling my belly tighten. My doctor just talked to me yesterday…
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Life and Pain
I’ve been struggling super hard. I feel like a failure all the time at everything. Sir has me on a new plan, as he and SB are at work, and I’m off for the summer. We’re using an app called Ike, rather than a traditional to-do list. It has, basically, urgent items, important items, “fit it in if you can” items and “back burner” items. Each evening he goes over it with me and we set my goals for the next day. Every day, “write” is on the “important” list. I’ve just about gotten ready to give up and put it on the back burner list. Or just delete it…
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Memories
This month is the five year anniversary of T’s death. Â He attempted this week, five years ago. Â He died five years ago at the end of the month. Â Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been five years already. Â Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been only five years. I spent most of this weekend deeply depressed. I’ve been crying a lot. Sir has been crying.
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Weary
Sir is going to meet with K on Friday night. Â He’s going to get beaten. Â It’s a thing they do, and… I’ve made peace with it in the past, but this time it’s upsetting me. Â Sir and I have talked this through and he wants me to write about it now. I talked to Sub Brother last night about it, too. Â And with my therapist today. Â And with Sir tonight. Â Here’s what I’m clear about… Â I don’t want Sir to not go through with it. Â I do want to solve my own problem with this so I can be okay with it.
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Bad News
I got some bad news yesterday. Â And some bad possibility that won’t be answered for a few more days. Â And… I just… I just can’t. I didn’t post last night. I should do a back post tonight to make up for it. But I can’t.
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Manic – Part 2 – Moments with Sir
For someone’s birthday… since she wants to know… and because I keep fading to black… Sigh. Happy birthday! This is the second half of Manic. *** The fog of dreams gives way to a replay of last night across the back of my eyelids. I groan and throw my arm across my eyes. It does nothing to stop the flood of memory and I pull my pillow over my face. Sir tugs it away and I cover my face with my hands. “What?” I can feel him shift in the bed beside me but I don’t move my hands. “Me!” He shifts again and I feel his fingers close around…
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Bruised
I survived the night, as did our relationship. Â I probably should be old enough to know that it will, and not indulge myself in emotion and drama. Â But somehow, sometimes, things just… sometimes perspective fails and it’s just… universally terrible. I’m tired. Â Still. Â I feel beaten. Â Like I was in an emotional car wreck, and everything is bruised and sore inside of me. I had a good day with family. Â I came home and we had an okay evening…with my… with this family… Â My chosen family. Â I think we are all feeling bruised, though. Â All of us are kind of quiet and… introspective, I guess. Â It isn’t like we’re tiptoeing…
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Herx
I’m having a herx. Doesn’t that sound intriguing? A herx is basically a backlash reaction from toxin-binding treatment. I have to take a drug to bind toxins from the genetic disease that I have. The toxins have been storing in my fat cells for decades and binding to my insulin receptors (thus I can’t actually eat carbohydrates anymore and have to be full keto). When they bind to the insulin receptors, they basically hijack the fat cell and turn it into their own little factory producing a chemical that creates inflammation. That chemical then spills off into the blood, the liver works desperately to filter it out of the blood,…
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Fear
I had a few better days. Today was… shaky, and tonight it’s falling apart. I had therapy today and it was a particularly tough therapy day. We talked about writing, and talked about what Sir and I talked about the other night and… what I wrote, and my feelings, and what’s happening with my depression and my writing and my bipolar… I’m supposed to try to develop softness towards my fear. We identified that I’m afraid of writing, maybe afraid of seeing myself… because writing is… who I am inside, and I’m afraid of seeing that, and the fear is creating the wall, and if I soften to the fear…
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Shitty First Drafts #2
Her ears are filled with the soft hum of the old computer tower, the susurration of traffic in the distance, and the rustle of the curtains as cold air whispers from the vent. Â And then with his voice, soft, gentle, but with an iron core of command. “Why? Â Tell me why.” “Because…” “Write it.”