Still pretty fucking sick and tired of this bad sleep.
Every day, I have to go through this bullshit. Feeling all wiped out, lightheaded, and confused. It’s like every day, at least once, I wake up with a thick dense choking fog filling my mind, and I have to wait for it to slowly dissipate before I can be me.
And I know the solution. CPAP. The machine is about two feet from my right elbow, and I am sure it still works even though I haven’t even turned it on in like five years. I could lay down right now and put the mask over my face and turn it on, and then compressed air would keep my airways open so I can breathe properly.
Wouldn’t even have to go to sleep, necessarily. Just lay there and read or just mellow out and listen to music. Let the machine help me clear the bad air out of my lungs so I can breathe properly and feel better.
And who knows, I might do that when I am done blogging.
But probably not. I would have to overcome a whole lot of inner resistance to do it, and that is not an easy think to do.
It’s like once I develop an aversion to something, it’s all over, because from that point on the rust settles in and doing that thing becomes harder and harder because the resistance gets stronger and stronger until before long, it’s effectively impossible.
And I wish I could get in there with a can of WD40 and loosen things the fuck up.
Maybe that’s why so many depressives self-medicate with alcohol. I can see it acting as that exact kind of lubricant.
I could see myself getting addiction to anything that makes me more productive.
Then again, maybe I would be better off chilling out and trying to enjoy my life as it is. This eternal struggle within isn’t doing me any good. And my life isn’t all that bad. I have tasty food to eat, a roof over my head, some very good friends whose company I treasure, and of course, video games to play as much as I like.
But is “relax and enjoy” even an option for me? I have a deep down restlessness from all my frustrated ambitions and broken dreams that seems to make chilling out about it all nearly impossible.
You can’t relax and enjoy life when everything is always in flux. I would have to somehow tame the chaos within before I could truly relax.
And that’s a pretty tall order. Exercise might help if I could get myself to do it. Or really any intensive activity that drains a lot of my energy.
Maybe I should write another novel. The NaNoWriMo people have been sending me emails suggesting that this age of quarantine is a great time to write a novel, and I can see how that makes sense for healthier folk.
I don’t currently have an idea for a novel. But I am sure I could come up with something if I really wanted to.
I will think it over.
More after the break.
The latest from Wikileaks!
Well it’s come to this. Time to face the facts and set them down here so I can’t pretend they never happened or “forget” them.
I have started to leak.
Just a little bit,. But it’s getting worse. So I am going to have to face up to it and take it do my doctor in order to have any hope to nip this in the bud before it’s Depends time.
I am speaking, obviously, of urinary incontinence. .Lately, when my bladder is very full, a little pee leaks out when I stand up or move.
The dam which has served me faithfully all these years is now damp.
Surely catastrophe lurks nearby.
At first, I stupidly ignored it because the amount of leakage was so small that it didn’t even make it out of my foreskin. Thus, it did not make me feel like there was a seious problem per se.
It was almost cute.
But I just had an incident which threatened to become true leakage, visible and very very embarrassing, and that has acted as one powerful wake up call to tell me that the problem is getting worse and needs to be attended to ASAP.
So I will make an appointment with Doctor Chao as soon as I can. Might not be until Friday because he only works alternate Thursdays.
Losing control of one’s bodily functions is such a horrible, humiliating thing for humans beings because it triggers that potent and very primitive part of our brains that got programmed during toilet training and that contains a potent and potentially extremely volatile combination of instinct and early socialization that extends back to our very birth of ourselves as conscious beings.
I mean, think about it. Kids get toilet trained when they have barely learned to walk. It’s our earliest ever lesson. It happens when we have only recently started forming conscious memories, for crying out loud.
So that is as deep and wounding as shame can get.
I still (too) vividly remember the time I was at a sushi place and used the toilet and ended up clogging it to the point that it overflowed and the water ran all the way into the kitchen because the walls to the kitchen didn’t go all the way down to the floor.
The spectacular explosion of shame, guilt, depression, anxiety, and self-loathing that this triggered led me to flee to Joe’s car because I simply could not deal with anything other than my fireworks factory inferno of emotions right then.
And then there was the time that I flooded the toilet at our old place on Francis and One Road and a clearly extremely distressed father knocked on the door to say that the water was leaking through the roof onto his baby daughter and yup, I had a nuclear meltdown then, too.
As I look back on that memory now, and think about who I was back then, and realize that I barely recognize that person anymore.
It seems like they were so much stronger and more vital and engaged than I am now.
Where did I go wrong?
That’s a topic for another time, though.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.