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Not Writing
I’m struggling. Â Meds are all messed up and my doctor had to change an entire schedule of treatment because things aren’t going the way they’re supposed to go. Â Which is depressing in and of itself, but the meds not working also CAUSES depression and instability, so… extra awesome.
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Ease
Today is better. Â Sir stepped things up today and it helped. The dishes are done and put away. Â The laundry is done and put away. Â The kitchen is clean. Â The house is swept. Â The fridge has food in it for the week. Â I finished all of my school work that I needed done for tomorrow. Â I’m writing my blog post and it’s not even 8. I still don’t feel totally connected to my submission. Â And, even better, I think Sub Brother is struggling with his right now, too. Â He didn’t say it, but I heard him sigh when Sir told him to do something today, and… he NEVER does that!…
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My Anxiety
I’m tired. Â I’m tired of being sick. Â I’m tired of drugs and tests and needles and worrying. I’m tired of… people… believing my front. I’m tired of people trying to talk to me, plan with me, make arrangements, involve me in things… as if they think I have the capacity to even discuss anything right now. Â But they do think that. Â Because they don’t see me curled in a ball. Â They see me handling my shit… so why shouldn’t I handle more shit?
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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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Rain – Moments with Sir
This story references this post: Shroedinger’s Rain. I could hear him approach me, and I flinched. “I don’t want to be touched! Please…” Sir stopped, one hand already outstretched to comfort. That hand hung for a moment in the air between us, then curled into a fist and I heard him sigh. “Okay.” A spasm of agony wrenched my chest and I turned away from him, gripping the edges of the counter and focusing my gaze on the branches outside the kitchen window. I could hear the confusion in his voice, the threads of hurt and concern. I heard his footsteps retreat but then they stopped and I heard soft…
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The Edge
My fingers move over the keys, not typing, just moving because… I have to move. My legs are twitching, my eyes are too wide, I can feel it but I can’t stop. The depression has been ice in my veins, lead shot in my limbs, defeat, sloth. But now it has been enervated like Frankenstein’s monster, a lightning storm in my brain that gave it a hideous semblance of life. Now it is restless movement, snapping temper, too much light, too much sound… too much… too much… touch… get my fucking clothes off of me NOW!
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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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Why I’m Stuck
Note: Â This became a question/answer, except I didn’t write the questions (Sir was sitting here asking me questions and making me type the answers…) Â Sorry for the weird format. This is an on-demand writing… Â I’ve been sitting in front of the computer for almost an hour… looking at shoes… Â Sir finally came in to see what I was doing. Â Now he’s supervising me (so I can’t sit and look at shoes… I’m not even a shoe person! Â I literally own three pairs of shoes and wear one of them… Â but you know… Zappos!) So he told me to pick a prompt from a creative writing website and go with it.…
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Loneliness
I feel like… since I’ve been doing this “write every day, what a brilliant idea!” thing… I’ve felt, overall, a lot more… emotional upheaval, directly related to posting here. I have emotional upheaval all the time for other reasons, obviously, but there’s a particular flavor that is… this… daily writing. And it isn’t the DOING the writing (it was at first). It’s something else. And I’ve circled around it and poked at it, trying to figure out what it is, and I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I may have my fingers on an edge of it. I think… it feels as if… writing here makes me feel… lonely.
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Ignorance and Justification
Someone said something stupid on Facebook, today. I know… Earth shattering news, right? The thing is, it was someone I really thought was better than that. And she is… in some ways… and not… in this way. She chose to go into a topic that 1.) she really knew nothing about, 2.) she had a strong emotional response to, and between those two things, she did what… most everybody does about a topic they don’t know a lot about and have a strong emotional response to. She said ignorant things. Now her ignorance wasn’t just ignorant… it became judgmental. Again, because she had misconceptions. Again, because she had strong feelings. …
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