Just got back from getting the dressing on my wound changed, and wow.
It is looking so much better now!
In fact, it’s barely even a wound any more, because there is almostmo apeture. There’s just a tiny little hole in the middle and other than that, it’s basically just a bump.
Obviously, this has me pretty stoked. It was healing to slowly for so long that I had just stopped thinkling about its progress, just in self-defense.
I can’t get all stressed out and tense about how long it is taking if I never enter the required information into my brain to try to predict it in the first place.
No plotting data points means no trend analysis. Or something like that.
So as far as I was concerned, I might not see the end of this thing till Xmas. So the fct that it might be gone in a week or so is very good news indeed.
Or if not gone, exactly, at least in a sub-medical state so I don’t have to keep going to the medical center twice a week.
It’s not a huge deal, but still.
So it seems like the compression stocking is working. Faboo. I am totally used to it being there now, to the point of feeling weird and naked when the nurse takes it off.
I mean, I am sure I will not miss it for long when this little medical misadventure is at an end, but as it stands now, it feels weird when it’s gone.
There is one thing I will miss, though….having someone touch me.
Having a nurse attend to me twice a week (and having it feel absurdly good) really threw a spotlight on just how starved for touch – or “skin hungry” as some people rather horrifyingly call it – I am. Apart from one or two hugs a day from Joe,. I am not touched, and I touch no one.
And the thing is, that’s not a minor problem. Human touch is deeply connected to our emotional security as well as our sense of connection with others, and without it, we go cold inside without understanding why.
No wonder I am so cuddly as Fruvous. I’m starving here!
And I am not the only one. Most people in modern society are in this state. especially if they are single. It’s such a profound need and most people either have no idea it even exists, or if they do, refuse to acknowledge it because they think it’s “for babies”.
Or, like me, they are fully aware of the need and accept it just fine, but honestly have no idea what to do about it.
I can’t afford massages and putting up a personal ad that says “Wanted : partner for extended mutal touching” is bound to lead to misunderstandings.
We would all be so much better off if we openly admitted we need to be touched and went about meeting that need just like we meet our needs for sex, entertainment, excitement, or any other of our non-physical emotional needs.
Hell, we are so confused on the issue that we confused the desire to touch and be touched with the desire for sex.
Sometimes all you need is a good long cuddle.
I wish we were all okay with that.
More after the break, including affirmations!
I matter. I count. I am a good person. And I am not weak. I am powerful and strong. This mighty magnetic mind of mine makes me a potent wizard, with powers to do what others see as impossible, and to face what others fear and struggle mightily against, and defeat it with casual ease.
And I have nothing to be ashamed of.
Not my weight – it’s hard to lose weight when you are depressed. Besides, weight loss seems to be happening all by itself.
Maybe my body just got sick and tired of my obesity.
Not my lack of life progress – considering how sick I am, it’s amazing that I have made it this far. I am a real trooper. A survivor. No matter what, I keep going.
I’m like one of those amazing football players who keeps going with like five guys hanging off of him. Like William “The Refrigerator” Perry.
A hero for all us ginormous dudes.
I don’t have to feel guilty for the unfortunate aspects of my sexuality, including the one I can never talk about. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it. I can’t get rid of it. And it’s up to me whether or not I act on it.
And who knows, some day I might get the chance to act on it. But my moral standard for what would be an acceptable encounter are extremely high.
So unless I meet exactly the right kind of people – the kind of people I have no choice but to believe must be out there somewhere, living onthe downest of lows.
There has to be freedom and sanity somewhere, dammit.
And I don’t have to be ashamed of being somewhat of a hot mess that means well but is kind of lacking in competence and focus.
The competence is within me, but latent, because I am so sick with depression. I am positive that a healthier version of me would be highly competent, organized, and driven to conquer the world with words.
The focus might come, might not. It could be that I am tempermentally a dreamer and creative type and that works against being a highly focused person.
But I might find that once I have ambition, the focus comes naturally.
It could happen!
In short (ish). I am an amazing human being who shines warm sunshine and bright spotlights wherever I go and who has so much talent and intelligence that it can be seen from the surface of Mars.
Seriously. Somewhere on Mars, one Martian is motioning another over to his telescope and saying “Hey check out how amazing this fat human is!”.
Right back atcha guys! (Or girls….or um…. whatever y’all got over there…. )
I am an amazing guy,and I have nothing to be ashamed of.
Repeat until believed.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.