Freshly awoken, feeling miserable, dizzy, etc. Wanting nothing more than to just lay back down and go back to sleep, but must eat n’ blog.
So what else is new?
Pretty depressed, too, but that’s purely physical. Of course I feel depressed when my head hurts and I feel weirdly floaty and listless.
That’s pretty depressing shit.
Oh, and also as per a more recent kind of usual, I am eating “lunch” at 4 pm.
This “sleeping when I should be eating” shit has got to stop.
I’ve figured out what it going on, at least. I get to the time where I would normally eat and then my dumb brain rebels at “having to” stay awake and eat and blog now and decides to “escape” into sleep instead.
God that’s pathetic. Sigh.
And once more I dream of escaping this dead end life where I have fucked up everything so badly on so many levels.
Maybe I should just give up on everything. Retreat into a hazy dream world where everything is soft and warm and out of focus and I completely abdicate all responsibility for myself and spend all my time asleep or nearly asleep while my health rapidly deteriorates and everything goes all to hell.
Nah. I could never do that to my friends. I would at least do what they told me to do, like any good child.
But I would have given up on trying to adult. Fuck it. I surrender. I am not qualified to care for myself. Someone is going to have to take over and deal with things.
Honestly, I should probably be in an institution. An asylum, a psych ward, a sanitarium, something along those line.
But the world is not that kind. I have asked around. They don’t give you a bed in one of those places unless you arrive there due to something much more serious than a case of being too sad to live.
I don’t even have a history of suicide attempts. Those are cries for help and I never cry for help because then someone might notice me.
And my Avoidant Personality insists that the only safety is in invisibility. Never draw attention to yourself. Blend into the wallpaper. You are a scared little animal hiding from a terrible predator and you can only do your best to stop existing at all.
And that never ever stops. Not even when you are alone, in your bedroom, at night, when you are trying to sleep.
Because the predator is always out there. Hell, there’s dozens of them. So the best you can ever hope for us to hide well enough to relax and get some fitful sleep.
It’s a fugitive’s mentality and there is, ironically, no escaping it.
Not even the swift and sure knowledge that I am totally safe and that my fear is completely irrational can save me from the inner hunter-killers.
It will only stop when I do.
More after the break.
Tonight, at the X-Rated Shakespeare Festival : “Tight Ass Andronicus”, “Julius, Seize Her!”, “The Mating of the Shrew”, and “A Midsummer Night’s Ream”.
I heart this dude muchly :
This comic gets it :
A quick note to a loyal fan
Sorry if the links above still don’t work for you, Felicity. Turns out people are uploading these things directly to Reddit and so there’s no easy way to upstream them.
I may have to rehost them on my own website.
Time split in two
Had one of my moments of temporal fugue just now.
Looked at the clock and saw 8:30 and honestly did not know if that was AM or PM. Actually thought it was AM until I deduced that it was too dark for 8:30 AM in the summer and so it must be PM.
Yup. Had to derive whether it was day or night via abstract reasoning. Experienced serious reality flux until I resolved it and it’s left me feeling alienated and cold.
This kind of shit just should not happen to people.
Especially not me. I’m fragile enough without having my entire sense of time and space thrown into chaos and doubt every now and then.
It feels like my connection to reality, which is weak at the best of time, got a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus.
I wonder where my lunar plexus is located.
What does not kill me makes me sillier.
Minor medical update
Went to see the super nice Doctor Caswell, my fat guy doctor (sleep apnea and diabetes, technically) today.
Not much came of it except one thing : she is going to call up those asshole in cardiac surgery at St. Paul’s on my behalf and leave them a voice mail of pointed inquiry.
I am still going to call my cardiologist Doctor Ebtia as she’s the one who is in their field and so they probably give her opinion more weight than a doctor like Doctor Caswell who specializes in two fields only weakly related to their own.
I mean sure, diabetes and sleep apnea are both connected to the heart, but what isn’t?
But I am glad for her moral support. It’s nice to know someone care enough to actually do something for me when I am not even in the room to make them feel bad.
There are probably a million things wrong with that last statement but fuck it.
Sometimes you just got to let yourself be crazy. Like Ford Prefect said, there’s no point in driving yourself crazy trying to keep yourself from going crazy.
And honestly, if I thought going full on Looney Tunes would definitely make me happy, I would go for it.
After all, what has reality ever done for me?
But alas, there are no guarantees that I would go (or stay) the happy kind of crazy.
It would probably lead to one of my worst fears coming true : being trapped alone in the darkness my skull with all my demons and no more ways to escape.
So I am still on Team Reality for now.
But I still hold onto becoming a full bozo whackjob as an option, and I take a lot of comfort from that fact.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.