negative convergence
For various irrational reasons, I’m feeling quite forlorn and abandoned. Such is life.
Archive for tag Whining
not in this timeline
a phantom lifestyle imagined by my
fevered mind where there would be someone at
home who would wish me luck and send me out
with a hug and a kiss, and there would be
someone to look forward to seeing once
it’s all over
some other lifetime, or some other branch
universe, splitting off from some moment
before I erred and made the wrong choices
before the stars went astray and awry
before the decisions were taken from
my hands
to believe that this was how it was all
meant to turn out—the thought makes my heart ache
my breaths painful to draw—that this was some
unavoidable, inescapable
doom
that God would be so cruel to condemn not
just me, but any soul to so hopeless
so desolate a fate, leaves me tired
aching and weary, my faith tattered and
torn
perhaps my only consolation is
that somewhere in this multiverse there is
a version of me who knows what it is
to be happy
charm (and my appalling lack thereof)
There is a woman whose name I don’t even know for which I have this desperate, raw attraction to. I see her from time to time, as we occupy opposite ends of an extremely large social millieu, as friends of friends of friends of friends. I don’t know what it is about her, but I find my eyes wandering toward her if I don’t monitor myself, even as she’s hanging on the arm of some guy. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve never had an attraction like this before.
I mean, sure, there are women whom I’ve met whose beauty literally makes me tremble, but usually it’s never just how hot she is, or how much I want her. Usually there are other dimensions that I quickly learn about—her intelligence, her sense of humor, her kindness, her compassion—an entire package, as it were. This pure lust I’ve usually reserved for movie stars, singer/songwriters, and other celebrities who are as impossible to get to as distant galaxies (whereas the women I actually meet and talk to whom I harbor impossible crushes for are merely as improbable to get to as the outer planets)
There’s a first for everything, I guess.
But in the greater scheme of things, I guess I’d much rather have the entire package, and believe me, I’ve met some quite extraordinary people out there. It doesn’t mean anything, because, as I’ve mentioned, I’ve essentially given up. And I doubt that any of them have ever reciprocated any of these thoughts anyway, and pursuing this line of thought has always led me deep, dark bouts of depression. So we won’t go there, and I don’t want to hear anything about trying.
And I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s just that I live in such a tightly circumscribed little universe. You would think that in a profession like mine where I often need to ask quite intimate questions of people, socializing would never be a problem, but i suppose that it’s precisely because I do these things under the mien of my profession that it’s easy. Without the aegis of doing my job, I’m just another nobody that nobody wants to talk to, full of patent nonsense and mindless drivel and often times desperate loneliness.
So I find myself standing next to χ, for whom, unsurprisingly, I’ve had a crush on, which has manifested from time to time, but which I’ve mostly kept under wraps, since I don’t see her all that often, and there is a guy she is sort of paired-up with, even though nothing authoritative has ever been mentioned. It’s only just wild (and often profane and lascivious) speculation. Which in my universe might as well be true when it comes to women, but whatever.
And I can’t think of anything to say. She gives me a smile and walks past, and part of me is like, “Damn!” while the other part is like, “How else was that going to go? What could I possibly say that wouldn’t be damagingly awkward?”
off
I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that nothing is right with my world. Everything is in chaos. And everything I try to do to fix it ends in stagnating failure.
I have this nagging suspicion that nothing is ever going to be OK.
worn down to little bits and pieces
It is weird to observe new beginnings without actually being part of it. Like when A+E first got together, for example.
But today the new interns started, and the heady mix of excitement and apprehension was intoxicating. I wish them all well. The next three (or so) years are going to be an adventure.
For a while, I felt like I was soaring, blown upwards by paroxysmal blasts of wind, wanting to do impossible things, forever chasing sunlight. But weariness creeps in bit by bit. In a lot of ways, I know that Bn is right, that my life is still ahead of me, that it’s too early to settle down and take root.
Even though the past four, eight, twelve years are finally catching up to me, and I look at the cold hard road behind me, and I realize that there’s no going back at all.
A part of me yearns achingly to claim this place for my own, to make that decision that this is enough.
That I am home.
A part of me recognizes that no place will ever be home, so long as my heart is sundered into sharp, jagged fragments. Just as I belong to no land, to no country, so too can no place lay claim over me. My soul lies fallow. What’s left of my heart is cold and still.
Maybe our hearts always know our destinies. As much as I’ve clawed, kicked, and railed against Fate, it has moved on inexorably, leaving me floundering in its wake, gasping for air and only swallowing sea water.
It’s been a long, long time since I remember knowing what I wanted. It may still be a long, long time to go.
It’s never gonna be that simple.
unroofing
It’s terrible, really. Times like these, when it’s sunny and calm and blissful and quiet, is when I worry the most.
I think about all those times that I’ve felt the cold presence of Death draw near. It’s never my death that I’ve feared, although I’m scared of that the way anyone is scared of jumping out of a plane at 30,000 feet, or jumping off of an 500 foot cliff. But that’s just visceral fear—the autonomous nervous system taking control, cutting off your cortex so that you don’t die from thinking too much.
No, what my encounters and near-encounters with death have taught me is the meaning of the word dread. Brooding dread. The kind of thing that keeps you up in the middle of the night, gnawing on the ends of supposition and running through worst-case scenarios, and having to wonder if, when you got up the next morning, you’d be able to bear it.
I’ve talked about the time my dad had his big MI, coming upon three years ago, now. If I didn’t know it before, I understood it then what it means to be outside of the loop. No one ever talked to me, showed me any test results. No one tried to reassure me or lay it all out on the table. It was just silence filled with my fretful worries, some legitimate, some completely out of my ass. I didn’t help that I lived 150 miles away, and that I was still trying to work and commute back-and-forth. I remember trying to take Step 3 of the USMLE during this time period, and I’m surprised I passed.
While the hours fled, measured by the inhuman beeping of the cardiorespiratory monitor and of the pulse ox, me and my mom were working on pure speculation, trying to piece together the fractured fragments of the so-called practice of medicine while my dad suffered in his bed in the ICU, barely awake. In this profession, they call that “circling the drain.” I’ve seen that look at least a thousand times now, and I think I’ve only seen anyone come out of it twice in the last six years.
Even now, whenever I drive past that hospital, or that train station, I still remember that day in late June. The heat made the streets seem to waver, and I felt like I was floating along in some kind of surreal nightmare.
Walking from the Chinatown Gold Line station to the doors of that hospital. Those were the loneliest, most onerous two blocks of my life, and will probably be the benchmark by which I measure all my future suffering.
Death smacked me straight in the face one random January morning in 2007. You see, phone calls before 5 am are almost never good. No one wins the lottery or gets engaged before 5 am. Sure, someone could have had a baby, but you usually know this in advance. You usually have some sort of warning So when I got that pre-5 am phone call straight out of the blue, I remember shivering. Hesitating about calling back.
Overcoming my dread, I call my cousin J. He tells me that his sister D is in the hospital. She’s intubated and sedated. (Reminding me of all those dreary progress notes I’ve written while rotating through the unit, trying not to kill anyone faster than they were already going.) What are you supposed to say, then? Not knowing anything about anything, just knowing that someone you knew and loved was dying, and quite possibly dead. Soul evacuated. I’m not here. This isn’t happening.
The last thing I ever said to her was that we should all hang out more.
I still get the shivers when I drive past the parking lot where we last parted.
Every day that passes, I feel like I’m just waiting. Whenever I see my dad slumped over on the sofa, having fallen asleep while watching TV, breathing quietly, I end up think about the fact that all our days are numbered. I know that we’ve got to make the most of every moment we’re given with each other, but at the same time, we’ve got to live in the present, with plans for the future. It doesn’t make any sense, really. I try not to think about any of this, but the longer I hold it in abeyance, the more likely it’s going to wake me up in the middle of the night, leaving me drenched in sweat, with my heart racing.
If I use all my strength up to swim away from shore, what are the odds that I’ll actually make it back? If I spend all that time now, what happens to later? Does it matter?
Eventually I end up quantifying how much anyone has ever loved me, which is an awful, ugly exercise. It’s like a Goldilocks and a three bears situation. I know for a cold, hard fact that my mom loves me. I know this more than I know that the stars that glimmer in the midnight sky are balls of hydrogen and helium gas. But there’s probably such a think as too much. I’ve lived under her shadow for too long, letting her shield me from the real world, and now that I know that it’s all been a big mistake, a massive clusterfuck of epic proportions, it’s too late. I’m a mama’s boy. There’s nothing to be done.
Now my dad. My dad is not a virtuous man. Last weekend on Father’s Day, my sister gently chided him for all the things he did when we were all younger, and really, for all the things he didn’t do. My dad is a passionate man, but he doesn’t know how to express it. I’ve learned a lot about distance from him. About keeping your cards close to your chest. About never giving away a tell. In cards, in mahjongg, in basketball. The problem is, you can’t just hide things from your opponent. You end up hiding things from your teammates, too. You have to hope that they know you enough to still trust that the things that need to get done, actually get done.
My dad has committed his share of betrayals. Sometimes he simply wasn’t there when we needed him. But I guess the thing that evens it all out is that, in the end, he stuck around. As paltry, as pathetic as that is, I suppose it makes a difference.
The only two people in my life who probably give a shit about my sorry ass are my siblings. For better or for worse, we’ve travelled down a common path for decades. We’ve had our share of fights. A lot of them physical and violent, to tell the truth.
My brother is a lot more like my dad than I am, although we have the same penchant for distance. The only thing is that we’ve been through a lot together, and that’s probably all we can hope for. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if my brother ended up getting married without telling me, or moving across the continent. It’s just the way we are. We’re brothers, and that’s probably as far as I’ve ever thought about it, for better or for worse. I don’t expect him to look up to me like I’m some kind of saint.
My sister. Well, that’s complicated. We’ve had an embattled relationship from the start, I think, striving for attention and control. Anything that my sister knows about politics, organizing, and sheer manipulation can probably be traced to the lessons of her youth from our sibling rivalries. Even today, we have long drawn out arguments that lead to shoving and hitting. I haven’t talked to her in three months now. I just don’t have anything to say that wouldn’t be patronizing. I’m not going to apologize. Even if I am wrong. If she needs me, she knows where to find me, and that’s that.
So much for living in the present, huh? Those are the four people I love the most on this green Earth, and it’s ridiculously complicated, and not a little painful. But I remember that quote about trying to stop a war being like trying to stop a glacier. I just ain’t gonna happen.
Oh, I’ve got friends who keep tabs on me from time to time. Mostly to make sure I haven’t imploded. I owe them far more than I’ve ever given them, if I’ve even given them anything worthwhile. And then there are those episodes that I like to think of as lost chances rather than abject failures. But we’ll never know now, will we? Somehow I stumbled upon some pictures I took with Chrsc., remembering that she’s getting married in about a year.
On bright days like this, the sunlight suffuses everything with a haze that gets embedded in my memories. These bright photons will fade with time, leaving impressionistic etchings on the walls of my mind. All I’ll remember is that it was bright and sunny.
Only the loneliness, the emptiness is real. It’s the only thing I seem to be able to touch, hard and sharp like forged steel.
Where do I go from here? That seems to be the eternal question. After all this time, I no longer want to know the answer. Times like this, all I want is some reassurance that I won’t have to suffer too much before the end.
loneliness vs heartbreak
The unholy combination of Twitter, Google Reader, and raging insomnia brings me to this blog post about weighing the pain of loneliness vs the suffering of heartbreak. I kind of wonder if it just isn’t the distinction between chronic disease and acute disease. Isn’t loneliness just a more diffuse, protracted form of heartbreak? Loneliness is what heartbreak turns into, given enough time.
I feel like I’ve been in an emotionally stunted state for the last 15 years, actually.
There is nothing so horrendously futile as wanting to be in love and not even managing to get that right. We’re not even talking about reciprocation here. Much less revelation. The issue is that even the unrequited variety has been near damn impossible to sustain. Every time, the idea that it’s probably just going to end in tears sends me catapulting back into a totally cocooned state.
My heart lies closed, and is as cold and silent as stone.
And yet, that which fails to bend will break. That which fails to yield will shatter.
Rigidity, and certainly frigidity, can actually be a rather tenuous and fragile state.
I found myself digging through scattered sheets of paper containing random things I scrawled from about 10 years ago, and I must admit, I was a lot more melodramatic back then.
But I guess that’s around when all this started. This mind-crushing, agonizingly excruciating feeling of hopelessness. Of numbness. The only real difference is the intensity. It actually doesn’t actively hurt most of the time, although I’ve certainly gotten twinges now and again. But the pathophysiology certainly continues inexorably, and unabated.
I guess I never really appreciated how much of an emotional cripple I’ve become.
acid
Well this is pleasant.
I found myself extremely exhausted when I got home around 7:30 pm and so basically just crashed out.
I woke up at 1:15 am choking on my own gastric secretions.
I hate GERD.
the long stretch
Man, I thought I was done with these. I don’t have another day off until nine days from now, and I’m already exhausted. I ended up being stuck at work until 7:45 pm today. I knew I should’ve just gone home and gone to sleep, but instead I went to Tommy’s and had a chili burger, which guarantees that I’m going to have a rough night of GERD symptoms. So I’m trying to postpone that moment of lying down supine.
I had the weirdest sensation last night. For some reason, my left tricep cramped up quite painfully, and I spent at least 30 minutes trying to massage it to relax. As a result, my left sternocleidomastoid muscle cramped up as well.
This resulted in me trying to massage this muscle into relaxation as well, knowing fully well that this would result in massaging my carotid artery. Well, wouldn’t you know it, nature called after a good while of occluding my carotid, and I nearly syncopized as I stood up. Wouldn’t that have been funny?
As I sat by myself wolfing down my burger and inhaling my chili fries (which threaten to rise up from my gullet as I type), I was overtaken by this odd sense of wistfulness. It wasn’t a rational feeling (if such a thing were not a semantic oxymoron.) Meaning that I couldn’t pinpoint the stimulus. These are the times that I wonder if I haven’t done too good a job with fortifying my emotional defenses. I rarely feel a thing these days, and the moment I start feeling something, my instinct is to avoid it entirely.
This clearly cannot be healthy.
But I always remember this quote (although I can’t remember who it’s attributed to): “There’s no problem so big you can’t run away from it.”
If I survive the next nine days (including two 30 hour call nights), I’ll deal with it then, I guess.
And isn’t it humorously ominous that this upcoming is Holy Week? That is, the week leading up to the commemoration of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ? How absurdly fitting.
hypochondriosis
You would think that being a trained medical professional would make me immune to supratentorial disorders.
—Calvin playing doctor from “Calvin and Hobbes”
Be that as it may, I’ve tried my damndest to ignore this pain in my back and right leg. Sure, I’d had had to escalate my dose of OTC pain-killers to Tylenol 1250 mg every eight hours and Alleve 440 mg twice a day, but since it was doing the trick, I figured it was just some inflammation, and that it would eventually go away. Or I would get a bleeding ulcer or maybe fulminant hepatitis. Whatever, same difference.
But what really freaked me out was when the stuff didn’t touch it.
That’s when having a medical education starts becoming a problem.
You start thinking about all the random things you learned and wish you hadn’t.
Of course, it’s not cancer. As the esteemed governor of the State of California might say, “It’s not a tumor!” I mean, there is no mass in my leg. And it’s not really bone pain. (I don’t think.) I haven’t been losing weight. Sure, I’ve been getting night sweats (and maybe this is more a manifestation of my guilty conscience more than anything else), but I haven’t been spiking any fevers or having any chills. And sure, I’ve been having numbness and tingling down my right leg, but I haven’t been having any bowel or bladder incontinence. Besides, I’m like 30 years too young to be having prostate issues, much less bone metastases to my spine.
And I don’t think it’s a DVT {deep venous thrombosis}. Even though I do get swelling around my ankle, it’s not like it’s a huge amount. And while my calf is killing me, it isn’t this point tenderness that I would expect if I had a clot blocking up my veins. It’s more of a gnawing sensation, really. And, as sedentary as I am, it’s not like I’m bed-ridden and completely immobile. I *do* get up to walk around once in a while. There aren’t any clotting disorders that run in my family.
So what could it be?
The logical thing would be to go and see my primary care physician. Barring that, I could probably ask anyone at work about my symptoms and maybe even have them look at my leg.
But, like the bastards who show up at the emergency room with horrific diseases that could’ve been prevented had they seen a doctor every year like they’re supposed to, I figured I would just wait.
The epilogue to all this is that I figured out it’s my stupid ankle that I ruined once and for all in 2001. To put it in medical mumbo-jumbo, the laxity of my anterior talofibular ligament has affected my gait, and because of the resultant abnormal body mechanics, it’s been affecting the more proximal muscles of my leg, eventually resulting in some impingement on my sciatic nerve, and causing muscle spasm in my paraspinal muscles. In other words, my ankle sprain has never healed, and it’s caused me to walk all funny, so that all my leg muscles are starting to hurt, and now my back muscles are causing problems too, not to mention my sciatic nerve.
So for the past week I’ve been hobbling along. Ever since I started wearing the ankle brace, the back pain has (mostly) gone away, the sciatic nerve pain has eased off, and I’m not having to gulp down fifty pills every morning, noon, and night like I was 60 years old.
The sad thing is that I only have guaranteed health insurance for the next nine months. You would think that I’d take advantage of it, but like must Americans, I guess I must be afraid of seeing doctors.
rehab (even amy winehouse had to go)
OK, I’m not talking about my drug problems. I’m talking about the terrible shape my body is in.
Now for the past year I’ve been suffering from either sciatica or piriformis syndrome (it makes no difference—either way, something is squishing my sciatic nerve.) Pain would suddenly get me, literally right in the ass, with some radiation down the leg, and even sometimes numbness and tingling. Nothing that some naproxen couldn’t take care of. Some weeks would be worse than others, but I didn’t really spend much time thinking about it.
In retrospect, I realize things have been slowly progressing for the worse.
Last week, I nearly fell down because of how much it hurt. I luckily was able to sit down in a controlled manner, but then I couldn’t get up again for several hours.
This is very bad.
I like to blame the fact that I bought a pair of shoes that were too big for me, and too damn heavy besides. This is roughly when I started having symptoms back in August of ‘06, and the symptoms got better once I dumped those shoes.
But most likely, this is just the end result of being way too sedentary, and being way too overweight. I mean way too overweight.
The sad irony is that now that I’m constantly in pain, I’m even less likely to want to exercise. I can’t even walk from one end of work to the other without having all the nerves in my right lower extremity feel like they’re shrieking in agony.
The slothful part of me just wants to get the decay and decline to get to the point. What’s the end point of all of this? Well, besides death. I mean, can you actually experience significant morbidity and even mortality from sciatica?
I mean, I guess I could just become even more and more unwilling to move. Eventually, my coronary arteries will narrow with cholesterol deposits, and then it’ll be the cath lab for me. Or v. fib arrest, dead on arrival, but I’m really trying to be more optimistic these days. I suppose this pain will encourage even worse body mechanics, making me prone to more injury.
I suppose I could become so sedentary that I end up with a DVT {deep venous thrombosis}. Leading to a pulmonary embolism.
But as much as I whine about how sucky my life is, I really don’t want to undergo a steady, excruciatingly slow decline in function, only to be killed by something massive, sudden, and excruciatingly painful, like a heart attack or an embolism. (If I could choose my mechanism of death, it would be via respiratory arrest from morphine and/or benzodiazepine poisoning, preferrably in the setting of a hospital or even better, in the hands of hospice care, without having to get a plastic tube rammed down my throat, or getting my ribs cracked by overzealous interns, but I digress.)
So I’m actually looking into trying to get better. Literally one step at a time.
Sunday night, before I got on the freeway to drive back to San Diego, the pain was so distracting that I had to stop at a Ralphs and buy an ACE wrap. For some reason, wrapping it around my ankle really helped. (Although I suppose the 500 mg of naproxen and the 1250 mg of Tylenol probably played their part, too.)
I figured out that the pain in my right leg (if it isn’t a DVT) is probably a combination of things: the sciatic nerve pain and the sequelae of a couple of bad ankle sprains.
In high school my sophomore year (15 years ago!) I missed a little ledge and ended up twisted my ankle really bad. I mean, my leg and foot probably went at a 90° angle, except usually that part of the ankle doesn’t really move that way, or move at all, really. I was on crutches for a week. But I didn’t think about it again.
Then in July 2001, I sprained it again walking around NYC. I remember the pain being overwhelming. I almost blacked out (although a lot of that was probably because it was hot, I was dehydrated, and I was hypoglycemic or something.) That was probably one of the first times I remember being in so much pain that I wanted to throw up. But I managed to limp along. Again I didn’t think anything of it.
Most likely, I’ve seriously jacked up or even possibly completely torn my anterior talofibular ligament (ATFL), which happens to be the most common ligament injured in an ankle injury. Since I’m not athletic at all (although there was actually a very, very, very brief time in my life where I was actually running miles at a time), I never really noticed too much instability, although I did recognize that my ankle wasn’t as solid as it should be.
Well, apparently, it’s taken its toll. For the past few days, the area around my lateral malleolus (the outer knob of the ankle) has been aching, and getting worse with even just a little bit of walking, and I feel like I can’t put reliably put weight on this foot. My calf muscle is aching too, and I can feel my hamstrings atrophying.
I’ve heard quadriceps strengthening will help, but I can’t even imagine putting resistance on this leg at this point. Right now I’ve got both an ankle and a knee brace on. (While the ankle brace alone helped, the more I walked, the more I realized how weak my quads and my hamstrings are, and I felt pretty unsteady, and after a while, my knee started hurting too.)
Since I spend most of the time at work sitting down, I can barely tell if it’s helping. I’ve been having to park in the lot farthest from the clinic I’m rotating through right now, so the morning and the afternoon walk leave me aching and sweating. I guess the difference is that I can at least walk around the clinic without having to grit my teeth.
I’m being uncharacteristically optimistic. I’m hoping this is a sign that my limbs are starting to heal, and that as the days go by, it’ll get easier and easier to walk around like a normal person, and then I can start actually exercising.
It’s one thing to be fat and therefore unattractive to women. I’ve been dealing with this for a good decade or so now, so it doesn’t wound my psyche too badly. But it’s another level of awfulness to be fat and to be in physical pain because of being fat. Seriously. This sucks.
I mean, seriously, if I’m not going to get better, I wish someone would just put me down then, like a race horse that’s fit for the glue factory.
That horse better win, or we’re taking a trip to the glue factory—and he won’t get to come.
—Homer Simpson
so sick
Maybe I just need to get into a rhythm. Usually I look forward to the summertime, never mind that I rarely get time off anyway. But I just feel, I dunno, bleh.
It’s only been a week since I was working a fucked up schedule, and that’s historically been how long it takes me to get back to “normal” (whatever that might mean, especially in my case.)
I’ve realized that having July 4th on Wednesday really sucks. Even when you’re working a relatively normal work week, you won’t get a long weekend. It’s just this random day off in the middle of the week, making it even harder to get into a decent rhythm.
Oh, man. I can’t bear to look at the big picture right now. It’s just day-to-day, hour-to-hour. Can’t I just watch music videos all day and let my brain rot?
Just one last cryptic thing, though: Skies the limit, my peeps. The road is wide open.
pivot
I would say that it’s a sense of foreboding, but I don’t want it to all negative like that.
My soul roils. Portents abound, uninterpreted.
The Republic has fallen, on the eve of its 231st anniversary.
I feel nothing.
When was the last time I took the time to get to know someone? When was the last time I cared about anyone besides myself?
Will this change? Or as time marches on, does my heart turn to stone, setting like concrete, dried out, dessicated, insensate to the concept of love?
Is this the stillness that I’ve been seeking? Unmoved by longing, shrugging off fantasy and desire like so much dross?
I don’t know the answer, and I’m afraid of what I’ll find.
What is the meaning of life? How do I go on living?
What does it mean to live life to the fullest?
The thing is, without any of the chasms, there are no heights. Without a nadir, there can be no zenith.
What do I wish for? Where do I go next?
So many goddamn questions, and never any answers.
oh my adrenal glands
I feel utterly tired and spent. I have spent the last two weeks living an unnatural existence, forced to try to sleep during the day and stay awake at night. I can almost imagine my adrenal glands screaming, trying to pump out enough cortisol and epinephrine to keep me from crashing. After my last shift tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up sleeping until Monday.
little thoughts
This week is starting to really get to me. I only have to work for two more nights before I get a weekend.
I’m not sure I can take another week.
Working nights sucks.
From the several hundred random blogs I peruse, I stumbled upon this post about depression, and I remembered how depression actually sounds a lot like what I would imagine hell to be like.
Imagine that every single success, every single triumph, every single moment of joy in your life, no matter how wonderful, becomes grey ash. You don’t feel a goddamn thing.
Despite all the great things happening to you, you feel no pleasure. No happiness.
How excruciating does every single second become, when all you can feel is this dull, gnawing unhappiness, this draining sorrow? The sun is out, but everything looks grey.
The worst part is that no one gets it. Everyone else around you thinks you’re nuts. (And I suppose, technically, you are crazy, but that is scarcely a comforting thought.)
The road has always been long and hard.
I always fear that something unexpected will drag me back down into that treacherous pit of despair, but there’s no use in dreading the inevitable.
I have to always, always remind myself to take life one moment at a time. Lately work has been making me confront the fact that no one knows how much time is allotted to us, and while planning for disaster seems prudent, always expecting disaster just fucks up your mind.
Even the most terrible things become familiar, and you can even believe that you miss it once it’s all over. Talk about co-dependency.
It usually takes me a week before I come back to reality, but still.
I ramble.
The clock says 2:20 in the afternoon, but it feels like 2:20 in the morning. Bleh.