Showing posts with label tantrum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tantrum. Show all posts

Wednesday 5 November 2008

After supper interventions and other assorted ideas.

The pills were found and taken away again and it appears I'm an incorrigible brat. Granted, a cute one, but incorrigible nonetheless.

Is that ever a hard word to spell when you're messed up on illegal anti-anxiety pills. But no worries! Because God loves me (please.) and my friends love me and now I have to sober the fuck up and just get through tomorrow and the day after that and then I'll be on the other side of this magnificently awful anniversary and I can try and get my footing again. Because I gave it away or lost it or..no, it's here somewhere and I'll get it. After the waterboarding. You know...to dilute all this medication.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming. I've been spoilt. A nice hot dinner, comfort food, and now a hot bath with a big guy who takes up the entire clawfoot tub and then early to bed, with the same guy who also takes up the entire bed. He's opted for Kangaroo care which oddly works very well despite the fact that my head is a metronome, only instead of a beat it goes:

Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake

I wanted it to stop. I just went about it the wrong way.

Tuesday 21 October 2008

I poured my heart out and it spread over the concrete in a black pool, thick like oil, slow moving and bubbling with a sickly, aching pain. I found a stick nearby and I drew patterns in that pool, shifting some of the blame, taking some of the heartache and shaping it into a boomerang and then I threw it but it never came back.

The clouds raced through the sky over my head like a nightmare in time-lapse photography and I ate some more words but I had to choke them down, they tasted awful. And so I stood, and into my apron I gathered my courage, my hope and my resolve and I took them, bundled up, inside to the fire where I shook them into the grates and watched them burn.

And then when the sky disappeared and the dark came in to quiet the world, pockmarked with tiny lights that other people pin hopes to, my heart found its way back, dragging the ache after it like dirty laundry that has been ignored for too long.

I'm doing all those things that everyone wants me to do.

I take my medicine, even though it makes my hand flutter and my head hurt. I go see my psychiatrist, even though I hate her guts and I believe she hates mine, I go for grief counseling even though it reopens the wounds day after day. I let the children talk to me about their sadness when so moved, even though I'd rather just forget it hurts them too, and I keep on going even though in the very back of my head, a once-loud, now quiet voice points out it would feel good to just go to sleep and not wake up.

I moved on and found that something I once fought against turned out to be something so wonderful and bittersweet and sorely needed.

I changed.

I did all of that and on Friday will I feel any different?

Wednesday 15 October 2008

Only for me.

One of the most interesting things about being me is that no one else is. There are a few people who come close, people who have similar tragedies or similar lives, or maybe you've been in love so you know exactly how I feel.

Well, you don't.

Those of you who would hurl words through cyberspace in an attempt to feel righteous and above reproach have got to be the most narrow-minded people I have ever encountered and what I don't understand is why in the hell are you coming in here to read some girl's sad diary in the first place if you're so awesome and incredibly perfect and jaded and lucky?

Oh-oh (she sings). Busted.

Maybe I'm having a bad day and maybe on days like today I shouldn't write anything, and get a little pleasure out of giving you less ammunition to stuff in your fucking judgment cannon and maybe then I could garner an ounce of peace from one thing in the day but I'm the ever-dedicated masochist and so, what the fuck, here I am.

Back for more.

I woke up this morning in pain, okay? I woke up staring into brown eyes that half the time I don't even recognize. I woke up knowing that because of me a friend is starting his life over again at 35 years of age and I woke up knowing that Jacob is dead and maybe he was the only one who ever really knew me at all and knew how to make things go away and knew how to hypnotize me or comfort me long enough so that I could get through the harder parts in my own skin, a covering that is woefully inadequate for this war of a life I never signed up for.

Just don't, okay? Not today.