The past two weeks have been hell.  The past maybe year, has been pretty fucking bad.  The past 8 years have been difficult.  But, to avoid conflict, I eat it.  For peace, love, and household harmony, I sacrifice a very important part of myself, and it happens so often, so consistently, on the surface, I barely even notice it anymore.  Something huge, and dark seems passe.  It's amazing what we can get used to, as human beings.  But when I take inventory, when I spend a rare quiet moment in my life, in introspection, my thoughts turn so dark, that I quickly shove it down, bottle it up, and make it go away.  I thought I was just immune to things.  It all crashed home.  I realize that this thing, this thing I can't mention, that affects every level of my self, from my basic comfort level in my own home, to challenging the very person I think I am, or, as of last night, that I thought I was.  It's stripped away all that I am, everything.  From stupid possessions that I feel like I "own" because on paper, I've worked for, and paid for these meaningless things, to the most important part of me, that I thought I really did own, my actual literal body.  My soul.  Everything.  Nothing is mine. Nothing us under my own power.  I have been manipulated, and used, pushed, pulled, and coerced so much, that it's become what I think of as normal.

 I've been steadily drawing inward, over the years.  I look back, and think "I didn't used to hate people.  I didn't used to shrink away from human interaction" and...now I do.  All humans, all the time.  Even people I love with all my heart.  I can't talk.  I can't open myself.  I don't like to be touched anymore, I barely tolerate hugs.  I don't like to have people near me, or leaning over me.  Even in the most mundane situations.  This is not something I talk about, much, but I self medicate. Heavily.  I drug myself into sleep every night with large amounts benadryl or nyquil.  I take Xanax, or smoke a LOT of pot just to make it through the day.  Just to make sure I don't feel.  To make sure, that when I lay down to sleep, I don't spend hours awake hating myself, for what my life has become.   There's no real joy in anything.  I've quit painting, writing, creating.  Music, aside from a few very tremendous moments, is just there, and doesn't offer the comfort and happiness it used to.  I read for escape.  I've been cycling through a few very comforting books that completely take me out of my own head.  I can't even read anything else, because unless it offers full escape, I can't.  Reading tarot cards for people is one of my last outlets, and I can't even do that properly, because I need to open myself fully to the cards, emotionally, and they all turn into bullshit fake images.  Because I, myself, have become that.


I have been faking it.  For years.  I envision myself as a strong, empowered woman, who takes no shit and gets things done.  Everyone turns to me, at some point, for advice, or just to listen, or just do what I do, which is listen, and love, and feel compassion, and help.  I mean, that's my fucking job.  That's not fake, I still love, and I still feel compassion, but I realize how very close that is to dying too.  Where the fuck to I get off?  How dare I?  I've been lying to myself for years.  Lying to everyone.  The real me is this fucking mess, this weepy, insane, barely-holding-it-together, sometimes suicidal, delusional, insecure, fragmented amorphous ball of nothing hiding in a corner, cringing away from everything.  I say one thing, about self power, and having control over one's self, and yet I let things go as far as they have. I didn't start out this way.

I had this dawning last night, about this whole thing.  I shrink away from people, I hide, because it causes me deep...pain?  I don't know, I can't even find the words. It compromises every bit of me to continue faking it and lying to myself, and to be fake around everyone else.  I can't keep up the facade, and I'm starting to crumble around the edges.  This thing, that I can't really even talk about.  I can't write it down. I can't quite bring myself to really face it down yet.  This fucking thing, I discovered is the heart of all of it.  Not the house.  Not the stresses that people can see, all that shit means nothing to me, or it's not so bad as I make it out.  Honestly?  There is nothing really wrong with my life, but this one thing, and it is somehow everything that's wrong.  I woke up with tears in my eyes, and I haven't stopped crying. I know why, but I can't find the words, to help people understand.  I don't know if anyone really gets it.

So, I had a weird dream. I wasn't going to write about it but I decided to now.  It was another resort dream, only a bunch of us were all young, or sort of our age but younger feeling.  Like we were all working there in hospitality or entertainment "we" indicating here a blank faced mob of peers and friends.  We partied in an open air bar at night with people we thought of as "them" like there's "us" the help and "them" the patrons or guests.  One night, during the usual whirlwind of activity, you showed up.  If you're still reading this, you know who you are.  You probably quit months ago.  Anyway, there you were, under the bar lights. Wearing clothes that didn't look like you picked them out.  Wrong fitting baggy jeans, weird shirt, sideways baseball hat.  All the tags were attached, stickers on the jeans still.  But the clothes looked worn and grimy, sort of saggy and frayed, in need of a good washing.  You hadn't shaved in a while. Your skin looked waxy and pale, and you were covered with a sheen of sweat.  I felt concerned and ran up to you.  I took one of your hands in mine, immediately wrapping you in a hug.  In my dream, I murmured "I love you."  I needed to edit this and stress that this all happened in a moment.  In that moment, it felt exactly right, unhesitant.  I miss the feel of you, and it was bittersweet.  Then I woke up.

I'm going to close this page before I decide to delete this.

I keep thinking I've been writing a lot.  I check here and it's been two weeks.  Maybe I'm composing a lot.  There hasn't been much to speak of, lately.  Things have been quiet, a little weird, but mostly good.  The process is rolling with the house, and that always frees me up a little, mentally.  The house is clean and quiet, both literally and metaphorically.  All the weekends have been interesting, and a little busy, but not overwhelming.  I like January, so far.

I've been feeling younger, lately.  The cycle is rolling that way again.

I've been tackling writing lately like I doodle and draw.  I get this intent to fill up a page from corner to corner. Put it all out there, use every technique, get rid of all the white spaces.  That's how I used to go, and it became bigger than it needed to be.  Now I stop when the piece says stop.  Nothing's more interesting than rough edges and things left hanging.

2013 was interesting. It was a year of stagnancy, waiting, frustration.  It was also a year of high emotion, loving, fighting. I'm not going back over it.

I seldom make New Years resolutions. If I see a problem, no matter what part of the year it is, I aim to fix it.  But, some changes have been happening in December, and this is timely. So, in the spirit of the day, this is what's going on.

I vow, this year, to bring more art into my life.  Not just collecting, but creating also.  Lately, I've been hanging out with tons of artists.  Luiz is renewed, and on the verge of selling one of his big pieces.  That's a big thing, and his creativity in the house is refreshing.  For Christmas, Irv bought me a painting that I had my eye on. Luiz has a work in progress for me.  I actually got art supplies as gifts.  It's time.

Here's hoping I'll have new walls to display all this art before 2015.

...as a cloud.

When I'm not in the mood for people, I just go underground.  I get a lot of reading done.

I haven't been in the mood for people.  It's the holidays, though. It's the only thing we make a big deal over, so for that I have to rally, and deal with people extra.  I'm not there yet.

There are a lot of things I think about but don't write about.  I write a lot then delete it.  That's how antisocial I am, I can't even talk to myself.  Pressing these keys is such a deliberate act. They're so heavy.

I'll probably delete this.

Patients

Being in a hospital is weird.  No...being a patient in a hospital is weird.  My whole world is reduced to a very small white sterile thing.  It's a series of small events that become huge.  Milestones to look forward to every day.  I joked yesterday that my whole day revolves around mealtimes.  8, 12, 5.  The food is miserable, but it's still one of the more interesting things to happen.  Other things I look forward to are my shower at night, the 'changing of the guard' when I get to meet my new nurse for the day/night.  I've been here long enough to develop favorite nurses.

The big thing is people.  Having people here is a weird thing, too.  On one hand, I fucking deliriously love seeing a familiar face walking through my door.  On the other hand, I feel and look like shit, so there's an element of being self conscious, like I have to be "on" for them.  When I was on the morphine and Dilaudid, it was extremely difficult, but now that I'm clean and sober, so to speak, it's easier.  When I'm at my best, long exposure to most people exhaust me.  Irv is an easy presence, he's the exception.  He can chill and read the paper or watch TV all day, not needing small talk, or to fuss. Luiz is uneasy here, and yesterday with him sitting around all day, plus Alden, I felt a little claustrophobic.   Jake came to visit, and I was so happy to see him, but that was one of those bad nights, blurry with pain meds and pain, I don't remember a whole lot.  When my mother is here, she fusses, she hassles the nurses, but she's a professional visitor, so if I need something, she gets it...in spades.

I like walking around the hallway, but since I wear street clothes, the nurses think I'm gonna bolt. I joke with them, but I'm seriously not.  I know why I'm here.

That's another thing.  I'm *here*.  It sunk in last night.  Tuesday was a morphine blur.  Yesterday was a giant hang over, but sort of a day to let it all soak in.  I didn't have much stuff here, clothes or recreational stuff.  Last night, though...Irv left around 10, and it was teary.  Just thinking about it, I'm all teary.  He goes home, sleeps in our bed.  I stay here and don't sleep.  But it doesn't look like I'm going home soon...and by soon I mean tomorrow.  There's a weird level of acceptance, where I'm like, yeah, I need clothes...yeah I need my toiletries...fuck, I need my netbook.

Timebomb Meltdown

After that post, we met our friend Jon at the bar. I was a little high, and starting to get drunk.  I was happy to see him, but it's not really my crowd, so I sat fussing with my iThing while Irv joked and talked. Oh, and I was drinking, hard and fast. Irv made me eat something to slow down.  I was chatting with Todd, and convinced him to join me, so he came all the way from South River.  Good guy.  As an aside, he's the platonic dude friend I need.  He can show up and hang out at the drop of a dime, is unjudgemental, cool, intelligent, artistic and can drink me under the table.  Easy on the eyes, too.  Anyway, he turns up and my night is improved a hundred percent.  But, when there's Todd, there's shots.  To make a long story short, and this is why I value the guy so much, I had a major meltdown, and he didn't so much as bat an eye.

We had a jolly time, me and Todd, drinking, sharing secrets, talking shit about the strangers at the bar, scoping out the women.  Irv was having a blast with Jon and that whole crowd. I thought for a bit that things were getting better.  We left on a high.  Then I kept drinking.  Till I puked in the yard.  Then I kept going. Till Irv somehow broke our entire handle of Jim Beam on the table.  Apparently, it got all over me, and I locked myself in the laundry room having a temper tantrum, screaming and crying.  This I don't remember at all. I threatened to walk across the house naked.  Luiz, apparently had to hold me, naked, wrapped in a shawl, so I wouldn't go staggering out into public.  They got me into one of my many sundresses, and that's all I remember....and apparently, I kept going with Fireball.  I have no recollection of most of that, besides fuzzy shutterclicks. Total fucking meltdown.  I woke up feeling like hot death in a mug.  I just opened my eyes. and wanted to burst into tears.  Irv laid in bed with me, all morning, rubbing my back and patting me. Luiz joined in, and for an hour I was in heaven, but felt too fucking grey and drawn out to appreciate it.  My guys holding me, talking me through...whatever.  Irv said I looked like I just wanted to find a corner and curl up to cry.  He nailed it. I still feel like that.

I shouldn't have drank.  I should have stuck to the greens.  I still need therapy, I think.  I feel better than yesterday, but only because my whole day was spent moving slowly, avoiding people, sleeping.  I've been verging on tears the whole day.  I feel the moisture sitting heavy in my lower lids, as I type this. If I blink hard, they'll spill.

My week starts tomorrow, but at least I'm easing into it, spending time with Michele.  One of the few people I can stand for more than ten minutes at a clip right now.