Somewhere deep and dark and dank. far away from the light of the world, a creature stirs in its sleep.

Sometimes it smiles, and sometimes it moans, and sometimes it scrabbles again an unseen surface with its flat dull claws, but what never changes is the look of panic and fear etched, seemingly permanently, on its muzzle.

And it is always struggling. This is no peaceful slumber, no knot of peace. This is the tormented slumber of a coma patient. the fractured sleep of the end-stage alcoholic, the restless nightmares of the truly insane.

And yet, it struggles. It struggles to return to the surface of the water despite not even knowing which way is up any more. It searches huntedly for the exit to the maze it can’t stop creating around itself. It fights to exit this twisted twilight existence.

And above all, it struggles to wake up. And return to the land of the living.

And it’s halfway there. As usual.

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That a rough depiction of how I feel lately. Like there is something deep inside me that is tossing and turning in its sleep as it tries to awaken.

It’s the real me, I suppose. The “me” that lies at the core of my being and has been buried and suppressed and starved into a stupor for so very long. The “me” I might have been had mental illness not enveloped me after my parents took me and my brother Dave out of university and made us come home to the family house.

No wonder I fell apart.

I can feel it moving in me. And I wish I could help it be reborn but the best tht I can do is stay out of the way while it tried to dig itself out of depression’s interment.

The problem, of course, is that the bigger part of me still wants to stay buried. It’s no accident that I ended up down here so deep. This is the product of decades spent burrowing deeper and deeper into myself while fleeing the light of day and hiding in the comforting low stimulation environment of this stale tomb.

So until the part of me that wants to emerge is stronger than the part of me that wants to stay hidden, hidden I will stay, as this wall of fear around me suffocates me.

I want to open up my mind and embrace the fear. Encompass it. Envelop it. I want to eat my fear and thus triumph over it as I tear down the wall between us and let my deeper mind process and digest it and make it part of me instead of continuing to xt like it’s a torment inflicted by some external force.

Like I said yesterday, it’s just a pile of unprocessed emotions. It no longer means anything in and of itself. I can point to where it comes from and bitch about my horrible childhood all I want, and that does help me feel better, and I think it even does me a fair bit of good in the long run.

But that run is too damned long, man. Maybe longer than I have. I’m tried of being broken and frustrated and lonely and alone. I want to be a real person, an actual genuine accept no substitutes grownup, with a life and a job and a place in society with more dignity than the “failure to launch:” ward can afford me.

I want to launch. god damn it. I want fly.

But most of all, I want to live.

Is that too much to ask?

More after the break.

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Worried about Joe

My roomie, buddy,, and reality intercessionary ^[1], Joseph P. Devoy, is still in the hospital and I am very worried about him.

He went to the ER Saturday afternoon after having been sick for almost this entire year so far. It started off as a nasty cough plus other flu-like symptoms and he went to the doctor and got antibiotics for that, but once that cleared up some it then mutated into extreme nausea, to wit not being able to keep any food or even water down.

Been there. It’s hell.

That went on for about four days before, at my gentle nudging, he went to the ER and they ran some tests and then admitted him.

Lucky for him that he has his boyfriend and my roommate Julian by his side. Julian is a very sweet, kind, loyal, and conscientious fellow, and Joe could not ask for a better mate to have by his side right now.

\Julian’s been spending most of the day with Joe at the hospital. So it’s been a lot quieter, and lonelier than usual around Fanhattan lately.

The worst part of having a loved one in the hospital is, of course, the feeling of helplessness. I wish I could do something to help, but it’s in the hospital’s hands now.

I don’t even known what’s wrong with him, and that’s what really hurts. I can handle anything if I have the facts. Facts soothe me. But this uncertainty wounds me.

I just hope to God that he will be okay. Every day he is in there, I worry a little more. Last I heard, they were talking about doing a biopsy of his lymph nodes (well, presumably only one of them) and that sounds pretty bad.

Of course, it’s no doubt worse for him. Don’t want to seem totally self-centered.

But from where I sit, it’s the worry, and the helplessness, and the not knowing what the heck is going on that really hurts.,

Be well, dear Joe. I miss you so much.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

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P. S. : Oh right, I’m sick too

Almost forgot. Got a phone call from Doctor Madhani today. There’s going to be a serious of MRIs of my arms and legs in order to figure out what caused the anomalous readings in the previous tests, plus she is prescribing another test (one I forgot to do before, d’oh!) and a plint and brace for the carpal tunnel in my left (?) hand.

I am right handed. I definitely get pain in my right hand. I hope she knows what she is doing because that seems like the wrong hand to me.

I think that’s it. I hope I’m not forgetting anything.

Some day, I will know what the fuck is wrong with my legs!

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