I feel like, as my self-excavation continues, I am beginning to get glimpses of who I really am, underneath all the madness.
Like I have come to terms with the fact that I am, in fact, rather high strung. I might front like I am a laid back mellow guy, and I am… some of the time.
But I get the feeling that, sans mental illness, I would also be somewhat excitable and maybe even hyper, at least in spurts.
I know that I get waves of inspiration and I wish I could loosen up inside enough to be able to just follow those wherever they lead.
I wish I could be the sort of creative genius one sees in the movies where I get a sudden inspiration and then dash off to my computer to get it all typed down as fast as I can in hopes of bottling that lightning.
But I’m not that guy. Not yet, anyhow. Maybe never… my Taurus need for predictability and calm would find that kind of life very jarring and chaotic because I would never know when the next lightning bolt would strike and interrupt whatever it is I am doing to demand that I drop everything and follow IT instead.
I hate being interrupted. And I hate not finishing what I start.
So instead, the brilliant ideas last long enough in my consciousness to amuse, amaze, or impress me, then dissolve back into the rich primordial soup which birthed them.
I suppose that’s not so bad. But it’s not that good, either. There has to be some way to tap into more of that wild creativity of mine. A way that produces something of lasting value instead of just an ephemeral phantom of the mind.
And often my ideas are not really gone. They are filed away in some back office of my mind and will re-emerge at some salient moment when I need it.
Fruvous secret revealed : sometimes the brilliant ideas he appears to come up with spontaneously are actually ideas he is just remembering.
I mean, either way, they’re my brilliant ideas. So it still counts.
I also suspect that, buried under entire geological eras of insanity, I am actually a neat and organized and orderly person.
After all, it’s not that I like living in chaos and filth. I’d much rather have everything be clean and bright and well organized.
I just don’t feel like I can do that myself. Yet. But the impulse is in there and if I ever regain my energy and drive, I am going to start leading a much cleaner life.
Somewhere underneath the pain, I definitely have the nesting urge to clean and organize my living space to make it nice for myself.
But self-neglect, low self-worth, depression, anxiety, and learned helplessness all get in the way of giving in to that urge at all.
So I need to either get radically better self-esteem or find a way to make enough money to hire a housemaid and/or manservant.
I just love that word. Manservant. Give me chills just thinking about it.
Then there’s the ever-present anger issue. I don’t think of myself an angry person and I don’t want to be one, but as I loosen up inside and get in touch with my emotions and learn to feel them all, I am going to have to deal with all my latent rage and find some sane, safe, non-destructive way to vent it or it will eat me alive.
They say depression is anger turned inwards, and it sure as fuck is with me.
More after the break.
Another sick day
Didn’t make it to Wound Care OR my shower at Rosewood today.
And I find that depressing.
The first hint of trouble was when I woke up and REALLY didn’t want to get out of bed. That’s quite rare for me. I have trouble getting out of bed fairly often but that’s more a lack of focus and motivation, not reluctancr.
But this morning I *hated* the thought of leaving bed.
But I got up anyhow, and sat there eating breakfast and chatting with my fuzzy friends like I do every morning, but I had this vague sense that something was wrong.
I was awake for half an hour before I realized what it was : I felt terrible.
So I had to get Julian to call Wound Care and tell them I was sick. And then a few hours later, I realized I was not getting any better, so I had him cancel the shower too.
I am bummed out at missing both. With Wound Care, I mean, it’s only been a week and change since I had to miss two in a row. Now I have to wait till Tuesday before I get fresh bandages on my feet.
And I am tired of this shit.
And this was only going to be my second Rosewood Manor shower ever. I felt like I was missing the second day of school.
The whole thing gave me a deflated feeling. Like I had been building up energy within myself to get these things done and then I had to just let it out again,
But I had that feeling like my whole head was solid again, plus runny nose, scratchy throat and lungs, headache, and general malaise.
And that meant I did not feel like it would be safe for me to be around old people with compromised immune systems.
I will admit, though, a small selfish part of me wanted to just go anyway. Ignore the risk to others, ignore my own suffering, and get my shit done.
But I am too sensitive and responsible for that. So I stayed home and nursed a little mild depression for a while.
I feel better than I did earlier today, but not by much. And now my face feels hot too.
I am so over this crap. I am tired of this mysterious bug popping up and wrecking my day. I am thinking that if I still feel bad tomorrow I might go to Urgent Care.
Maybe I just need more sleep. I don’t know.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.