The word episode makes it seem like I'm having a psychotic breakdown of sorts. Which I am...but why not say I lose my shit for a few hours, then I'm back to normal. Normal? There IS such a thing?
I already know when it'll happen, probably two or three hours before it hits me. Sometimes the night before. But how do you show up at a hospital emergency room or a doctor's office and say "Hey, my chest feels like it has a ton of bricks on it? See my hands? They're shaking. I can't breathe...No. Stop telling me to slow down and breathe, I'm telling you I can't! My heart is beating irregularly and it has stabbing pain that's intermittent. What do you mean nothing is wrong with me?" Yeah. Try that little number a few times before you just decide to ride these off at home, in the comfort or discomfort of your own loneliness and misery.
Yes. Loneliness and misery. Both created by me. Because in the midst of my increasing agitation and frustration, that negative feeling in my chest turns to anger at everyone around me. Anger and bitterness and resentment. I have two reasons to hate people. If you're a friend, then you know by now I have these moments often...and you should know what I need. Well, you should know if I could make up my mind. I push everyone away because I know I'll lash out at them, but then I'm angry and resent them because they're not attentive enough or say the right things. There is no right thing to say. It's a trap. Run away from me. I'll twist your words and make you feel like a piece of crap...because I feel like a piece of crap. The other reason I hate people is that somehow, behind their reasoning (their clear minded, well balanced, healthy brain reasoning) I should just be able to be talked out of these episodes or talk myself out of them. "You're ok. Just relax." Jesus. I'm okay? It's okay that the chest pain now is spreading like fire down my left arm? It's okay that I can't take a breath without bending over in pain? It's okay that my hands can't stay still long enough for me to get a grip on myself and not the nearest sharp object which will be used to slice myself? How is that ok? How is it okay that if you ask me "What's wrong?", I have no answer.
I don't KNOW what's wrong. I DON'T KNOW. Nothing triggered it. Nothing extraordinary happened in my day. Nothing good or bad. It could be a completely plain, uneventful day and I'll snap. Out of nowhere. I'll feel trapped and betrayed and spiteful and alone and God only knows what other feelings. Dead. How can I feel so full of rage and feelings, yet dead? Don't you think I'd like to know how to NOT do all those things to myself? To stop? To be normal?
I'm so busy trying to hide that I'm all sorts of messed up so that I can provide ya'll with support and an ear and a friend and advice...
Don't you know me by now? I'm not asking for the same in return. I'm asking to stop even attempting to process how it is that I function. I don't even know how I function. Who are you to say what I need or don't need?
Just say "Sorry you're screwed up. Anyways, here's a hug and a Diet Coke. Lemme know when you're done self destructing."
What goes through a person's mind when they come face to face with death or the possibility of it?
Sure, there's the usual "I wonder if it'll hurt" if it's in case of an lethal injury or terminal illness. Some people may just lay there and try to remember if they at least turned off the stove at home or fed the cat before finding themselves in a situation where the end of their life is a few breaths away. Others are laying there wishing to be in the arms of who they love the most in these final moments, with thousands of words they want to say and feelings they want to make sure everyone knows before they're unable to express them any more.
What does one think of, when one is in complete control of when that day, hour...second comes? When the decision is utterly in your hands? Do you plan ahead or are you so angry at the world and your life that you just end it? Just like that. No final farewells, no last hugs or one last kiss. Most people would call that an act of selfishness. But, what if there's a wounded animal, without any hope of recovering? Doesn't the vet putting that dog down or the farmer shooting that horse or the little girl flushing that goldfish down the toilet just want to end that poor animal's suffering? Why would you prolong it's existence? Just so you can look at it because you can't bear parting with it? There it is, ill and struggling to even take a breath, and all you care about is that you have them for a little while longer. Making it about you. Aren't you the selfish one? Or maybe you just feel guilty that you could've done something to prevent it, so you rather place them blame on them?
I'd want to know that I was a good daughter. That I was forgiven for my lies and other disappointments I caused my parents. That I didn't mean to lose my faith in God, but it's more like I lost faith in myself. God never disappointed me, I disappointed Him. That they didn't do anything wrong, and they were as good parents as they could be with what they had. I never lacked love or shoes or food. I lacked strength and a healthy mind. That I was overall a good girlfriend and wife, and whenever I did stray or hurt with words, I am very sorry for that. That my friends understand there really is nothing they could've done. Absolutely nothing. I've always been different. I've always been this. I've always been too smart for my own good and skeptical about most things in life. I've always loved deeply, strongly and selflessly. That I rather your happiness, than mine...because I can never be happy, so one of us might as well be. I'd want to know that I made someone's life different for the better...and that if it was for the worse, that I am, too, forgiven for that. I'd like to hope that I am cremated and not buried. No sense in putting my loved ones through a funeral. Just go home, listen to music and live.
It's 1:50 p.m. now. This is my apology. I am sorry where I lacked. I am sorry where I over extended myself. I am simply sorry if what I do may hurt some of you, but please refrain from calling me a coward or selfish. I am neither. I am simply, tired.
Albert Einstein, you sly dog, you. Here you provide us with this gem: "Insanity - Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results". You did, however, fail to explain to us who is the insane one. The one doing the same things over and over, or the one getting the same thing done over and over to them?
See, never should we underestimate the effect it has on someone to be put through a horrifying, exhausting, draining, never-ending cycle. Is the perpetrator insane for repeating a specific behavior, even when his or her victim begs for them to quit? When they are being told they are ruining someone and mentally or emotionally scarring them forever?
Maybe the madness lies in receiving blow after blow, and making yourself get back up and give this person another chance. Because, perhaps this time around they see how you're breaking under their force and they'll open their eyes, change their approach and help you instead of end you. Are you really the only one who sees things clearly and consider them with heaping doses of common sense? How much is too much before you get to the limit of your sanity?
Ah...the limit. That moment where you are at a loss for words because you've said it all before. You've begged, yelled, requested and cried to no avail. That precise second where your hands start shaking and this undying stream of curse words come out and you drown in your sobs because, what else can you do? You've been telling someone to remove the noose from around your neck but they've been so busy stuck in a loop, they actually ended up kicking the chair from under your feet. And STILL, they see you kicking and gasping for your last breath and they say "I can do better. I can change. No really, this time will be different...", and they go off in their own monologue without noticing you've stopped kicking and struggling, and now you're just dangling limp, swaying in the wind.
And then they cut the rope...and bring you back to life...and now it's the moment Einstein needed to give us a bit more guidance in...or maybe not. Forgiving is an action. So, if you forgive and give another chance...you are actually doing something, over and over.
I see what you did there, crazy haired genius...I see.
Last night, I fell asleep watching Scrubs...So, naturally:
I am in the middle of a prison riot. We're all wearing blue jumpers, light blue and the prison itself has no roof, so there's a light drizzle making everything wet around us. There's fights everywhere, and it quickly becomes apparent I'm the one that's supposed to lead my friends out of there. Break them free...So I start yelling out on top of all the noise and screaming, people are getting beat up and stabbed left and right, but someone grabs my hand tight and I look up and it's Turk. He gives me a quick kiss and I start pulling him through some hallways and through the rest of the mob of prisoners. JD and Dr. Cox quickly join us, somehow we're all wearing the jumpers and face masks. We finally find a way to an outside alley, where there's a car that is supposed to be our getaway vehicle...but whoever the driver is, keeps letting go of the breaks and making us run further. Every time I reach the handle they let go and I hear someone laughing inside. I turn around and the cops grabbed JD, Dr. Cox just disappeared and Turk is pissed off that whoever I found for us to drive us to safety is being a douche.
From there I'm somewhere in the forest, or at least in a woodsy place with tall pine trees and little cabins that are gift shops. There's people dressed in medieval clothes, like it's some sort of Renaissance fair and when I look up a hill, there's someone actually slaying a goddamn dragon. A live one, and people are clapping. Nice show, I guess. I am with a friend of my mom's, who I've only seen twice in my life (in real life) and we're looking around in this little country themed shop at some place mats. All of a sudden, she says my mom is there with my aunts and I freak out. I hadn't told my mom where I was going, I had lied about where I was going to be and I didn't want her to see me. Also, I'm wearing this countrified sun dress my mom made me, that would be recognizable in an instant, so I dart outside the back door of the store and hide. There's quite a few windows in the store, and I hear my mom talking inside and saying how pretty it is outside. There's also a lot of room between cabin and cabin so if I make a run for it, in my stupid dress, she'll see me. So every time she looks out a window of the store, I'm sneaking around the other side of the cabin hiding from her. Eventually she says something like "I could've swore I saw someone familiar out there..." and she walks out of the store and starts circling the cabin, and we're playing this stupid hide and seek game for a few minutes before she catches a glimpse of me...and just says "Really? Again? Find yourself a place to live. You're no longer my problem."
So I just sit there, on a giant rock, with my flowered dress and faded boots and the sun is shining through the trees...and I have no words to say.
“Sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask, 'Where have I gone wrong?'
Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night.'”
- Charles M. Schulz
There's an episode of Friends, where Phoebe has a new boyfriend who is a psychologist. At first, everyone is curious about him and jumping at the chance to get a sort of free consult out of the whole deal. However, later on everyone was getting a tad bit exacerbated at how he always had a way to analyze what they said without them asking for his input. At some point, someone said something very uncomfortable or painful, and Chandler made his usual one liner joker to lighten up the moment. The shrink said "Do you always use humor as a self defense mechanism?", and I sort of made a face at the t.v. Is that what I did? Use humor at the worst possible moments as a way to not cope or deal with what is happening?
Pretty much.
It's very safe to say that I am pretty much useless when people are going through a hard time. You all know the grandmother story...but, I've never told you how my initial reaction to her cancer diagnosis was. By the time they caught the cancer, she went from looking healthy...to being in a wheelchair in a span of two weeks. I couldn't take it. Couldn't get a grip on the reality that was quickly headed my way. This was the woman who was the light of my life, crumbling before my eyes quicker than I could put her back together. So I did the Yari thing, and withdrew. I stopped going to her place altogether, even though she lived next to me and I was there every day of my life since I had been born. I think three weeks went by where I didn't call her or go see her even for a second. When I walked in to her room (because my mother forced me to go) on a Saturday morning, she looked up from here wheelchair and smile sadly, saying "I thought you didn't love me anymore". It broke my heart. It still does. It makes me feel fresh waves of shame wash over me and regret...every time I remember that. I simply answered "It's cuz you're a Transformer now..." Nice joke, Yari.
A few years after that, my best friend Rebecca's dad died in a horrible accident. Terrible death (but aren't they all, in a way?). My best friend...and I couldn't make myself call her or go to her house to offer my love, my hugs, my help...anything she might need. Again, my mother dragged me to her house and made me go up those stairs to face her in her time of need. I was wondering what to say, how to react, where to stand as soon as I got up there. I made it in her doorway and she threw herself in my arms, sobbing and screaming. The pain was too great in my heart and the grief took over...I cried with her. Between sobs I whispered "Now is an appropriate time to get drunk while your mom's home". She laughed sadly...I felt horrible that I had made a joke. Bad, Yari.
Recently, one of my best friends was going through a tough time in a relationship. After dealing with several emotional blows, she was at that stage in a break up where you realize it's all over and that other person really is 'ok' with just letting you go. She was on her knees on the floor, crying out and asking why this had to happen...gasping for air. She completely broke in front of my eyes. She leaned her head on the floor, screaming her heart out and crying some more...and in that second all I could come up with, in my head, was to ask her "When did you take up praying like a Muslim?" Thankfully, I shut my mouth just in time and simply let her cry. Unable to find the words to comfort her.
So on...so forth. I don't know how to say the right thing when it's needed the most. I end up sounding insensitive or like a jerk. I end up seeming like those people who always make everything a joke. I have so much I want to say, in my heart and head, but always seem to lack the words.
If you're one of those people in my life, and I've done that to you...please forgive me. I care. I know it's not a joke. I want to fix it all for you. Make your troubles go away. Make you happy...
...all I have is the hope that I can provide a 'lol'. That and awful gas.
I used to think I was afraid of the dark...maybe I'm just afraid of the silence that usually accompanies it.
The quiet is a perfect place for my brain to turn on me, and I can't escape that. The lack of distracting noises, conversation...music...the lack of any noise opens the gates in my head and I can't stop myself from jumping from fear to fear. From regret to regret. From worry to worry.
I'm tired of that perpetual feeling of doom in the pit of my stomach...of needing reassurance everything is okay.
I'm perfectly fine providing support, an open ear, a comfortable shoulder, a clear mind...free of judgement for others. I'm okay troubleshooting issues with my loved ones, trying to help them fix things in their life...even though it really isn't my place to even offer my .02 cents at times.
Why can't I give myself to others? Rely on their concern? Believe them when they say they're there for me? Why do I feel like a whiney piece of crap stuck on repeat...burdening over and over with my anxieties, insecurities, depression...pain?
I keep putting up the walls. I keep burying myself deeper and disconnecting. I just want to be okay. Not even good...just okay. I want to get things off my chest and not listen to my brain when it's picturing my friends rolling their eyes at me as I talk.
Why don't I trust anything...
I can't breathe. There's a block laying square on my chest, compressing my lungs. My jaw hurts from tension. My head is pounding. Crying didn't help.
Lexapro, you have failed me tonight. At least keep doing your magic...keeping the dreams at bay...because tonight I can't survive them.
It wasn't like other times, when you were just in the back of my brain all day long, waiting for your chance to spring forth and flood my every thought.
There were times when I'd purposely go look for reminders of you, where I could find them. This was not like that.
I have been known to listen to songs that remind me of you, on quiet nights, and feel the yearn for your smile...your eyes. You. It wasn't what happened on this occasion, either.
No mourning took place. No regrets. No walk down memory lane. It was just your name and an odd sense of nothingness inside.
I accidentally thought of you...and I'm glad. It just means I had finally forgotten.
I went to the doctor yesterday for a full blown assessment. First time I've been to someone to handle my diabetes properly...
My labs show my A1C levels are at 13.3%...they should be under 8% in order to not be injecting myself with insulin. So before throwing me to that...the doctor has put me in a 1500 calorie diet. No pork. Avoid sodium. No whites: rice, bread, crackers, tortillas, pasta. Only 2 fruits a day. The rest has to be vegetables and 10 grams of grilled poultry or fish. My Metformin was increased to 1000mg, twice a day. My Actos to 45mg. Another one called Onglyza was added to my repertoire. As I type this, I want to cry.
I am 26 years old. ...You know what. I'm not even going to go there. I did this to myself. I have the anger one gets when one is starving, but is hours away from eating. I have that constantly as it is, now with the diet it's tenfold. Here's to not dying before I'm 30. Here's to not hurting like I do every day, in every way. Fine shape I'm in.
And then, some days, you really shouldn't listen to music.
Load the car and write the note Grab your bag and grab your coat Tell the ones that need to know We are headed north
One foot in and one foot back But it don't pay, to live like that So i cut the ties and i jumped the tracks For never to return
Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in Are you aware the shape I'm in My hands they shake my head it spins Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
When at first I learned to speak I used all my words to fight With him and her and you and me Oh but its just a waste of time Yeah its such a waste of time
That woman shes got eyes that shine Like a pair of stolen polished dimes She asked to dance I said it's fine I'll see you in the morning time
Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in Are you aware the shape im in My hands they shake my head it spins Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Three words that became hard to say I and love and you What you were then, I am today Look at the things I do
Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in Are you aware the shape I'm in My hands they shake my head it spins Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Dumbed down and numbed by time and age Your dreams to catch the world, the cage The highway sets the travelers stage All exits look the same
Three words that became hard to say I and love and you I and love and you I and love and you
I have no idea how I had gotten to that place, or where it was. All I knew was that I was standing in a cold, damp alley about to walk in through a metal door into a building. There were no signs to indicate what was waiting for me behind the door and I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, as the cold crept into my feet...Converse are never good 'soggy weather' shoes.
My stomach felt like a small pit full of angry snakes, lashing at each other. I sent one last text message and tucked my phone in my back pocket, then opening the metal door to face the rest of my night. A gust of warm air full of cigarette smoke hit my face as I blinked a few times to discern what it was I had just walked into. The poorly lit bar was crowded, with a mix group of people I couldn't really pinpoint with a specific 'style' to them. I kept getting bumped into and stared down at, making me uncomfortable and not welcome that night.
I was getting ready to head back out that place when I heard an amp vibrate and pierce my eardrum with feedback. Nothing makes me zone in as the sound of a guitar being tuned, so my neck snapped back towards the stage where a group of men stood getting their musical instruments ready. I pushed my way through the lumps of people gathered in their drunken haze, completely forgetting how intimidated I had been by them minutes ago. I found a spot by the left side of the stage, my eyes lighting up as I saw him adjusting the strap to his guitar and pulling his jeans up slightly. He kept covering the mic as he leaned back to shout directions to his drummer and I heard them all break out in a hearty laughter...making me grin involuntarily at these 'boys' doing what they loved.
He leaned closely to the mic and after scanning the room with his eyes briefly, he gave a quick introduction to his band and welcomed everyone to the gig. I heard some girls give out a few shouts from the back of the bar and he simply let out a soft giggle, looking down as his foot tapped softly from one button to the next on his pedal. I could've swore I saw slight dimples forming on his cheeks as he grinned to himself. Then, in one swift movement and a after a brief countdown from the drummer, he let out the cleanest riff I've ever heard to introduce a soft bluesy tune. The rhythm spread through my body like wildfire...It's a feeling I can't expect everyone to understand. I hear live music and I feel it from my toes to the back of my eyeballs. It was beautiful, it was raw and it was flooding me. He closed his eyes as he belted out a few verses, and other times he simply smiled as his fingers glided over the guitar neck in a simple, yet soulful scale.
After a few songs, the band excused themselves for a small break and I reluctantly stole one last glance at him as he put his guitar down on a stand. I found a spot at the bar and ordered a Newcastle while I sat picking the label off the bottle absent-minded. I had a few chugs and found myself needing one more...or three, I thought. I felt a warm hand snake around my low back and someone pressing against my side, sliding me a new bottle of Newcastle over into my hands. I looked up startled, and found a pair of chocolate eyes smiling at me devilishly. His plaid blue flannel shirt had it's collar slightly crooked, and I was more than willing to fix it quickly while flashing him my most sincerely smile. I turned to my beer and took a few gulps before he leaned into my ear and whispered "Take it easy, I want you to make it through the whole show, this time. You left too quick last time." Giddiness, butterflies, relaxation. All at once just feeling his hand on the small of my back and his voice sneaking inside my ear. I turned on my stool to face him, and he slid comfortable against me as I held him close in a tight hug. He smelled like vanilla and mild cigar. He smelled of music and poetry. I teasingly messed his buzz cut and grabbed his chin, simply nodding in agreement to what he had asked. He winked and kissed the tip of my nose, leaving me slightly dazzled as he headed back on stage to resume the show.
He set up, and grabbed the mic...giving everyone another welcome and this time staring dead at me all the way across the bar to where I still sat on the stool. He smiled big and said "And this special welcome and next song goes out to my Curly girl"...and I got lost in his voice as he sang one of my favorite covers. My heart thudded harder against my ribcage and I heard him slide my name into the song, making it impossible for me to hide the blush that crept up my face.
...And then I woke up, craving tacos. It was a nice break from the nightmares.
People always seem to have the primal urge to let you know you're not alone. The human desire to nurture those in pain or those who are unprotected, vulnerable is something we all feel at some point towards someone we care for in our life.
While I have been on the end where I pester others who are in a funk, where I try to tell them it'll be ok and at least make light of a dark situation...The reality is we are alone. Even when surrounded, our own mind separates us from any connection that maybe once made us feel alive. Even when people are just a text away, or a call away...even right next to you...how is it possible to feel the echo of one's own thoughts bouncing off the emptiness we're living in?
While I appreciate the well wishes, and I know I can trust most of you to be there for me...it doesn't mean I should automatically feel like I'm positioned in the middle a giant group hug. For one thing, the people I want to hug most some days, aren't even in the same state as I am. Some are even off the mainland. Does that mean they say they're here for me, but in reality they aren't? No. It just means that the capacity I need them in, can't possibly be met by a greeting on a phone. Distance hurts...and it hurts more when I have built this cave I'm hiding in.
Everyone is waiting for me to come out...to rejoin the festivities. Truth of the matter is I don't really have energy or desire to do so for now or in the foreseeable future. I just want to be let feel the things I want to.
I spread myself too thin...in too many different directions. Now I have lost myself and I'm not getting my pieces back from the places where I left them.
What is there left to share with anyone, today? A shell of who I used to be. A ghost that wakes up every day and tries the best to simply survive.
Would you be so kind as to give me part of me back?
Three years ago, I bought my first laptop. The first gadget that was solely for my use. My haven.
I decided to start a blog, merely to feel fancy when I sat on my favorite recliner after a long day and I put my thoughts down in my personal little corner of the internet.
My laptop died today, bless it's little overused e-soul, and now I sit here on my favorite spot of my huge couch posting my first blog from my new laptop. Three years later.
Some of you have been around from the beginning. From the silly posts to the heartbreaks to the dreams and nightmares. The poetry and the rants. The memories and the desolation periods.
Thank you, the few or many of you, for taking the time to see me exist here on days where I don't know what to write. On days where I weighed you down with my negativity and depression. On moments where happiness poured out of my pours.
It's a shiny new keyboard...It's all new. I can write anything I want...and these keys have never written those thoughts before. Here's to three more years of you, me and the words in between.
There is no delight in owning anything unshared. ~ Seneca
