I have been reconceptualizing my ability to get things done.
Because the truth is, I can’t just do things. Not really. It might look like there is nothing keeping me from doing all the things I “should” be doing, mostly health related, but that’s because the problem is in the deep layers of my mind, where it’s hard to see.
I have this massive untreated psychological wound in the very center of my being, and it kind of wrecks my life.
Or it would, if I had one.
And it’s high time I stop pretending that it isn’t true. That I am, in fact, a healthy person and any second now I will snap out of it and start living a normal life.
Not gonna happen. I’m gonna be fucked in the head for the rest of my life.
That doesn’t mean change and growth and recovery are impossible. It just means I have to be more realistic about what is possible.
And it especially triple double with a one and a half twist means that I will have to stop judging myself so harshly for not being able to do the things I can’t make myself do.
I’m a very ill man and it makes no sense to judge myself on the same scale as a healthy person. I have issues so deep and dire that most people couldn’t even comprehend them. Their minds would simply shut down in self defense if they tried.
Hell, not even my therapist can handle them. And that’s his goddamned job.
Back on track : I can get things done, but only now and then. Every once in a while. the mists that cloud my mind part and I am, for a little while, somewhat sane.
And so it makes sense to picture my life as biding time waiting for the next break in the clouds where I can actually do things and do what I can while it lasts.
It means facing the reality of my illness, though, which I only just realized I have not been doing. On some especially deluded level, I have been avoiding thinking about what my prospects are, realistically speaking, and living in a delusional bubble where I am both healthy and sick at the same time, both states quantum superimposed.
Nope. I’m just plain sick. And the danger grows every day. And I can’t just fix it. I have to wait for the next bus to sanity to show up at my stop so I can get things done.
That seems like an acceptable way to live if I can make the mental transition. It means accepting that my fate lies in the hands of random fluctuations in my brain chemistry, but that’s the truth of the situation whether I cop to it or not, so…. might as well.
All I go to do is keep an eye on my level of crazy so I can jump in with both feet in those moments when my resistance is down.
It’s not very comforting but at least it’s based on something real.
More after the break.
Oh what a night
More Adventures in Ordering In.
So, last night. I deliberately used up most of the money left on my second PayPower buyable loadable Mastercard.
There was only $38 left on it from the initial $500 I put on there months ago, so I figured that would be enough for one hearty meal and then I would switch to the new one I bought and put $500 on last Sunday.
Of course, it wasn’t that fucking easy,. Over and over, I would put together an order and it would come out to just a scooch more than what I had left on the card.
Then I finally got it under…. but it was still too close for the restaurant’s comfort so it got rejected anyhow.
Then I got everything perfect….only to then find the restaurant had closed while I wad fretting over my order.
ARGH, said the fox.
But eventually I got a nice Caesar wrap on the Classic plate (4 Zucchini Sticks, Zoo Dip, and a half Casar for $4 – not bad!) and the only problem was missing fries.
I didn’t want the fries in the first place. Fries are so boring. Not worth the carbs. So I wasn’t exactly weeping over them.
But I reported the omission to Door Dash anyhow. They tossed $6 my way by way of an apology. Works for me.
Except what did I find sitting on the counter right where they should be this morning?
Conway Twitty, lookin’ mighty surprised.
OK, you got me, it was the fries.
So, oops there.
Then tonight, I decided that I wanted some Subway. Always tasty and mostly nutritious, especially if you avoid the cholesterol laden dressings.
I don’t, myself. But the principle holds.
That meant it was time to activate the new card. And that went fine until the very end, where I had to read these teeny tiny numbers off the back of the new card.
And despite my visual impairment, I think I got them all except for the very last one. \
Which was totally a 1.Or a 3. Or a 6. Or… an 8. Or a 7?
In other words, I was fucked. After trying a bunch of times. I gave up and ate stuff I already had here.
I could have ordered from Pizza Hut, as they still, god bless them, take cash, but by that point I was so pissed off by the whole thing that I just wanted to eat and be done with it.
Plus the aggravation had killed my appetite anyhow.
So I had yet another fun Saturday night struggling with the forces of fuckery in order to get myself fed.
Hell, I even tried taking video of the numbers on the card and blowing it up.
But no, fundamental resolution was too low.
Enhance, god damn it!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.