I am writing a shocking number of these posts in a post bad sleep brain fried state lately, and I am beginning to worry.
Like right now. Got all the symptoms. Dizzy, with accompanying floaty-head feeling as well as disorientation and headache. And trouble staying focused on the screen.
On the one hand, this means I am sleeping. This is good because I hadn’t been, For a couple of weeks my sleep had been of low quality and even lower quantity.
But somehow, the threat of my taking a sleepy pill put an end to that. Something in my mind finally relaxed and I am sleeping quite well now.
Or at least more often.
Speaking of dizziness, something… happened last night that has me worried.
It happened when I was getting ready to go to the usual shopping and McD’s. I had just gotten up out of bed to go get the clothes I was going to wear and then sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on.
That’s when I felt a twinge in my chest. There was no real pain but a definite cold feeling spreading through my torso like I had ice water pouring through there and afterward I felt kinda funny.
Which I am.
By funny, I mean I felt very dizzy and weak. It was like I’d had a blow to the system. When I stood up, I couldn’t stand straight. Instead, I sort of lolled around like I was subject to a stiff and highly variable breeze.
And I kept feeling that way for much of the rest of the night. It only really stopped after I got some sleep and switched it for the more usual symptoms.
And it makes me worried that I had some kind of cardiac event. A very minor one, given the possibilities, but still a troubling sign.
And I still haven’t heart jack shit about my operation. Maybe they are hoping that if they dick around and delay for long enough, I will save them all a lot of trouble by dying.
And then they can start worrying about real patients with lives worth saving instead of some slobby fat dude.
It would make sense, given how my case got so casually tossed to one surgeon and then to another. Nobody wants to work on such a worthless heart.
Or maybe I am just bitter and paranoid. I dunno.
But they have my echocardiogram and my angiogram an all the rest, so what are they waiting for? A candygram?
Don’t they know I’m diabetic?
Today’s antibiotic treatment was uneventful. Nice nurses, pleasant and professional. Both had Eastern European accents. Pleasant ones.
Was late because the car wouldn’t start. Looks like the battery is dead.
At least I hope that’s the problem because otherwise it’s the started and that would cost a hell of a lot of moolah to fix,.
Mostly though, I hope it is fixed by tomorrow because I had to pay $20 to taxi to and from my appointment and I can’t afford to keep doing that.
Well, that’s my word count. Time to go back to sleep.
More after the break.
These powers of mine
I should be grateful for them. Very grateful. And I am. Sometimes.
Other times. I revert to seeing them as either an ironic burden that exists solely to make my situation all the more pathetic relative to my potential or as a strange curse that puts far more power at my fingertips than I can possibly take responsibility for.
Honestly, I wish I was a less responsible person. I wish I was the sort of person who can blithely stretch and express their personal power without worrying about the effect on others and thus both grow it and learn to master it and hence become stronger.
Then again, maybe all my worry about hurting others with my massive power is just another way my depression bullshits me into staying small.
Maybe I could let loose completely and everything would be fine. I mean, I’m not Godzilla. I’m not Gulliver in Lilliput. I don’t have to worry that the slightest action of mine could crush people by the dozens, leaving them permanently broken.
Perhaps my sense of my own power relative to others is widely exaggerated because my depression knows I have a strong sense of responsibility and exploits that to keep me under its fascist regime.
Or maybe, growls my id, I should just do whatever the fuck I want and let the world worry about how to stay the fuck out of my way.
I could leave a wide trail of destruction in my wake.
I could have a lot of fun doing it.
I could turn into a monster.
I could turn into a real human being.
I could finally let go.
I could finally let myself grow.
I could finally grow up.
“I could”, michael bertrand
What the hell, I write poetry here all the time, might as well mark it as such.
My id craves release, that’s obvious. It has been stifled for far too long and as a result my personality is radically unbalanced towards the ego and superego.
I need someone to come along and restore balance to the Force.
I need to learn to integrate the id’s raw power into the rest of my psyche in order to make me a fuller and more functional being.
I need to let myself act without forethought, relying on my realtime intellect and instincts be my guide instead of trying to live life like it’s a game of chess and taking my board and going home if I can’t.
I need to learn to embrace my energies and let them feed and sustain my frostbitten soul instead of associating my energies with anxiety and suppressing them hard.
Talk about a cure being worse than the disease. I’d rather be anxious and functional than calm and worthless.
I need to pay a hell of a lot more attention to my needs.
I need to treat myself like I am worth something.
I need to love myself so much more.
I need to forgive myself for everything.
I need to let it all go.
Is that a poem? Kinda. But whatever.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.