Chocolate chip and peanut butter open faced sandwich.
Chocolate chip and peanut butter open faced sandwich.
THANKS FOR LISTENING, EVEN IF ONLY BOTS FOLLOW MY PAGE
I’ve put off making a facebook event to get all the numbers I lost (with my phone on some drunken deranged debacle) and I have had a new phone for weeks now. There was a barely perceptible tension. I figured it was because I didn’t want to answer the question, “Hey, what’s up?” or “How are you?”
I’ve distanced myself from all the people I don’t want to burden but also distanced myself from people who became burdens for one reason or another (fleeting friendships, ones that don’t cross county lines for one reason or another). People interact with and include others in their life mutually in a balanced relationship. Ebbs and flows. Yin and yang. All’s well that ends well. That sounds like a silly sentiment written like that. Even if conversations don’t happen for months, it can pick up right where it left off. There’s no unfairly distributed stress or strain. I thought that one-sidedness was the norm. My bridge never stood the test of time. Or pressure. Or stress. Or strain. It was a well-made bridge, but the cables were snapped in some places and reinforced strangely in others. The weight was unevenly spread. Trucks and cars and RVs and scooters traversed the roadway and it swiftly became the most-used bridge in the whole area. Wear and tear was inevitable. But the bridge is so beautiful with its quirks here and there. The seemingly random cracks in the surface. The bridge was great. I loved that bridge. But the bridge can only take so much before the poorly engineered surface gives way and sucks up all the dark matter around it and turns into a black hole of ever-changing proportions.
[[[[[[[AND I HAVE TOO MUCH TO SAY SO I THINK I’M JUST GONNA MAKE VIDEOS AND COMICS AND ART AND STILL WRITE BUT I NEED OTHER OUTLETS BECAUSE LOOK AT ALL THIS CRAZY JIBBER JABBER.]]]]]]]]]
It’s hard to distance yourself when social media is all up in your shit all the time. You visit a page, there’s 15 different ways to “tell your friends about this!” Um. No thanks. I’ve been so inundated with accessibility that I was glad when I lost my phone. I didn’t rush to get a new one. I didn’t have people asking “why didn’t you call me?” Telephones go both ways. (Like Pete Wentz). And me probably. I love and hate fully. The stark contrast goes completely against perception. It’s absurd.
And I can’t write anymore. I have partially formed thoughts on 457334 different topics and they all compete.
Anyway, I caught up with some friends today via telephone and it was pretty neat. ❤
The universe hugs and bitch slaps me at the same time.
Today was intended to be relaxing. No commitments to speak of, no boss, no actual threat of impending doom.
So, with that said… Sleep didn’t come peacefully even with the best intentions. I resorted to taking a Xanax to fall asleep. The taste is awful when it hits your tongue and it just resonates through your whole body with a shudder. Water doesn’t rid the taste if it happens to ever-so-slightly dissolve.
I don’t remember if I even fell asleep. My memory, once impressive, is now hilariously lacking. I don’t recall if I slept well, I just remember not being able to fall asleep in the first place. I find myself setting alarms on my phone for simple things like “stir noodles in 5 minutes.” Every day runs into the last.
I stayed up until about 5am reading a manga (my first!) and trying to quiet my incessant thoughts.
My whole body wanted to fall asleep, but my feet needed to move and my fingers needed to flex and relax repeatedly. It’s hard to describe the intensity of the fatigue that hits and the inability to satisfy it.
So I woke up at around 12:30pm. 7 hours, not bad! I think I woke up a few times, I may have gotten out of bed. I do that almost every night so last night was likely no different.
At 12:36 I took a 20mg Prozac pill. I was taking them in the evenings when I was working nights and I wasn’t motivated to change it to the morning since time right now is pretty fucking arbitrary.
I’ve been taking 40mg at night (anywhere between 7-9pm) and it has a long half life. I’m not a chemist or a doctor but I can figure out how to taper my meds without much help. I also have internet. Oh glorious and wonderous internet. It’s easy to get sucked into forums, but it’s useful for me to be able to search things like “Prozac withdrawal” and read a few anecdotes to know I’m not losing it and slightly reinforce my depleted ego.
12:37pm. After a few times opening and closing the door and not stepping out, I did it. I almost left my phone at home on purpose to minimize distractions but I brought it as a comfort item. I brought a pen, a pencil, a journal, a book, and a phone. That’s enough for a quick jaunt outside, right?
12:40pm. Walking walking walking over to the local giant patch of beautifully maintained grass. Knees cracked, muscles that have been dormant were awakened. Tired and sore all over, I continued walking and breathing deeply. I clutched my phone and my other precious items that keep me grounded.
12:46pm. I walked to the middle of the field and sat down in the grass. I took off my hoodie and spread out my belongings. I was sweating much more than was appropriate for a 10 minute walk.
12:48pm. Still sweating. Breathing deeply. Lots of buzzy bugs everywhere, but there is some respite in the cool breeze. I read a little, I doodled.
I was overwhelmingly warm so I decided to lay back in the grass and cover my eyes with the arm of my hoodie. My lids shut and I diffused my energy into the nature rug covering the hunk of earth I was lying on.
I felt that I was disrupting micro ecosystems as I followed the minuscule bugs’ journeys across my page. I moved to a shady bench. I sat there reading until 1:42pm and I headed back to the humble abode I reside in (but only for a few more days.) This apartment has been a great place to spend my time the past couple of months. Lots of cats and love.
Around 2:00pm, I started my usual straightening up of the apartment. Nothing major, just shuffling around things that are already pretty well-organized.
I ate some leftover noodles and peas. Pretty basic stuff, but I felt immediately nauseous and light-headed. I sat down and drank water.
I sat some more. I breathed. I paced. It felt like an eternity had passed in the matter of moments.
I took a Xanax. It could be a sugar pill, I don’t know if it actually does anything. But I’ve been trying to be in tune with my body and my body wanted to spiral into an ugly place. I calmed down by reading until 3:40pm. Mt stomach hurt and I was exhausted. I decided to lay down for a nap.
I woke up at 7:00pm with wonky pupils. This is a fun side effect that I haven’t had since I was first prescribed meds. It looks like this: O.o
I then browsed some internets, mostly Humans of New York because it has a good mix of positive and negative and is generally uplifting.
It’s now 10:00pm and I’m writing about my day to the world. Brevity was never my strongsuit.
It’s time to heat up some dinner. Most likely the leftover noodles from a “use up all the ingredients in the cupboard”-esque meal I made yesterday in my quest to cook semi-decent food that is reasonably priced and not artery clogging. I ended up with a lasagna casserole-type dish that I subbed peas for ground beef and added some velveeta to because whatever, processed cheese food gives a really nice body to a sauce that came in the form of a powder in a pouch out of a Weis-brand boxed dinner kit…
Today’s rating: sunny with a chance of meatballs
I’ve been thrashing in my sleep.
I don’t remember doing it, but I wake up mid-punch sometimes.
I’ve smacked my head against a wall.
The blankets once so neatly tucked and cozy lay lifeless on the floor.
My body sprawls diagonally across the roomy full sized mattress.
I wake up confused. I wake up tired.
My phone rings. Hello tumbles out of my mouth before I’m fully conscious.
I slept through my alarm.
I don’t recall waking up to turn it off at all.
I woke up around 6am with a twitchy body and racing thoughts.
My mental fortitude doesn’t stand a chance when my entire being is screaming for rest.
I gave in to the medicine I’ve been prescribed.
I am authorized to take 0.5 mg 2-3 times per day for anxiety (as needed).
But what about when 1 tablet does nothing to calm my twitching feet.
2 tablets doesn’t stop the thoughts whizzing by.
What if as needed is all the time?
Can I set up a constant dosage that courses through my veins and keeps the highs and lows from being so jarring?
At this rate I’m going to develop a benzo habit. This is probably worse than the symptoms that my meds were intentionally supposed to treat.
I’m aware of it so I titrate myself accordingly. But sometimes it feels that the amount prescribed won’t even scratch the surface.
I dozed off at some point.
Ringing and buzzing and flashes of light disarm me.
It’s 10:30, my appointment is at 11.
The phone call was to move back my appointment, thankfully, to this afternoon.
Between 6am and 10:30am, all I remember is taking meds to calm down my twitching body.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
I don’t remember thrashing about; the resulting blankets strewn across the floor seem like a bad omen.
I don’t remember turning off the alarm.
I’m awake now. Sup.
Memory. What’s that?
I don’t remember tons from my childhood aside from themes and colors and some very specific instances. My organization of the past is sporadic. Mostly empty with a hint of melancholic musings.
My short term memory is laughable. I talk in circles and say the same thing maybe 2 minutes after I originally said it like I had a Eureka! moment in between breaths.
Too bad I already said that.
The concerned look of the other person. The slight frustration they feel during the conversation is nothing compared to the internal lunacy lunging at my throat. Clawing and sinking it’s teeth into my train of thought.
The unseen terror triumphs. I apologize, make a self-deprecating joke. The other party seems none the wiser. I diffused the bomb, but not forever. The incessant tick tick tick. The countdown to an explosion. The inability to latch onto a single logical sentiment. Instead, they whiz past on the autonomic autobahn. I feebly hold on and try to politely remove myself from the situation.
Day in. Day out. Slowly succumbing to the serpentine pathways, inanely formed in a permanent press wash cycle of madness. Spinning round, detergent nowhere to be found. Stuck in a pattern of square pegs in a round holes. Wash again. Maybe this time it will be clean?
Joints aching, feeble strings breaking
Snapping under the weight
of every movement every day
distractions are common place
blame is the only solution i face
what if the monster under the bed
completely fabricated in my head