Love Me Like I'm Not Made of Stone in Adaptation

(This-here part was written on Sunday.)

Okay.
So.
I feel an itty-bitty-teeny-weeny bit of improvement in my mood.
Kinda-sorta. I dunno. Maybe. We'll see.

Is the repetitive Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation actually working? I'm three-weeks-in (of six) to the rTMS treatment and this is where people start to respond.
Or is it situational?
Many of my krazykakez-ness signs/symptoms tend to overlap... is it PTSD? A manic "episode"? Menopause? Endless stress/anxiety? My default setting of "Everything is shit!"? Chronic (CHRONIC! HOLYFUCKINGFUCK!) pain?
Golly!
NOBODY KNOWS!

Situational meaning: it's fiiiiiiinally Spring. I found a new apartment and signed the lease. Things are pretty good/can't complain with me/Peter/kids.
Blah, blah, blah... who knows?
And, more importantly: WHO CARES?!?!?!
Because: Fuck it!

I lost my mind. And now, I'm (basically) single-handedly dragging myself from the wreckage - that twisted, smoking heap of what used to be my life.
USED TO BE.
As in: the past - IT'S OVER.
Now, it's just a story - it no longer exists. Yes, I still find evidence of it - it definitely left a mark but it's gone, over, done. Ask yourself:

"Self, how can you continue to cling to something that no longer exists? Self! Think-critically about it!"

(Sometimes, Self has selective hearing and/or gets pissy-for-no-logical-reason and/or gets totally hooked into being a victim who's addicted to pity-parties and other peoples' sympathy. What. Christ!)

I dunno.
All weekend I've been thinking about change and growth and renewal and how time continues to march.the.fuck.ON. regardless of your stupid stories.
HERE I AM.
I'm still here.
And I want to get to the part where I'm no longer just a blubbering-floundering-hot-mess but instead, in possession of some quiet acceptance of how things actually are in the here'n'now... in that place where my actual life gets lived.

wanders away
wanders back

Where was I?

Uhhhh...

This:
It's okay.
Did you know that?!?!?!?
Relatively speaking... it's okay.
I DID NOT KNOW THAT.
I have spent the majority of my waking hours in a state of turmoil and worry and anxiety that things are MOST DEFINITELY NOT EVEN FUCKING REMOTELY OKAY - with me, with you, with anything. Ever. SO FUN. My highly-subjective version of reality is not-often reliable and/or necessarily accurate. These are facts. My basic worldview was warped - early and repeatedly. This has taken 43 years to understand, know, accept - present tense, ongoing, never finished, evolving, under deconstruction, see: ADAPTATION definition, etc.

Do what works.

A List of Things That Work (Sometimes):

Asking for help and admitting I can't do it alone. I have felt on-my-own for my whole life. There was zero security or stability in childhood nor for most of my adulthood. My lone-wolf status has been... lonely. I need warmth and friendship and comfort and... help. Wanting and needing these things are not a sign of weakness (NEVER LET THEM SEE YOU SWEAT!) but more like a naturally-occurring human experience. Plus, NOT asking for help and toughing-it-out and stiff-upper-lipping-it has made me hard and mean and has distanced me from the people I actually give a shit about - primarily my kids and Peter. I have felt trapped behind glass - I can see and hear everything that's going on but I'm not... in there, a part-of, fully engaged and/or attached. I want intimacy and connections with other people so badly I can taste it and yet, I'm not very good at producing, nurturing, sustaining it. (AND THAT'S OKAY!)

Remembering who I AM. Lately (due to the magnetic-brain-scrambling? I've been having some sooper-krazy dreams, too.), images have randomly popped up in my head and one of them has been of mini-me, circa 1981-ish. I was almost 11 years old - which was the last time I can actually remember experiencing some authentic excitement about life. I still loved school and I was curious and I loved to draw and rollerskate and swim and sing along to the radio. I still had... zeal? Interest? I dunno. I've been thinking about that young girl and how she IS me. Another recurring image has disturbed me quite a bit - but now, I think it's related to the first one. I'm not sure where it comes from... it doesn't matter... it's me... waking up. I think it's rooted in coming out of anesthetic the few times I've been knocked out for various procedures. ANYWAYZZZZZ... this image is me, totally out of it, in pain, confused, groaning with the struggle to regain consciousness. I can see myself - like I'm underwater, trying to come to - to come to the the surface and get some air and then, slipping back down where it's dark. I don't like this. It scares me. Initially, I thought it was some sort of horrifying PTSD-flashback thing. Today, I think it's me, coming out of the fog. Maybe? I have no idea. The struggle is real, though. It makes sense to me. Because: I want to believe I still have the capacity to live my life like that 11 year old girl. I want to reconnect with that feeling of wanting to be curious and explore and be outside and feel a bit of excitement and like I CAN, in fact, have some fun. I moved to this city because, among other reasons, there is so.much.to.see.and.do.for.free. So, yeah... exuberant 11 year old me would like to take barely-awake 43 year old me out and show me the sights. Kinda cool.

I'm Not Your Bitch, Don't Hang Your Shit On Me. Other peoples' expectations are just that: other peoples'. I'm not responsible for the upkeep of your well-being or your comfort. This goes for all husbands, children, siblings, parents, friends, acquaintances, neighbours, medical "professionals", government agencies, the general public, etc. I've been far too accommodating and far too co-operative for far too long. To my own detriment, I have compromised and made allowances and molded myself to fit in and be a pal and a good little get-along-girl. Oh, please like me! I need your permission and approval - otherwise, I'm just a shell of a person.

But then: fuck that.

Here's what I've learned: most people are extremely UN-EVOLVED selfish cocks who will use and abuse you. Not everyone. Most. I didn't realize just how much of my own power I willingly handed over to some people! People whom have been reckless and thoughtless with me. I'm finally learning that I get to decide how to spend my life and with whom. I've shifted and redefined a lot of my roles. I'm doing what I want now. Don't like it? That's sad...

AND NOW!
Today's edition!

Yeah... I wrote all that shit ^up there^ on Monday (???) and then... I dunno.
Look, I'm bizzy, alright?
I'm re-watching Breaking Bad... ssshhhhhhhhh!

AS I WAS SAYING...
(What was i saying?)
The saga continues...

I've been sorting/tossing/packing because: MOVING SOON!
Also because: I have way.too.much.stuff.
Also-also because: I don't WANT to move it again. I don't WANT to feel so plagued by it. I don't WANT to feel like IT owns ME. I don't WANT to go to the store and BUY MORE CONTAINERS for my stuff.

I NEED TO GET RID OF THE STUFF.

I want to be/feel/travel LIGHT. Simplify your goddamned life, already. And here's the lesson - here's what I learned when I sold and donated a WHOLE-BUNCHA-STUFF, this time, last year before I sold my house and got the fuck outta Hicksville.

I HAVEN'T MISSED ANY OF IT.
NOT.ONE.THING.

Wait!
Okay... one thing: I had to replace a dollar-store extension cord... big whoop, right?
NOTE(s) TO SELF:
It's only stuff.
Peter's dad took the dirt-nap in March... did he take any of his stuff with him?
Nope.
And this: having stuff hasn't made me feel happier or more secure or like I'm a quality human being because that shit comes from ME and not from anything external.
And: I'm about 90% disabled/crippled by osteoarthritis these days so, the less shit I have pack, sling, lift - the better.
Onward ho, ho!

AND NOW!
IT'S THURSDAY!
Still with me?!
YOU'RE AMAZING!

This, and then I'm done - because I have to see my doctor in an hour and I need to mentally prepare myself to remain calm and polite and not just lunge across the desk at her when she rhymes off her usual unhelpfully-boneheaded advice and then gives me the drug-seeking stink-eye.
What.

Yesterday, while pretending to get organized for my upcoming move, I found my OD treasure trove! Taking you waaaay back now, kids... when the information soooperhighway was young! Remember when we used to actually mail shit to each other?

Like, with STAMPS?!?! OMG! SO FUN!

You should SEE the stuff I have! Cards, letters, trinkets, hand-made stuff... all of it for me, full of love and support and friendship and extreme hilarity! Some of you OD bitchpantses are pretty funny, yo. It was also cool because, along with my recent brain-scrambling, I've been trying to work on a few things like letting-shit-fuckin'-GO-already while ALSO trying to see myself and my life - more accurately and with a little more compassion and kindness. SO! When I read all these cards and letters that are FULL of love and kindness and genuine friendship - it got me... right in the chest-area. Because: how cool is that? For all his deplorable lack of business acumen, ol' Brucey-boy had a helluva good idea and I'm glad I got to be a part of it and meet and connect with people I'd never ordinarily mix with.

Okay, this entry needs to end.
Bye!

Last updated August 21, 2014