I have so much to say to you so much that, um, I just i keep thinking that
I keep wanting to
I just I just want to share with you. I just wanna tell you I just want you to see me now. I want i really
and I don’t think you would blame me for where I am. I don’t think anymore that you would blame me for where I am. Because I
depended on you so much
i depended on you so much and it just took everything away.
and everything you did stopped with you.
There’s no one here. To see me doing fuck all.
There’s, there’s no one.
No one to report to.
There’s no one here.
There’s Mojo. He was real happy that I went to bed at 9:30 and fed him first and got into bed and he came right in with me. And we snuggled all night, got up around six or something for his medicine. And then went back to bed. Had like 10 hours of sleep sort of
what the fuck am I supposed to do now? what do I do now?
I mean, if I thought there was no way before and then there was but now it’s like everything is used up. I, i If I spend the money I have on the car, I will have nothing else. nothing. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 53 years old. I spent the entire weekend with people and missing people who clearly love me and who I love so much. I spent the weekend
I spent the weekend doing familiar birthday things, Going to the Lyndhurst craft fair as I have done for decades (maybe half the artists this time, different layout, timed ticketing, all due to covid restrictions) stressing out from all of the unknowns (known and unknown, thank you D. Rumsfeld) wanting so much for normalcy (but what is “normal”, anyway? I certainly don’t have a fucking clue) feeling so much that I have to explain even though I know I don’t It seems like all I have been doing for the past three and a half years is explaining and explaining and explaining because honestly I don’t understand any of it. Just when I think I do I get caught off guard and none of it makes sense again.
I suppose I’m not explaining to others so much as to myself.
I miss all of the things that we talked about, all of those things that we never did. All of the ways we responded to each other, all of the good, all of the terrible. The contrast, I think, the contrast is what’s killing me now. i do not know if I can take being loved this way.
I can say things out loud and I can say things out loud and not worry about feeling stupid for saying them. Being made to feel stupid for saying them. I can say things out loud and not worry about I can say things out loud and not worry about being instantly and immediately criticized. I can say things out loud and not worry about who might be on my side.
I know I know for sure I know now that you loved me but I didn’t then. I never knew for sure. I never knew from one minute to the next. You would rescind and retract your love like the outgoing tide. Snatch it away from me, away from my
craven, grasping, grubby little paws
I want to forgive you for saying these things to me. I want to forgive you for this so much.
How can I miss you so much and still be so angry at the things you did to me? That we did to each other.
I told your sister once that I never really had an accurate sense of your feeling for me, not that I felt I could believe anyway. That I always thought you thought I was stupid and not enough and too much all at once. That now I can look at the last things you wrote, and know. I can look at all the small lovelinesses you left behind. I can look at those things and know that they are real, they are proof. Not soon enough to be able to enjoy with you, no.
The very desperate need to hold onto them
((craven, grasping, grubby little paws)screaming to the sky to talk to you for you to hear me
I am trying so hard to do everything I can to be well. I am still so I am still so unwell but I don’t feel crushed by having to hold up every other damn thing anymore if only because I have given up on everything it seems)
I can look at the small lovelinesses that you left and see them for the huge gestures that they were. Everything is relative.
I can see the unexplored and forever unknown possibility of us becoming better to each other, to ourselves. Knowing how difficult it was even in the very best of us knowing I would not be this person if you were still alive proving my progress to the memory of a dead man wanting so much to escape your critical eye, your devastating words and yet wanting to show you that I am okay I am not okay.
Yesterday was my birthday. I felt loved, and cherished, and adored, and so sad for what we never had. If you could see how people treat me now. If you could see how people love me now and aren’t afraid to say, to show. I know you would, too.
Up at four-something; the sound of an upchucking cat isn’t a noise to be ignored. Pushing him (gently) off the bed so I won’t have to wash the entire coverlet again. Tangled in the comedic/horror movie mess of giant bed + weighted blanket + CPAP mask and racing against the threat of a heaving animal simultaneously a thousand miles away and on top of me, I know that my day is going to be a fight.
The waves of depression and subsequent rapid cycling and eventual mixed states yesterday only subsided because I smoked myself into oblivion. I ate a shit ton of sugar and passed out. Took an edible to stay asleep.
I go to the bathroom, look at my phone, my email. I’ve been avoiding the actual mail and swiping left on my email like it’s a dating app. The email saying my rent is posting today.
I’ve been looking at my balance, not buying things. Nothing. How do you get money?
You sell things.
You have things to sell. Good things. You even have photos.
why, then. why frozen. Fogged. Stuck. Frozen.
I can do for Mojo, I can take pretty good care of him. If no one else.
It’s 6:14 in the morning and I realize I can’t go to work. I can’t control this today. I barely could yesterday. (there is no longer any thinking about what would happen if I had to, about how terrible it would get)
there is no longer any fear of safety.
that is a difficult sentence to write. to digest. I cannot breathe. i cannot breathe. . breathe. breathe. . What it means what it means is that I can do what I need to do to care for myself without worrying about getting written up, or in trouble, or fired, or discarded. Left. Ghosted. It means that I have compassionate people who care about my safety for my sake first.
My safety for me, not as an asset. A tool. A toy.
It is 6:27 in the morning and this is what that is, this rage, this dysphoria. This sadness, this depression.
This makes it so clear to me, finally. The sheer disparity. Reminders of how it felt. The unpleasantness, the imbalance. I don’t want that. Not ever. Not even knowing.
So, now what. Delete the playlist (again. It has one song on it.) Done. Back away. Understand this isn’t ever going to change. Really, though. Understand you don’t have to burn it to the ground, either. Really. You can continue to walk away.
you know there isn’t always a trigger but a lot of times, there is.
it is seven in the morning and I am inside as the rain begins to fall. it isn’t, though, raining outside but sure as a rainfall cools the planet feeds the plants smoke slakes my thirst, soothes my fear.
the sky is lightening, the grey becoming less so enough to douse the harsh overhead light and open the curtain.
I am worrying about how I will manage things but right now the fear isn’t strangling me. it’s sort of set apart, a bit. It isn’t going to stay there, not today. Today is going to be
better at home. Quiet, as I need.
it is seven forty-nine in the morning and and there isn’t much getting done today.
That isn’t true, no. no it isn’t.
progress, however glacial a pace, is progress still.
think i had a psychotic episode today. i don’t know for sure. it was while i was driving.
what i do know is that the fear and terror that i felt was as bad as it has ever been terror and fear so huge that it overtakes everything but there was no pain no physical pain to be afraid of just the fear that always accompanies it no looming precipice in front of me nothing different about the day. nothing.
what i do know is that approaching ten thirty this morning while i was driving while i was driving i was filled with overwhelming dread i mean serious fucking dread like a tornado sky out of the clear blue. arguing with myself over what to do really, i mean come ON wtf look at the complete lack of signal how much further now? not much i pulled over as soon as it was safe enough hazards on, music on into the deep we go i had to tell someone what to do, it became clear. i pulled over, made a short video. said what i needed to say that i am okay (i do not believe that for a second FUCK no but i don’t understand what’s happening, either) my phone pin. my master password. again that i am okay but i need to tell, i need to say. in case. so no one is sitting there with my dead hand in theirs trying to get into my phone the way i did. the way i had to. i have no plans. no ideation. only the nearly ever-present need to fight to stay connected to the earth.
i did my job today. i did my job well, today. it was non stop and busy and there were too many people and now i am . and now i am sitting barefoot on my couch too overwhelmed by everything to want any noise near me the noise inside my head, also nonstop the pain in my hip from not resting but for ten minutes, nonstop shoulders, tense, up around my ears hot tears fall, splashing my lenses i can barely breathe.
i do not want to be alive right now i want to be not here right now i do not want anything other than to not fucking exist right now but i can’t write that and post it now because everyone will freak the fuck out so i cant post it i cant reach out i cant scream i cant tell anyone i just have to not do anything not do anything not do anything just sit with this and struggle and scream inside my own head and not do anything nothing nothing nothing
nothing. it is all i can do to sit and type and the stench of that motherfuckers cigarillo is in my fucking apartment and all i want to do is punch him in his fucking dumb face
nothing. nothing i cannot do a thing i will scream and scream and scream and not stop and i cannot stop i have to do nothing.
i know if i open my mouth i will scream and scream and not stop so i dont
nothing. my shoulders are tense and around my ears and tight this empty this noise this noise this noise this noise . there is no enjoy there is not any enjoy.
i need to smoke. i need to smoke but it does not last my plant is so thirsty she needs so much attention i cannot give her the attention the care she needs she is suffering.
i take great big gulps of air but it is not enough there is not enough air..
i am going to go smoke and maybe it will be enough if i just smoke enough
nothing is enough my brain is on fire and falling into a crevasse there is no end to the fire no bottom in sight
it is a relatively quiet evening even with the idiotic clapping of some fucking asshole for some fucking reason even with the assault of garbage music that competes with blasting television noise no yeti-footed neighbor upstairs (took his black-and-tans and split) stop with the fucking clapping for fuck’s sake already
i don’t want music i don’t want noise i want silence nothing interfering
my eyes are dry, for now core unclenched, shoulders still tight, but lower i can think about packing a bowl now try without becoming frustrated, fucking it up easy to do in general, yes but nothing is easy and if that asshole doesn’t stop clapping soon
(i was afraid ((briefly)) that i would forget this, what i wanted to write needed needed to write but i was driving and i know how to remember things ((mostly you just keep repeating them looking into the middle distance (((idk if that’s a real thing but go with it))) and then it becomes a rhythm and then you can just remember)) )
i am not afraid anymore. i have faced the worst the absolute worst. i have heard the worst. i have dated the worst fucked the worst married the worst. i have been burned i have been raped i have been thieved. i have lived the worst i have died.
still, i rise.
i have done all these things and i have fucking FIRE in my heart and my brain and my lungs and i am not afraid of you. i am not afraid of you or anyone else.
This girl. You see this girl, smiling, happy. This sweet kitty, snuggling this smiling girl.
What you don’t see. The remade bed, the just-changed sheets that have needed changing for too long. The remade bed that until five minutes prior, I was in, under the covers, chest heaving, desperate to recall the feeling of the embrace of a good man, a sweet man. The soft, welcome heaviness of the weighted blanket on my shoulder, my hip. so close to feeling the way his arm did, draped across my shoulder, holding my hand, fingers intertwined. his warmth behind me, curving into my back.
what you don’t see. tears staining my face the roughness of Mojo’s tongue on my cheeks, the delicate inquisitiveness of his nose at the corners of my eyes. knowing that the memory of the feeling would have to last until next time.
I am happy that I can remember, even though the stopgap measures, the heavy blanket, even though trying to not be lonely only makes me lonelier.
This different kind of imposter syndrome, what would you call it? nothing reliable, nothing real no sure footing feeling fake all the time, having to adjust my face, my mask
The thing that most gets me through is knowing (this tiny, blurry, hazy beacon in the fog) knowing that it will indeed end, that it will shift because it always does. not always for the better and many times for the much, much worse But change, indeed, will happen. Change always (eventually) for the good for the evolution for the revolution. let go or be dragged.
I am long enough into this diagnosis, my clinical history starred and asterisked and underlined drugs and cocktails of drugs given and discarded I am long enough into this life to know that I am a compliant patient. I am long enough into this life to know my own body, and what feels right for it. I have never misunderstood the importance of taking all the medicine. Following the directions. Being a good girl. but what happens when you do everything right, when you do everything you are supposed to do and still nothing works? When you “soldier on” as opposed to what? You wait patiently for spring, then summer to end. You lean on your friends, your lovers as much as you think they can stand always risking oversharing, overeverything reaching the point where it is your literal life on the line and you are Depending on
I can barely breathe for the tension I feel not wanting to overstay my welcome not wanting to overwhelm others as I am completely overwhelmed the noise in my head is unending
the thing that keeps me here the knowing that it will shift that it will change that it won’t always be like this. Until it is again.