Dialing for Dumbasses
I'm guessing that it's going to rain. Recently, the fits of rage and other more painful battles with the MS monster have been many.
...and so winds down my "hot season".
I made it through without a suicide attempt. That's something, I suppose. Called that horrible hotline a few times though. I cannot even put into words how I feel about that source of "help". They were abusive and rude. I called because I needed an ear, but I didn't even get that.
I (sort of) remember back when I was younger... a teenager... I called the Suicide hotline and the same thing happened. The person who took my call berated me and then pretty much hung up on me. In turn, I berated and pretty much hung up on myself ...in my own special Cutter way.
More than two decades have passed since then (and I have the scars to prove it).
I wonder how many suicides those assholes are actually responsible for. "Suicide Hotline", indeed.
I'll stick to drinking when I start freaking out. It's saved my ass in the past, and I imagine it will continue to do so. That's more than I can say for that damn hotline.
In Heaven there is no beer.
I haven't managed to bathe since Thursday morning. I'm trying my hardest to keep up with what I want to be keeping up with online. I'm trying my hardest all the way around. It doesn't really seem to be getting me anywhere though, aside from "not dead".
I've always wanted a little more than that for myself. "Not dead" just isn't the most exciting of destinations. Perhaps I've always wanted some sort of reward for my troubles.
I guess that's why the whole "Heaven" thing works out for a lot of people.
Yeah... Take it like a man, bitch!
There is a reason why that promise of virgins as a reward works as well as it does for some.
anythings
I'll be pretty surprised if there aren't any new lesions on my next MRI, but I suppose that anything's possible. (Maybe I'll even find where the rules for apostrophes and contractions went and why the word "anything's " is read as a mistake by spellcheck might make more sense to me.)
Daily, I go back to that place... that place where I doubt everything... where I doubt myself... where I just start writing every last symptom off as something else ...where I end up just calling myself a "pussy" and pushing myself even harder.
I once said, "If I can't live, then I'm going to die trying!" How prophetic. "Trying to live" may well be what kills me.
Creative Bitching
I suppose that there are only so many ways to say, "I'm not dead yet." or "Ouch!"
MS is not the most reliable muse.
Block
I'm well aware of the fact that my blog isn't nearly as entertaining as it once was. I don't know how ok I am with that truth. Part of me doesn't really mind, the other part is a little grouchy about it.
It's something that I'm passing on to those who read my blog though, I'm sure... because it's not as entertaining to me to write anymore, it's just not going to be all too entertaining for others who read what I do manage to come up with. If I have to force myself to write, then it's simply going to come across as forced.
...I suppose that my relative silence may well be because of a lack of inspiration and not just because of my seemingly increasing lack of ability...
Then, I suppose that I'd rather just say nothing at all than put out what I know to be not much more than shit on a silver platter.
three
Early this morning, I dreamt of 3 pigeons who were stuck in the ice in a lake, only their heads and down to the tops of their breast bones sticking out. When I finally succeeded in freeing one by cracking the ice around it with a stick, it viciously attacked the one next to it which was still trapped in the ice.
just more of the same
I'm feeling pretty split, for lack of a better word. It's a combination of overwhelmed, bored, restless, and exhausted. There are many things I want to do, many things that I'm in the middle of doing, and many things which I wish I could just give up. I want things to be simpler, but once they are, I'm bored silly ...or maybe I should say, "bored stupid."
I spend a lot of time thinking about my past. Perhaps it's that I'm searching for a solution to my current torment, despite my knowing full well that I'll not find one there. I think too damn much sometimes, I suppose. I can't even have lottery fantasies anymore, because too much of my reality slips in. My time travel fantasies? Science creeps in and kills them. The state of life on this planet kills my reincarnation fantasies.
Adventure... wanderlust. It's a part of who I am. Maybe it's genetic, maybe it's not. I don't know if it really matters. Wanting to move... to keep moving in a direction... wanting to... progress. I can't help but think that it's just part of the "human condition". Then, why would I think otherwise? I'm the only human I truly know.
coming and going
It does occur to me that if you think on those last two entries together, it says a whole hell of a lot about the power of "nurture".
She left first, and then he did (and that was actually after the first dumping off they did together the first time.)
It was my turn to put my "lifestyle" first.
Are we having fun yet?
it's back there
Woke up to some really odd memories which, for some odd reason, had decided to play in my head. Freshman year of High School, I think. It seems that with a lot of my memories, in order to deal with them, I crunched them together. It's not that I forgot things, it's that in order to conserve space, I blended in the seemingly less important things with other seemingly less important things ...or something like that.
I feel odd. In the past, I would have said that I (or "we") just changed set-ups... that the alters shifted. I suppose that could be the case. It could also be that SirThinksalot is fucking with me though.
1983 though? Why 1983? (ouch! THAT HURT!)
I got caught shoplifting in June of 1982. My brother was born in September of 1982. I did 8th grade in 1982 - 1983. First High School was until October of '83. Heather was in Nov. of 1983, at the second High School. I left my mother's home in November of 1984. I think that 1983 was squashed. Maybe it was that Summer flare... that first big one... June 27, 1983. I was only 13 fucking years old at the time.
Odd how it feels like yesterday.
I remember the kitchen... it's dark in the kitchen... the lights are off, I think. Maybe it's early in the morning... before school. Maybe I'm sitting at the kitchen table... if I look, in front of me, the fridge is all the way to the left, then the sink, then the stove? ...or was it the other way around, with the stove before the sink? Sounds more like it, but the image isn't clear. I'm more seeing the fridge. All the way to my right is the passageway which leads into the living room, but on the way there is a door which leads downstairs to the basement... and there's a "powder room" before heading down the stairs. You go down the stairs, and around the corner to the left is the basement, or if you don't turn the corner, the front door is there.
I didn't live there for very long. I think that we moved there right before I started High School. My brother needed a room. It must have been... in 1983.
My mother thinks that my wanting to do drugs had something to do with my leaving home. Shoot, I wouldn't touch drugs at that time... I didn't cross that line until 1985. If there was anything unrelated to my mother and step father's abuse which helped to push me out the door, it was wanting to go get laid.
Worked out well for me.
Captain Picard says:
time lines
When my mother was exactly the age I am today, I was in a mental institution.
When I was exactly the age my brother is today, I was in a mental institution.
There's just something creepy about this coincidence.
stormy weather
It's getting to be so that I don't need The Weather Channel anymore. If it's going to storm, I will be very, very angry and even more oversensitive than usual. I will also be in a lot of pain. I will have... a BAD MS day.
Most people who have had severe injuries can tell when it's going to rain. Lesions are injuries. It's not rocket science.
so funny I forgot to laugh
There are days, or moments in a day, when I feel like throwing my hands in the air and just giving up on this whole Internet thing. I can try to make my points in a thousand different ways, but the truth is that no one who doesn't already know what I'm talking about will ever really know.
I shouldn't have to suffer in order to have anyone take my pleas to respect my wishes seriously. I shouldn't have to risk the worst happening to me because someone can't make the leap to understanding why anyone other than themselves might have a problem with anything.
I should never have to endure even one "I'm sorry!" from someone who couldn't bother to try to see past the nose on their own face.
It is true that you cannot make someone care. It is true that you cannot make someone act in a way which proves to you that they care.
It is true that I'm tired of re-learning this.
It is true that I'm tired of living in fear.
and 3 years later...
I do miss writing here. It's just that my thoughts are often rather hostile, and I don't have it in me to spend my days defending them.
I do write, but I don't post what I write here as much anymore. I keep it to myself, sort of. I write on my computer... online... "privately", but I know that there's no such thing. Anything I write on my computer might be read... it's like a postcard.
SirThinksalot has been recently flattered. Many E-D-U's looking at his handiwork. He's a real bastard... burning away my brain when I fuck up. It's ok though... he's about the only one who can really keep me in line. He's a smart, and rather caring alien, he is.
I once was posting half a dozen times a day and thinking that I was probably just a whiny-fuck. He made me go to Montana and took away my vision for a while for that though. Fucktard.
So, I don't post all that much anymore.
I guess that I just sort of like (ummm... sorta kinda) seeing.
Because I could
I watched HBO's documentary, White Light/Black Rain: The Destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
I wish that everyone on the whole planet could watch it, and... get the point. I wish that everyone could watch it and get all of the points.
I wish that everyone could watch it and at least try to, because that has to never happen again anywhere.
Thank you
It makes me smile to know that someone chose to spend their birthday with me.
It makes me smile feeling like my company and a night on my floor are something of value.
but the beat goes on
Found out today that one of my neighbors died. He lived two doors down from me... a really nice guy. I guess that's just par for the course with living here. We're all either elderly or disabled.
It's odd how "natural" death has settled into my life over the years ...how it's become a lot more of a reality, as opposed to being more of just a concept ...how a lot of the tragic element in it has seemed to evaporate.
I'm not too sure if that's a good thing or not, but I'm guessing that it's just par for the course with getting older.
People die. It's nothing personal.
The llamas never showed.
I had one of my "I WANT TO GO HOME!!!" episodes yesterday. They're never too much fun, nor are they all too productive.
I still don't know the difference between "home" and "healthier". I guess it's just easier to focus on wanting to go home because at least there's a possible resolution to the problem. Being healthier just isn't possible, and sitting around hoping for a cure is just so much less romantic.
