Well, The insanity continues. So far, despite these tsunami like waves of stressful things happening, I have managed to stay on top of them rather then let them crash over me. I'm like totally surfing. My name is Surf, isn't that great? No it isn't, but that line was from a Russian spy in the Miami Vice episode. "Bushido". Cool one. Surf was the bad guy, but he sure loved America and a big ol Detroit.... And apparently 1930s gangster stuff he must have stole from Capone. Wait... How did I get on this tangent?
I guess maybe there are some things to be said about good intentions. My employer put on a really big show about Mental Health Awareness Month. I guess they should be given credit for trying at least. Who's aware? Well, I certainly am. I long ago gave up on denying that I have a few problems myself. Anxiety has been a lifelong companion. I have had it since before I or others around me knew that's what it was. The school system seemed to think I had emotional problems. But, looking back, I know now that I was simply having panic attacks. They're usually a lot rarer these days... (Or were until 2022 Hell) But that's what it was. My emotions are no different than any other human being, really. Yes, I am sensitive. Yes, I wear my heart on my sleeve. But I come by these traits quite honestly. And that is one of the ways my mother still lives on in me. You don't need a signed, notarized document from the doctor or my father to know that yes, I am her child. And it's not a bad thing to have feelings. The thing is. The obviously good intentions of my employer aside, The health insurance is unaffordable, This anxiety keeps me from venturing far enough away from my area. I believe that I happen to need the full range of treatment. Therapy, meds, counseling, yadda yadda Yoda. but the financial, stigmatic, and geographical roadblocks bar me from getting that treatment. Far behind me are the days when I deny I need it. All my doctor will give me is the antidepressant, Paxil. And really... After losing my baby sister, losing my mother, fighting a $55,000 bill, and dealing with some heavy shit I can't even talk about here, Prescribing me Paxil is like throwing a cup of water on a three alarm fire. Not very effective. So All I have left is the good doctor Blog-ieo.
Just to recap I'm still fighting the gigantic evil American Telephone And Telegraph Robot, Let's say you sign up for the 70 Dollar a month internet plan from AT&T. How much should one owe them for the single week they had it before canceling it because, well. they suck? Let's do a Bob Barker sorta thing. The closest bid to the actual retail price without going over and you win the showcase? Try the 55,000 dollar showcase. That's right. Fifty Five Thousand. I guess this fits in with how horrible this year has been to me. I swear that if this is a simulation where two mad scientists keep increasing my stress level to see where my breaking point is. It's gonna be one nerd against two and woe to them if I ever escape this laboratory. The most maddeningly science experiment gone wrong since Frankenstein's monster. And boy is Frankie pissed! I keep saying I am tired, that I am flat out burning out. Nobody's listening. They probably won't until I collapse, carried out on either a stretcher, in a straight jacket, or both depending on which kind of hospital I'm bound for. Maybe they'll find these words, and maybe at least one or two might come close to understanding. Though, as I say a lot here, only Marsha would truly get what I am saying. I don't want to go insane, as in lose whatever's left of my sanity. I don't want to die either. But, equally, I don't want to continue as things have been going. I want to live, damn it! Not exist in misery. This can't keep on like this. I want to be free of all of this. I cannot carry on like this. I won't. So, what is there to be done? Well, there's the problem. I hopefully will at least have that gigantic bill canceled. But I cannot bring my sister back. I cannot bring my mother back. I do not have the money or the physical fitness it takes to repair or replace this old house. Once I tried cleaning up all that hurricane debris, only to break my wrist. Which put me out of work for the first month of 2019. I cannot force certain toxic people in my life to change their shitty ways. I could force them to leave, but it would be an ugly situation that would most likely make me look like a villain. As for my low paying job in a world of fast rising prices, I still have my reasons for staying put. For one, it's close and I don't want to drive very far. Driving anxiety, you know. Secondly, they let me be myself there and (Most importantly) I do not want to cut my hair, currently past my shoulders but not quite to the middle of my back. I get a lot of comments on my hair, both good and bad. Among the bad is where they think they're hurting me by saying I look like a girl. Oh do I? But anyway, I am NOT cutting my hair. I love how it feels on my shoulders, the way the wind catches it, and the shadow I cast on a sunny day kinda makes me happy. And friends, I need whatever happiness I can hold on to. This is important maintaining this functional level of mental health. I could tell you about a few realizations I had in the summer of 2019, inner epiphanies where so many things coincidental, turned out not to be coincidences at all.. Turned out they all meant something. And this is even more important now than it was back then. There is something very meaningful and grounding about knowing where you stand, and what you see from there. Both outside and inside, within and without. And remember that your feelings are valid, that you need no confirmation from others about who you are. You are the only one qualified to know. And enough said about that. Another quirk I have noticed lately in myself is how instead of thinking aloud, I find myself (Talking /Thinking) to my mother and my baby sister. (Out of earshot of others of course) Momma, Momma, Momma, what am I to do? I just don't know what to do. I really feel like I'm falling apart at the seams. Nobody's listening. Nobody's helping. Nobody's simply saying they're here for me or that they care. Please let the world stop just long enough for me to catch my breath. I need a serious moment to pull myself together.
Or if I break down crying like Momma told me I used to do as a toddler when she was momentarily out of sight, help me by pretending it didn't happen. Maybe it's different now because I'm a middle-aged adult and my reasons for crying are a lot more complicated. Except that Momma is out of sight forever now and I want her back. That has not changed besides me being older and her now being gone forever. Though it was not her choice. I don't blame you, Momma. If there is such thing as a better world, then please give my love to Marsha, Granny, Grandma, Grandpa, My uncles and aunts... And if you happen to see Lori, thank her for her kindness in the seventh grade. It meant so much, and made a permanent mark on my heart. This world is too empty without all these people I love. If there is another one, well I'm ready. Really it is because I do not wish to be the cause of pain to the people who love me that I keep toughing it out. But I swear it's getting more difficult with each day that passes. I would hate to the reason for anybody's pain simply because they were kind enough to love me. That would fill my heart with such guilt and regret as to damn me for all eternity. I want to be worthy of their love, never cause them pain. At the same time, I am sick of this life and I'm going to tell you why. I am sick of having to be someone I'm not. Nobody's political bullshit is going to change who and what I am. I am sick of living without my baby sister, my kindred spirit, my wonder twin, my guardian, that very similar OS on another computer, and the best friend I have ever known. Life without Marsha just ain't worth living. I am sick of living without my mother, a good woman who often drove me totally Nutso The Clown, yet I loved her so much for that. It showed she cared about me. She never abandoned me. She was a true mother. Life without my mother just ain't worth living. My old house is falling apart. I can't afford to fix it. The yard is still full of downed trees from Hurricane Michael. I can't afford to pay for cleanup. The last time I tried doing it myself resulted in a broken bone and a missed month of work. I have a toxic person in my life who is an added layer of stress. Then I suddenly have AT&T claiming I owe them 55,000 dollars for one week of the shittiest internet ever. That's more than two years pay at my job. I have the following mental problems plus one more I am not yet ready to tell the world about. Anxiety, Depression, PTSD, Complex Grief, that I know of anyway. Sometimes it's like I'm at the grocery store adding this shit to my cart one by one. Must be on sale. But look at me, still functional and stuff. Man, this is like winning the race with your stock car on fire. A regular trophy, medal, gold star, or cookie just does not cut it. It needs to be a cookie with chips and sprinkles. something to make even cookie monster drool. I am balanced on this wave, surfing, totally gnarly, dude... But I am also slipping. Just like Scotty said, I don't know how much longer I can hold her together, Captain. Red Alert, Battle Stations, all hands prepare to abandon ship. Activate self destruct code Picard Epsilon Alpha... Set a course for oblivion, Damn it The Borg, Warp nine engage! Will this totally fucked up ship be saved before the end of the episode? Stay tuned... The ship has found itself in an orbit around Hell. And not a single commendation or Medal for this astronomical courage it has taken to stay alive and at least remotely in the same galaxy as my sanity. Damn you, Starfleet, I was one of your best! Where is my medal and date with the lovely Counselor Deanna Troi? Actually I need more to see her professionally. Fix my head, doc. Fix my head. I'm not sure I'm in one hell of a tragedy or just the darkest comedy ever, the kind of funny that's definitely not ha ha funny, but ironically funny.. This Hell of 2022 has been brought to you by the letters W, T, and F, and I really feel like giving up. Not saying I will, but God Damn. What more could this world want from me besides my life? At least give me something to look forward to. At least give me an hour out of my day to be truly happy. Even a minute would be nice. I am so sick and tired of crying. Maybe it helps keep me sane, but should I, a grownup for decades have to cry every single day of my life? Stop. Just stop. Stop hurting me. What kind of sadist it running this show? Stop kicking me when I'm already on the damned floor! Talk about unsportsmanlike conduct. 20 yard penalty, still second down. Unnecessary roughness. Making a pass without throwing the football. You get the idea. What? Am I cheering for the wrong team? Oh the hell well. Might as well make a good show of it. Goooooo Team! [Throws pompom]
I am ready to go back to the bleachers.
Still, I keep trying. Still, I am here. A little help could go a long way. One little boost and I just might rock and roll. And be damned grateful enough to remember who helped and be there for them. The point is I am still in this fight so far. I want to give up. I really do. But there are some people who I will love forever who would not want me to give up, would be really disappointed in me if I did. So, for them, I keep going. For them I like that Robert Frost poem about having miles to go.
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