And not just because it’s a long word that is tricky to spell.
I feel really crappy right now. Every muscle in my body aches every time move. My mouth dries out a lot, I assume because with my nose clogged I am breathing entirely through my mouth. I have that goddamned feeling of malaise that comes from being sick, like I am playing host to a life-draining parasite.
And I am.
Plus there’s that general icky feeling all over, like I have a constant thin coating of slime that blogs my pores and makes me feel gross.
And, of course, the major stuff like congested chest and runny nose are still there. The stuff on my chest seems to be seriously loosening up though, so my cough should be “productive” any minute now.
Which means it will finally get its shit together and start contributing to society.
Maybe it can show me the way.
Been thinking a lot about my own helplessness. It seems strange to me now that I have been in a lazy kind of denial about it for so long. How I just kept telling myself I would get around to doing all the things I need to do to save my own fucking life any day now, rather than face the possibility that I just…. can’t.
It sort of makes sense through the lens of depression. If you look at depression as a force that maximizes self-loathing, then thinking you can totally do these things but don’t is actually more detestable than owning up to the fact that you just plain can’t.
A person with depression might hate themselves for not being able to cope, but generally speaking, they don’t hate themselves for not being able to fly.
Not unless they had some really fucked up parents, anyhow.
It’s like depression’s bizarre doublethink with regards to whether or not you are “sick”. It is perfectly possible for a person with depression to think they are sick in the sense of defective, broken, bad, and unfit while also believing themselves to not be sick in the sense of deserving sympathy, forgiveness, understanding, or compassion.
Really, it’s the quantum superposition of two beliefs that should be mutually exclusive.
Imagine hating yourself for having a broken leg.
Speaking of debilitating conditions, I haven’t slept in a while. That’s because I forgot to get my sleeping pills when I got the rest of my meds at the pharmacy connected to Doctor Chao’s office yesterday.
I had the prescription in my wallet, I just totally spaced on it being there and my needing to fish it out and hand it over with the other ones.
And the thing is, I really don’t want to leave the apartment. I am not at all well, and feel ill equipped to walk a block in the cold wet air. Plus I don’t want to infect anybody.
I feel so very contagious right now.
So I need to finagle a way to get my meds without going there. This will involve me calling the pharmacy (or maybe emailing? Hmmmm. ) and asking them if it is possible to get them to deliver meds when I haven’t given them the prescription yet.
It seems like it should be possible. But ya never know.
Whatever solution I devise. it will be after I lay down for a bit.
I’d say I was laying down for a nap. but we all know that ain’t happening.
More after the break.
Farewell to Flesh
Warning, more Cronenberg-level body horror coming up.
But let’s start with this : I am doing something highly unusual right now, in that I am doing Part Deux of my blogging before I eat.
Why? Because I don’t feel much like eating right now. But I am in emotional and physical pain. Ergo I need to blog.
First, the incident : I was looking down at that horrifying area on my right big toe where a big chunk of flesh just peeled right off last week when I noticed there seemed to be some dry skin around the edges.
And for a split second, I completely forgot how I ended up in this mess and removed some of this “dry skin” and whaddaya know, another big chunk of flesh came off and I had made the nightmare area on my big toe around 25 percent bigger.
Worst part is that there is plenty more of this “dry skin” on said toe. I could probably skin the entirety of the top of the toe at this point.
This is, of course, totally gross and horrifying. It’s like the entire epidermis died at some point leaving the tender dermis (the part that makes new skin cells) exposed.
Bled a bunch too, unsurprisingly. And the blood didn’t look…. normal. It was a much darker color than usual, and seemed almost purple.
Dunno WTF to make of that. Out of my league, there.
This incident also reminded me that it was this bizarre skin horror that was the reason I made an appointment with my GP in the first place and that I had completely forgotten that I when I was there yesterday.
All of this has left me in a very unpleasant frame of mind. I’m scared, freaked out, horrified, and feeling very very raw and dark and bitter.
I wish I could just slip this skin (ha ha) and become someone else. Escape the consequences of all my self-neglect and start over with a new new healthy body that I swear I will take much better care of this time.
Especially if I can lose the depression in the process.
Part of me wonders if I should remove the rest of the dead skin. I mean, one generally removes dead tissue, right? But then my whoel toe would be exposed and who knows how long it would take to scab over.
So i would only do it if I knew I had a bandage to wrap around it and keep it protected while the scab forms, and as far as I know, I don’t have that.
Gonna have to mnake another doctor’s appointment, though. I mean, this shit is clearly insane and while i know he will lecture me about my blood sugar, he may also have some way to treat this dermatological madness before it gets any worse.
I can only hope.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.