Being the half-born prince kinda sucks.
I can feel my half a life so clearly now. Perhaps that’s a good sign. I look back on my life and realize how much of me just wasn’t there at all.
But I didn’t know that. I though that was all of me. In fact I have only realized the bifurcated nature of my existence in the last few days.
And when you are half alive and think that you’re whole, of course you think there must be something terribly wrong with you because you don’t know why you can’t do what all the other kids do and grow the hell up.
It’s because half of me (at most) has been left behind for all these years.
That’s probably a big part of why I don’t feel like a real, legitimate person, too. I’m only partially present. I have lived most of my life half-asleep.
There’s a very sad, scared, and traumatized little boy asleep deep inside me, and I am still working up the nerve to wake him up.
He doesn’t want to wake up because then he’ll have to finish dealing with the horrible nightmare visited upon him by the cock of a stranger one horrible day in 1977.
He fled into sleep and the cerebral to escape that horror. Escaped into the depths of his mind and hasn’t come out since because he’s asleep in there.
Like Sleeping Beauty, complete with waiting for my prince to come give me the kiss that will bring me back to life.
Though given my reclusive ways, I’m not sure how the hell he’ll find me.
At some point during my grand awakening, I will have to stick my head out of this deep dark dank and deadly cave of mine and let myself be seen and known.
And that will not be easy. I have been stuck in “freeze” mode (as in fight, flight, or freeze) for a very long time and the overwhelming dictum of “freeze” mode is that discovery equals death and only going unnoticed can bring safety.
When forced into exposure. “flight” mode kicks in and no matter what is happening to me or how much I might be enjoying my time, the anxiety clock is ticking and urging me to go back into hiding and “freeze” mode ASAP.
Like a lot of scared little animals, I do have “fight” mode when cornered. And like the proverbial cornered rat, I can turn surprisingly viscous when defending my person and my territory, metaphorically speaking.
Of course, one thing I need to accept about myself is that I do have somewhat of a temper. It flares up at odd times and for what are quite frankly abstruse reasons, but I have one and it can very well get me into trouble if I let it.
And I should probably let it, if that’s what it takes to uncork my personality and let me live an intact life with the full range of human emotions.
And that means growing up, and that means waking that poor little boy up, and that is going to be heartbreaking.
At least I have found a way to have sympathy for myself. That’s a good thing.
I mean, I guess I do really care for that scared little animal inside me, as well as that sleepy little boy.
But I have been brutally unforgiving to the person they form, and I suppose that by extension I have been unfair to them, too.
This metaphor is getting complicated.
Perhaps if I can keep the boy and the fox in mind, I can learn to remain sympathetic to myself and gain a little bit of blessed mercy from the brutal machine regime within.
I do love myself, after a fashion.
Perhaps I need to let them know it.
More after the break.
The Busy Friday Chronicles for Nov 1, 2024
Did the wound care thing today. Our appointment was at noon, which I think is the latest in the day it’s ever been.
There was a bit of drama beforehand because first I woke up to discover I was juuuust about to poop (turned out I had already started[1]) and had to skip to the loo.
So that was not fun. I really wish I knew why sometimes the contents of my bowels liquefy while I sleep as it causes all manner of mischief.
Then when I staggered out of the bathroom (some bowel movements really wear you out), I checked the time… and it was 20 to noon!!!
That’s when we would usually leave!
So I had to get dressed real quick, and the ride to wound care at the CCC was a little more tense than usual.
But no panic, we were on time, no big whoop.
The nurse was one who has tended my wounds a number of times but of course, I could not remember her name.
I hate how bad I am with names. I’m always afraid people will think I don’t care about them or don’t think they are important.
Then it was home for an hour and a quarter before it was time for my weekly shower at Rosewood Manor with Albert.
And it was a clusterfuck from the get-go. First, when Julian went in to get me a wheelchair, they told him they don’t do that any more.
They’d done it two or three weeks in a row, but not any more I guess.
So I had to walk all the way to the shower room, and that was not easy because I had already done the walking for wound care.
So my legs were hurting by the time I got there. Luckily, we arranged for Julian to pick me up at the back entrance after, which is right next to the shower room.
The last time I did the trip back to the lobby, I almost took a fall because my legs gave out just as I reached the lobby and it was sheer luck that I was right in front of a chair when that happened.
Hence my asking for a wheelchair.
Then, once me and Albert were in the shower room, another group of people (patient and attendant) showed up and said THEY were booked for 2:30 pm.
To which I instantly said, “No you’re not!” but luckily nobody heard me.
You see what I meant about defending my territory? I can switch into Grump and Defensive mode in a heartbeat when provoked.
Most people never see this side of me because my life is so flat and mellow that nothing ever provokes me.
So then Albert had to go have a talk with the interlopers plus a lady I think is an administrator at the Manor while our appointment time is ticking away.
Luckily he got it all straightened out and things went on as normal.
But this double booking bullshit really burned my biscuits because it’s such a stupid SNAFU that shows that someone doesn’t know WTF they are doing and parts of the organization aren’t communicating properly.
In retrospect, I wish we had asked the other attendant who told her she and her client could use that facility at that time.
That’s our most likely culprit right there.
Everything else went fine. That was my adventure for the day.
And there’s always something perversely therapeutic about having something to get really irritated about.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.