Feeling heavy and dark and full of danger, like a heavy thundercloud, right now.
I can feel the bitterness and rage roiling within me like the first circular breezes twisting together into what will eventually be a mighty tornado.
I want nothing more than to howl my rage out over the land in an air-cracking blizzard that turns day into night and seems fit to scour the land of all living things, including humanity and their works.
Instead my wrath burns like a heat wave, blistering the soil and searing the grasses.
What I’m saying is I feel like weather. Bad weather.
Been feeling irritable and anxious again. Deep dissatisfaction with my stupid fucking life is growing within me once more, as is the even more serious feeling of being trapped in this life and this rotting hulk of a body with no way out in sight.
I don’t want to be me any more. I never really did.
“You must be Michael Bertrand.”
“Only because I don’t have a choice. “
So for the millionth time, I dream of escape. Of just walking away from everything and everyone and going in search of some place where I feel like I belong.
And when I find that place, start a whole new life there. One where I never talk about my past, where I invent a more competent and confident version of myself to take on the world and dream myself into a whole new reality.
There would perforce be a certain amount of lying involved. And a much larger amount of misleading and misdirection. Not happy about it but one does not get reborn without a certain amount of sacrifice.
And who knows, I might succeed in making some kind of life for myself that way. Make a heavy guillotine type cut with my poisonous past and all that trauma, and go into the future a whole new man, strong and pure and true.
I could even lie about my age. I mean, what the hell, nobody suspected I was in my mid to late forties at VFS until I told them.
I guess never reaching adulthood has kept me convincingly clueless.
But I still don’t hate myself. Those days are gone. I hate my life and what has become of it and I hate the situation I am in but I do not hate myself.
I’m an amazing guy. The evidence is overwhelming. I’ve never met anyone even remotely like me. The fact that such a sweet and special guy has languished this long in the doldrums of depression is a deep and terrible tragedy and a profound injustice.
There’s just no way out when you are too sick to help yourself. When your illnesses actively prevent their own treatment.
And depression does that like nobody’s business.
All I can do is make it through the day and do my best to get better. It sucks that I am essentially all alone in that struggle but I don’t see any choice in the matter.
Maybe group therapy would help me at this point. But given my explosion of rage at things like MyDepressionGroup.com, I severely doubt it.
What’s the point when you know they won’t understand you? When you know you will tower above them like a dark god and they will be left mute by the sheer power and darkness of the shit you have to say?
Maybe I should join MENSA after all.
Maybe then I could find someone who can understand me.
More after the break.
And now I am back with my dine-in order of the week : chips n’ salsa then pulled pork poutine from the Flying Beaver Cafe.
Sounds like a CBC radio show. With lesbians.
I wasn’t sure about spending $4.50 on chips and salsa, but the salsa is fresh, so I will say that it was worth it.
I continue to get a little healthier each day. My digestion is almost completely back to normal now, thank goodness.
I get hungry at the right time, and my appetite doesn’t disappear at a random time after I start eating any more. And that’s a Good Thing.
My pooping is almost back to normal.
(WARNING : Poop talk incipit. It won’t be too explicit. )
For a while, I have been semi-constipated. My pooping became oddly…. quantized. I would poop a certain amount and that’s it. I could tell that my bowels were still at least 3/4 but no amount of straining could move the rest.
It was rather annoying. Trying, even.
But that seems to have abated. I was able to actually empty my bowels earlier today. The full job, no leftovers.
Now that’s how I spell relief. Phew!
Still peeing fairly frequently though. And it’s making it hard to sleep. I am pondering throwing my fate into the winds and taking one of my sleeping pills.
At this point, wetting myself in my sleep seems like a small price to pay to get three or four hours of solid sleep.
It’s either that or hook up a catheter, and while getting one after my gall bladder out in order to relieve my overfull bladder was not nearly as traumatic as I thought it would be, it was still very weird and not something I am eager to experience again.
Not when there’s choice, anyhow.
Well, the poutine’s pretty decent. The contents are quite good but the presentation is a tad off. In order to fit everything in the box, they just kinda dumped all the cheese, pork, and veggies atop the fries and filled the rest of the space with an order of gravy.
Gravy that can’t make it to the fries because of all the cheese ETC in the way.
A quibble, I admit. It tastes good and that’s what is important.
At the moment, I am feeling kinda mellow. A cholesterol laden meal tends toi do that to me. Now all I want to do is relax and maybe even take a post-prandial nap.
Hopefully my bladder will cooperate.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.