Archive for June, 2009

drowsy, oh my!

Written on June 25, 2009 by we don't know who. 0 Comments

i guess things are moving a little. this entry won’t be well-written. i think we are finally getting under the cloud cover, the anxiety blanket. diving into a well. today i feel like i’m trying to move through a layer of cotton. i keep making ridiculous typos. if only i were the type that could sleep when i get like this.

anyway. parting the cloud blanket was very tangible. like pulling apart the cotton padding stuff that is in some blankets. hard to describe. underneath, blackness. poking head through and falling headlong into the black. way down, down a well, there is a girl cramped in a cage. her pain and fatigue and shakiness hitting hard. it is going to hurt like HELL when they let her out of there. ever been in a weird position for a really long time and then tried to move? are we going to die down here? i know i’m not making sense. but that’s actually really good, it was really hard for me to reach this point. REALLY hard.

we knew a blacksmith. his name was … dammit i can’t say it, but it was kind of creepy.

at least we finally fucking know something. just one thing.

and we are in pain.

and in the end

Written on June 20, 2009 by matt. 1 Comment

i had a talk with edges last night about how i’m not real – my pain is not real – and yes i know i shouldn’t compare myself to others, but it’s so eminently human to do so. and it was funny. because i say it never prevents me from doing anything, but yesterday i spent half the day in bed, didn’t leave the apartment, didn’t clean anything, and tried to do some filing and got about three things in before i quit. but – i don’t know – there’s always so many reasons why i don’t count.

we’re scared, i think. we’re scared that there’s something real that we won’t be able to fix. we’re scared that there’s nothing. i guess we need to just keep keeping on. some of us do try not to judge and not to compare. that’s why we ever say anything at all. oh, the middle way never has the same satisfaction of an extreme. our mom held us in such contempt for going to extremes – and yes, it was something we used to do a lot and still struggle with at times. i think that’s one of the reasons that taoism calls to us so much. but like everything she hated about us, she had it so much more.

i’m trying to remind myself it’s better to write short entries than none at all. we keep getting nowhere in therapy, and canceling our thursday appointment so that we only go on tuesdays. because it’s hard enough to sit through tuesdays. this slippery insider keeps nudging us away from thinking or processing – she’ll put songs in our head if nothing else. and lately it hurts so badly when we’re not distracting. like trying to be absolutely still when full of caffeine, or something. we just have to get away. but we’re trying for five minutes at a time.

i hate how much paperwork there is in getting government assistance. and it falls to those of us who might have trouble doing paperwork. it’s scary to even mention, it’s so overwhelming.

my fake pain

Written on June 19, 2009 by matt. 2 Comments

we’re supposed to try sitting in front of our journal for five minutes once or twice a day, for therapy. ugh. it shouldn’t be that hard.

i am hurting so much this morning. i feel like it will never get better because i didn’t make a strong enough case to the doctor. i have the stupidest thoughts in my head.

i think a lot about disability and how good i have it. i must, right? because i always can do things. i almost always take the stairs, at home and especially at therapy, and they’re both on the fourth floor. i walk everywhere.

anyway, i’m just hurting because i couldn’t sleep. i hate waking up too early. this morning i woke up at a quarter to six. and i could pretend to act like i was going to get more sleep and try for it but it was a lie. finally i realized the distraction of getting up might be better than the illusion of more sleep. though it does hurt even more to sit up.

and i do have good days. it doesn’t hurt all the time. i do not want to be a malingerer. not that i necessarily believe in them, for anyone but myself. but see, i know people who have to deal with actual pain, and i know theirs is real because it prevents them from doing things. my bad headaches are disabling, i’ll grant. but when my body hurts i just push on. if it were really bad i wouldn’t be able to.

i know this is all fallacious but what the fuck ever. it’s how we are feeling and what we are thinking about. i’m too tired to be reasonable.

not really

Written on June 11, 2009 by matt. 1 Comment

i always feel for a moment after i read a book, especially some books, that i could write an entry. nothing wonderful, but something at least fluent. my fingers dry up too soon, though, dull like my throat is hoarse. i’m not as good with words these days. of course i’m indulging something right now, and talking silly, but i’m still not saying anything. there is never anything to say.

dull and tight. i want to be real. but everything loses meaning when it is written or spoken. i have used up my words so many times that i’ve already said these tired things about using up my words.

i went to the doctor today, which was terrifying. i had to go alone, because everyone else has their own stuff. well, someone would have gone with me – i shouldn’t be ungrateful. it was kind to offer. but with people i don’t know well, i can sometimes have worse social anxiety than being alone. i talked about how it hurts and i felt like such a stupid, worthless faker. so worthless. so worthless. i hate to think of it, my blood goes hot and my hands start to shake and sweat. just embarrassed, i guess. that is not the kind of thing you bother doctors about. it was especially tough to do so alone. he’s raising my testosterone though, so who knows? i might get facial hair one of these years.

everything is all wrong. i’m anxious all the time. i’m writing because i really can’t deal with going to group tonight, but i really should, so i’m trying to pass the time until i have to go. it’s not working. it never works.

i’m discouraged and i hate myself but it’s the kind where i can’t even seem to open my mouth. the terrible, tight control will not let go, though i don’t maintain it. a voice whispers that i wouldn’t be writing this entry if that were true. whatever.

there is no help and while i am very understanding of everyone individually, some of us feel resentful at them all, impersonally. awfully convenient that it always works out so nobody can help. which isn’t true, of course, but nobody is ever fair in their hurt.

i wanted to say just, not fair, but it was too ambiguous.

i can’t open my mouth, not really, not even to myself. i am worn out, too worn out to speak, especially in explanation or defense of myself. this entry is like pulling teeth.

i have to be very self-sufficient these days. i’m trying to learn. it would be so wonderful if i only had to depend on myself to get things done. i am less flaky than anyone i know, except aeron. but it is rough going. and something in it whispers alone forever in an insidious, irresistable voice.