To the tune of Manic Monday by the Bangles :
It’s just another Therapy Thursday….
Shit, WTF rhymes with Thursday?
Save me, Rhyme Zone!
It’s just another Therapy Thursday
It’s not like it’s my birthday
I think I’ve gone the wrong way
Roast beef is an entrée.
It’s just another Therapy Thursday
Meh. It needs work.
Did the therapy thang with Doc Costin today.
Was nice to hear from him because I didn’t get a session last week. Something came up with his wife’s health at the last minute and he had to cancel.
Fair enough. Excrement occurs. She had a fall a couple of weeks ago and they are both in their 70s so that’s a big freaking deal.
Cracked two vertebrae. Poor dear.
Random aside : when listening to my Reddit videos about relationship issues, I’ve noticed that the vast majority of married couples have ages with 1 year of each other.
Isn’t that interesting? Like people naturally sort themselves out into close-age pairs without ever consciously intending too.
I would have understood a 5 year span maybe. But 1?
Are there such things as micro-generations?
“We bonded over liking the exact same season of Spongebob. “
Anyhow. Back to therapy.
Main topics included : CPAP, and how I should really trying harder to learn to use the goddamned thing so I can get decent sleep.
It started with me sharing my thoughts about how sometimes it’s like I live to sleep. Like I stay awake just long enough to get tired enough to sleep again.
Like I keep saying, sleep is death without the commitment. It’s the closest you can get to being dead without being dead. It lets you flee life almost completely.
Hence its strong appeal to my avoidant ass.
But that lead to discussing my lack of CPAP participation and how I went to the troub;le of getting a new mask and all, then tried putting it on, got frustrated when I couldn’t figure it out, and gave up apparently forever.
And that was in early October of last year.
This is what happens when you live life with one and a half feet out the door. When you are always primed to bolt for the exit so you can scurry back into your hidey hole where you can hide even further in sleep.
It’s like I am not even here. What you see is just a hologram projection of me designed to fool people into thinking I am a real flesh and blood person while I remain cowering in my cave, terrified of everything.
But I want to be a real little boy. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
Or do I? I’m not sure, and I think that’s the problem. Part of me wants to walk in the light and part of me want to squat in the dark. And that second part is holding me back.
Sooner or later, I am going to have to stop letting my fears and resistances and compulsions and aversions hold me back and just turn to face the strain and do what I know needs to be done in order to dig myself out of this hole.
If, that is, I even want to get out of this hole.
And I do.
But I also…. don’t.
Sigh. It’s so complicated to be me.
More after the break.
Why I need a cellphone
I have finally come up with a solid reason why I need a smartphone, and I partially have Julian to thank for it.
Because as I was carrying my supper into my room after making it in the kitchen right now, I noticed in passing that he was listening to a newscast via his smartphone as he sat on the couch and ate, and suddenly it hit me :
If I had a smartphone (or tablet, or whatever), I could listen to my YouTube videos anywhere I go. And that means I could have my beloved vids with me to act as a centering, calming force – the aforementioned “talisman” – to help me go out more into the world and expand this tiny safety zone of mine.
This prospect intrigues me.
At first, I would just use it to make myself more willing to do stuff around the apartment. Mostly cleaning and other chores, but other stuff too.
Might make me more likely to shower, if I can ever get past being covered in god damned bandages all the time.
Or at least learn to assert myself with the nurses enough to get them to waterproof ALL the bandages EVERY time.
Anyhow, the prospect of a more portable Fru pleases me both because it could be a real enhancement to my life and because having the idea in the first place shows that I am starting to think outside my teeny tiny box.
And that’s a very good sign. Healthy, even. A few little green shoots of green poking shyly through the ice around my heart, looking for sunshine.
Keep going, little buddies. It’s coming. Springtime is real, trust me.
My mind is a monster
I’ve spoken before about being afraid of the power of my own mind.
The way I phrased it long ago is still apt : “Sometimes I am terrified by the prospect that I might actually be as smart as I sometimes think I am.’
That’s probably why I have always responded strongly to anything in sci fi or fantasy where someone is realizing they have enormous power and it’s driving them crazy.
Like that one episode of original Star Trek, where the crew member gets the zap and starts gaining psychic powers rapidly.
I identify with that shit, man. I too have more power than most people, though mine is of course merely intellectual.
But I am frightened of what I could do with that power and, even moreso, where that power could take this fragile mind of mine.
I have felt delusions of grandeur swelling in my mind, trying to break through to the surface of my sanity, and had to fight hard to keep them down.
It would be so easy to declare myself some kind of superior being. It would “solve” this conflict between my identity and my superpowers. Between me as a human being and my status as an intellectual giant.
But it would cost me my sanity, and that’s too high a price to pay for anything.
Still, lately I have been pondering whether the path to sanity might have to go through Crazytown. Whether I have to risk going in the direction of madness in order to sufficiently rebalance my mind to make me stable.
I’m positive that my depression uses my fear of going crazy to keep me in line and under its greasy black thumb. I’ve felt like I am barely clinging to a knife’s edge of sanity for so long that it’s hard to remember that this idea might be entirely bullshit.
Maybe I could let go completely, and nothing bad would happen at all.
Or maybe I would go a little crazy for a little while, while my mind rebalances itself and I cling to some flotsam and do my best to survive The Flood.
Or maybe I would go a whole lot crazy. The kind you don’t come back from. I dunno.
But at least it would something different from my current crap parade.
And at this point, maybe that’s enough.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.