Tag: Depression

Emotional Rubber Bands…

Emotional Rubber Bands…

rubber bands, whiplash, herky jerky, it’s all the same when it comes to my family and it simply can’t continue like this. i have to choose not only my mental health over my family but also my physical health as well.

two years without health care is a long time when it comes to reestablishing healthcare especially when it comes to specialists. with my families history of colon and prostrate cancers, the first up was the new GI which started a cascade of #ptsd and #anxiety symptoms.

i did my homework and made sure to bring all of my medical records from the previous medical system to expedite the process and also to show that i was informed and cooperative new patient. the dr.’s extremely knowledgeable which is why i chose him so that’s a good thing. what i hadn’t planned on was the aggressive push for even more medical info when it came to my father…

these days i can relate to how my mother always had a hard time with dr’s and hospitals. it’s all the questioning even though it’s right there in black in white that’s the trigger. no one wants to recall their past when it’s riddled with land mines. it’s a friggin’ war zone and when one goes…they ALL go.

anywho… i had prepped like a good student…four color coded folders for each speciality in case he asked. the g.i. folder was the largest and had every letter, mri, sigmoid, tech notes, xray notes, pcp notes…”do you have the results of your father’s last colonoscopy?” “can you get them?” “you do have power of attorney don’t you?” “these are things you’re legally entitled to you know.” “i’m just trying to take what you provide me and turn it into science.” he says gesturing from outstretched hands at me motioning to random notes onto one sheet of paper because the medical terminal was down… really? no…are you fucking kidding me???

of course he was an hour late and i hit grid lock rush hour traffic right at five thirty, an hour and half just to get out of boston via route nine. it’d be two more hours before i was finally back home. exhausted, not angry or frustrated, just frazzled like shell shock and everything hurt. my stomach, my head, my body, just everything like a spiral…

who knew the next jolt was to hit the very next day. yep, the voicemail from my father asking for help for what i’m guessing may be his final wishes. i mean, i’m compassionate to what he’s going through, but realistic just the same. i mean, it doesn’t change what he’s done but that’s not the point. the point is moving on and still being able to live with myself.

do i have to forgive him? i already had in a way. i mean after our last parting two summers ago, i had already began to do just that, it was what it was and move on. i knew these’s dr’s would be key and i still have three more to fit in by january. oh, and it’s winter which i haven’t driven in for at least thirty years.

yeah, forgot that one. i had to learn how to drive two years ago after being able to walk, subway or taxi anywhere in the city of boston and now i have to drive just to get coffee. i’m not whining on that one, that accomplishment i feel really proud of actually. from finding a driving school to sponsor my road test to the registry for the written, i earned that one.

however…

while i was comfortable with having to make the trade off of country driving over city driving. i hadn’t anticipated the lack of quality specialists here on the cape. the largest and closest healthcare system is the one i’m trying to leave and also doesn’t have the best track record. all my neighbors do the same so i’m not alone in how most of rural mass. thinks about specialist healthcare which is kind of a shame. boston is a great teaching hub and it certainly has innovation on its side. what it does lack though is a broader network of care for all regions and especially those beyond just the greater boston area.

switching from as needed to daily medication was a huge leap for me but it’s necessary if i have to rely on a car for everything. when i lived in the city if i had to run out for coffee or a sandwich and cat food. even in the worst weather or worst of winter colds, i could usually muster a coat maybe some sunglasses winter boots and headphones for a block and a half to the corner bodega. fun little place on the edge of villa victoria called Casa Cuong, just the basics in it’s two small yet well stocked aisles… i can recall the rush of hot air from the ice cream coolers when you open the door in winter like it’s just outside my front door now.

i loved the juxtaposition of corners here in the south end. Casa Cuong with its treasure trove of goya, kix, friskies and klondike bars on one corner. venti iced coffee, turkey wrap, yogurt w/granola and peppermint bark at Starbucks on the other. total time out and back was about twenty minutes maybe thirty when dressing for winter.

nowadays twenty minutes seems like a luxury. a luxury in that it could take me twenty minutes just to get through tying my shoes and getting on some jeans and a shirt if i’m real lucky. i’m winded at just about anything so i have to stop about every fifteen minutes to sit, catch my breath, take the next incremental step and so forth.

you get the gist…

i miss the city for a lot of reasons chief among them is it was my home for my entire adult life until 2016. there’s not an inch of of it i can’t recall and that’s a huge blessing on my journey.

if there’s one thing i’ve learned while emerging from this self imposed cocoon it’s that new memories are going to be important if i’m ever going to make that final hard tack in my life that i’ve always dreamed of. the type where after a vigorous and difficult struggle through wave after wave, you’ve somehow managed turn face first into the wind and you’re no longer concerned with what’s behind you only with what’s ahead and ensuring that horizon as as clear as glass.

i can’t keep having these emotional rubber bands from a toxic family keep whipping me all over the place. it’s too much. i don’t wish him or them any ill will. i just need to focus on me before i end up not being able to care for myself.

when i think of the health issues that run in our family it’s crucial that i get through these next three to four dr. appointments, not including things like labs, colonoscopies, MRI’s etc. etc.

i always knew there’d be stress once i lined up these appointments, it’s the impact from the driving that i hadn’t planned for. toss in my father’s voicemail and that was that…face plant into bed for next five days.

it’s slow going and while i did manage to have an “up day” for thanksgiving, i am sidelined by the gritty scratchy eye thing again. that and the whole body still hurts which means the auto-immune system is in over drive and does it suck. mostly it sucks because i know i’m still a long way from any relief. psoriatic arthritis? maybe, all of the men on my father’s side have ended up in wheel chairs so there’s that… ankylosing spondylitis? that’s another maybe except with my father’s diagnosis in 2016 there is a genetic component to consider or rule out. after this many years neither is palatable but at least there’s a regimen to follow, a plan, something to hang your hat on each night and finally sleep with some peace of mind.

the mind, body and gut connection isn’t lost on me. while mindfulness, meditation and yoga can be helpful. i’m at the stage where we need to move to the next step in the process. living in thirty minute increments of effort isn’t normal for someone my age and yes that’s depressing and yes i know that doesn’t help. look up #IBS, #PA or #AS and they share many of the same symptoms including #depression and #anxiety. that’s good and bad. good in that one medication or plan could solve more than one issue. bad in that it takes all of those specialties to test and agree on who the lucky winner is.

the blinds are open again and there are plenty of leftovers lucky me. during the two days i had energy i was pushing through all of my batch cooking and stocking up the freezer with things like homemade chicken soup and stock. two staples for any gluten free and/or anti-inflammation diet. i made another roaster for thanksgiving day and i’ll throw that in the slow cooker for shredded chicken. an afternoon with the kitchenaid and foodsaver should knock out a couple 1lb bags which are perfect for quick meals.

my neighbor who’s recovering from breast cancer says she’s grateful for the up days too. we both joke about the mornings when you wake up and you just know your body isn’t going to hate you that day and you zoom through laundry, cooking, mail, a shower and collapse.

tomorrow supposed to be sunny and warmer than the past two days of single digit wind chills. the plan is to finish the leaves we all got clobbered with here in new england. one day the leaves were on all the trees and then two back to back wind storms mean everyone was buried all at once.

weather looks good? check. leaf blower batteries charged? check. your body still hates you in the morning? check check and triple check.

tomorrow after the leaves?

why i gave up facebook…

 

barricading complete…

barricading complete…

the blinds are drawn and taped, latches latched, door locks checked and triple checked, i’ve even cut the cords on the blinds so that i can’t raise them unless…well, unless…

facebook and instagram accounts have been deactivated, only twitter and this blog remain.

it’s never been this bad before so i’m in uncharted territory here. i don’t know how else to protect myself other than to keep everyone as far away from me as possible. depression and anxiety have a complete hold on me right now, perhaps it’s just another waiting game. a game i’m tired of playing…

i need to lose track of time…to not be conscious of where i am in my timeline is the safest place for me right now. it’s too painful otherwise. the holidays are usually bad enough, and this isn’t just holiday depression of course, so with my father’s recent voicemail it’s really muddied the waters.

december 21st is my sisters birthday and i still miss her. she was murdered on july 4th and my father’s birthday is groundhog’s day. every holiday was a nightmare as children for my sister and i. with my mother’s own #anxiety #agoraphobia and #ptsd challenges it made it nearly impossible to ever make it to someone house for a simple dinner. there was always a meltdown of some sort so we either never made it into the car and on our way anywhere or we’d last less than an hour before she had to go home. not just her, all of us.

birthday’s and most celebrations were forbidden, either for some manufactured reason such as “oh it’s just another day, it’s not a big deal.” to outright bans because she wanted to be a jehova’s witness. why not, the catholic church had failed her so she would follow any religion that had her attention.

it was so heartbreaking to see my sister cry during these times. not understanding why her special day was “no big deal” and to not even have christmas celebrated…i ache now just thinking of those days…

so. this is why i clear everything and everyone off the calendar from october to may. this year i thought i’d have peace but it wasn’t meant to be…

between good quality outdoor solar lights, auto sensing security lights with a video doorbell and indoor home automation lighting schedules, everything looks perfectly normal…from the outside.

it’s a reflection of me as a person i suppose. everything all nice and tidy on the outside and a crumbling quivering mess inside.

i don’t know what i’m saying other than i’m preparing for whatever form of communication i’ll get when it’s my father’s time…and it will hurt. deeper than anything i’ve ever known. not because of love but because of the loss at a chance to experience what it would have meant for a father and son bond when this time comes.

i’ll grieve now so that i’m better prepared for when the news does arrive. it’s a natural reflex when it comes to my family. never let them see you cry because they love to prey on the vulnerable. in this way i can say with safety and confidence that i don’t care to know what his final wishes were nor does anyone owe me anything. keep what you want just leave me in peace.

 

Voicemail, Novemeber 14th 9:12:16 AM

Voicemail, Novemeber 14th 9:12:16 AM

i’ll have to find a way to link the voice file but not tonight, Friday November 16th 10:14PM…

it’s exhausting passing time by measure of when the other shoe hits the floor, and it always does. this year was supposed to be a good year for the holidays. i had finally told my father how i felt about him after being kicked to the curb my entire life which was an unburdening. even his disgusting response didn’t hurt me. i was finally free and told him to stop calling me after having blocked his number from another vicious attack by him a year earlier.

i’ve known he was sick for awhile and although i initially was willing to help him with a power of attorney. he soon ruined that by a 4am phone call with accusations and other behavior a father just shouldn’t do to a son. i left him one voicemail later in the day after i had time to wake up and have some coffee and go “what the fuck just happened?”

“dad, i’m not sure why you did what you did at 4am but please be a man and pick up the phone so we can talk about this.” he never did and i blocked his number and then systematically i mentally prepared to forget him… i’d done it before, many many times before.

i was finally feeling good about gaining the upper hand on how to be a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. not by my father but by one of my maternal aunts. it was my father that was responsible for the psychological, emotional and physical abuse.

it was nice for awhile there…happy actually. i’d planned ahead for firewood for winter. i’d been working through the joint pains and using yard work as a mindfulness tool. something to distract me while i calmly sorted through the memories of my father. this time was different however. this time i wanted to forget, forget him. forget everything and rather than expend effort rationalizing and minimizing them into neat and tidy memories to be tucked away, i decided to just get rid of them entirely. to finally just move on and face all of the health issues i knew where on the horizon clear eyed, single and with some hope it just might be okay.

that i just might finally have a holiday without pain. i’d learned to live without them all these years so why not finally let myself be free of them and use the mental energy on myself instead of them. and it did work for a bit, right up until tonight.

the last time i spoke with my father he acted as those that 4am phone call never happened, as though he had nothing to apologize for. once i realized he was trying to manipulate me into just letting it go by i finally stood my ground. the words he used were those of a very ignorant and hateful human being i thought, how sad for him that must be. when his son finally tells him to never call him again because he no longer matters to him, those words were like a pathetic grasp for control, control he no longer had.

here i am in the fight of my life just trying to get through dr’s appointments i’ve waited two years to get and all i wanted was clear sailing for the holidays. newp. life had other plans. another shoe to drop.

i don’t know who or how many people will read this but i do have an honest question.

how do you respond to such a person who leaves a voicemail asking you to take care of all his affairs because he knows he’s not going to survive this ‘parkinson’s thing’? he couldn’t have cared less if i lived or died while i was living on the streets of hollywood in the late 70’s.

forced to be a male street hustler for a roof over his head and maybe a hamburger and a coke on a good day. santa monica boulevard and a bus bench near fairfax was good. it was near a carl’s jr. and it was easy to keep busy if cops were around or if no one was looking.

i’d wait for as long as i could. waving off the good looking aggressive types. couldn’t deal with the conceit or the wham bam thank you sam feeling from those. late at night i’d wait for the type that’d let you spend the night. children of trauma learn to read people really well so spotting the ‘companionship’ types was pretty easy. i’m not ashamed of any of this and i’d love to write more about it some day.

i can still recall the local gay papers when the words “gay cancer” first started appearing, everyone was scared and we were years away from learning how it was transmitted. when i say i’m lucky to be here, there are many many reasons i’m lucky to be here.

so here i am not far from what i thought was going to be a quiet and hopeful holiday season to one where i just want to smash every single solitary object i can get my hands on and not stop until my brain sees a blinding white light and my ears go deaf from nothingness…i just want it to end.

i’d say why me but those aren’t the right words… i can’t describe it other than i just want to grab him, someone, something by the ring of the collar to shake the ever loving fuck of them and scream so loud the whole world hears…

W H Y??????

i’m exhausted…i’m scared, scared of me not him. angry too, very angry. every time, without fail when there’s a time in my life when it really does need to be all about me, such as these health issues, one or both of them find some way of trickling back into my life.

my mother passed two years ago right in the middle of my having to sell my condo, uproot my entire life to relocate to another part of the state, oh and landed in the looney bin with clown boy got elected, thank goodness i was already in a place with meds…

and now this… this big pile of steaming shit called my fucked up family has to come along and try to ruin things yet again. i can’t help him. i don’t know him for fucks sake. and what i do know of him is that he’s someone i’d never, ever want to spend time with if i met him as just a person. there’s nothing there between us, there never has been.

i can’t help you old man. you used and abused me for longer than i should have allowed and now it’s time for you to go. go wherever it is that your road takes you and please please go peacefully.

please     finally     leave     me     alone     once      and      for      all.

It’s been awhile…

It’s been awhile…

just checking in and i want to be clear when it comes to my previous therapist you asked if you could follow along and i had said yes. at the time i didn’t see the harm, in hindsight it would leave me feeling too exposed.

i’m not truly sure what made things change course so abruptly and while a full and honest explanation would be respectful i certainly won’t hold my breath. when a man discloses something as sensitive as childhood sexual abuse, it can be a very delicate balancing act i’m fully aware. if it was a subject you didn’t feel comfortable with or capable of fully embracing than i wish that had simply been said.

at any rate. please do not read or follow along. i’m not good at being a unicorn remember?

#PTSD is still part of life, the anxiety of medical and prescription transition number three has now been completed. with my exchange plan i was afraid to get routine services, with medicare and BCBS medigap i can finally start to relax a bit. Prescriptions are what they are. I think the days of $5 copays, unless it’s very generic and widely used, are starting to become a rarity. unless i’m in some deductible period or the dreaded donut hole. Egads….

mental health wise i think things are proving to have a symbiotic effect. when my body isn’t aching from every square nodule, i’m up and about and i don’t need 1/2 hour epsom salt baths to get going either.

my recent bout with #IBS, or at least that was what we ‘thought’ it might be two years ago, knocked me offline for 4 days straight. so you’re in bed in agony because you’ve been tossing and turning for 4 days and nights, your hips hurt, you feel like you can’t bend or twist enough to get down to that last itsy bitsy stetch of muscle that will finally make you say ahhhhh….it eludes you and you beg for more sleep.

my last flare up with 3-4 days of no eating and/or just bone broth really let whatever was in my system pass out of my gut so my stomach finally felt normal. with the malaise of aches pains coming and going so i dropped 10 pounds, not a bad thing, i’ll take it.

not sure if it’s the yoga and stretching i’ve been doing on the deck but the more i move the better i feel. now that i’m down to 185lbs from 220;bs i can definitely feel a difference. well, when i can move anyway.

for now i’m just keeping busy gardening which really is a good workout i have to say. whipping a 100ft garden hose around is pretty fun and great arm and shoulder work. the constant up and down around the deck helps the legs since it’s semi-uneven down to the pond level.

i’m getting better little by little. mindfulness, meditation, stretching, healthy eating and super baby steps yoga seems to be bringing a much needed rhythm and routine to things.

now. time to get my damn Nikon lens fixed, i need a trip to NYC… ~r

 

Been a heck of a week…

Been a heck of a week…

last thursday was a hit to the gut. she used all the right words. “I know that you have abandonment issues and…”

i do/don’t recall much beyond the utter collapse that i’d never be able to work with her again. we were so close and the one last thing i needed. the one last thing between being forever trapped in childhood or smashing the world to bits is still lying on a shelf in my closet…buried behind even more boxes. waiting to either ruin or free me forever. a box of photos from my mothers past i have yet to open. a part of my timeline fully suppressed, held at bay and kept at a distance until i was strong enough.

this isn’t easy work. i know that for myself the work isn’t in the graphic details either. childhood sexual abuse doesn’t need to be recalled or retold in order to be understood. when someone says to you they’ve endured things no young boy of six should ever have to that’s more than enough.

there’s no easy lead up in therapy when it comes to working with someone like me. when she offered to ‘be the one’ to help me make that final walk through, the one last and most vulnerable part. i only asked one thing. “if you promise than you have to stay to the end, you have to stay to the end.” this had been many months prior.

During our last session this past thursday she said she wouldn’t be able to see me in private practice…i lost my breath…i tried to keep it together…buy time long enough to recover…put on a brave face, we always do. that’s how people like me get through life. we pretend we’re fine until we aren’t…

i had been sobbing at this point. overwhelmed at possibly trusting someone again, the possibility of finally not being the only person carrying my story…

i don’t know where to go from here. next week begins trips to boston for the medical stuff. these random bouts of muscle weakness and joint pain is pretty disconcerting.

as for the mental health side…well. i’ve been alone most of my sober life, which will be 13 years come october. i wouldn’t trade that for anything, i do miss people though.

camera in tow with my shades and tunes. it’ll be comforting to be anonymous in bustling boston again.

i’ve been here before and that’s ok…

i’ve been here before and that’s ok…

as much as I hate going off the rails at least it’s familiar territory, extremely uncomfortable but navigable if i just power through as best i can.

i’m only in competition with myself with it comes to depression and anxiety. i either work through my fear and keep my appointments with my therapist and prescriber or i end up increasing the odds of a spin out crash and burn game set match time out reset…..breathe…..just breathe….. ok…where am i again???

trauma work can be triggering and i gotta dig deep on this one guys. as terrified as i am about two upcoming appointments i’m just turning it over to the universe and inhale…exhale…you got this.

and yeah, i know the blog is a mess. lemme get back on some solid footing for a bit and then i can get back to some photography and cooking!

best ~rz

too many record players…

too many record players…

Screen Shot 2018-06-05 at 8.28.49 PMmy familiar place, i hate you with every fiber of my being…

my mind has always been a series of flashbacks and memories, record players always playing nonstop day in day out…relentless

i’ve never been good at juggling them, like a plate spinner without a break…a slave to keeping them all in the air until they aren’t…

i’m stuck for the moment yet unsure as to just how many lows i have left in me. it’s exhausting and discouraging.

all of the shades are drawn tight, doors and windows locked. i feel safe for now and cross my fingers it passes soon. i misjudged the repercussions of allowing myself to begin the process of opening up about and truly thinking through my early childhood sexual trauma. it may have been a mistake, i’m not sure…i just know i’m shutting down and withdrawing. it’s my way of coping, to avoid the pain, the pain of people even ones who may want to help me.

when all the record players come crashing down its like a mental onslaught of every single fucking negative feeling and emotion i’ve ever had in my life flood back all at once and i can’t control any of them. zero to rage and confusion in a nano second…hateithateithateit

the darkness and heavy blankets help me relax. i can’t be worried about the outside right now. noise hurts, people hurt, everything hurts right now…bed is safe.

i’m shut off from postal mail and voicemail, at&t blew up my vm during a blizzard and used a sledgehammer for the other. it was a daily land mine so i had to remove the variable. self protection mode engaged.

had to delete three people from fb today too. i’ve been let down enough in my life that after reaching out to people over and over again to simply have a cup of coffee, i just don’t need that kind of rejection right now. you can’t keep telling me i matter to you yet it be so difficult to spare a hour for coffee?

truthfully, that’s been really really hard to take.

i’m aware this isn’t normal, i just don’t know how to turn it all off…or at least turn down the volume on the chaos until i can dust myself off long enough for a breather…yet again.

 

 

I’ve never met anyone else like me…

I’ve never met anyone else like me…

My greatest need for support is in finding a way to adapt my Anxiety/Panic Disorder through the lenses of an adult still very much living with ADHD from childhood and who was never given the necessary support and consistency in tools to manage interpersonal situations. Couple that with the early childhood trauma and thats where the symptoms of PTSD really manifest themselves. Depression is never far away thanks to my maternal biology and while not entirely omnipresent. Things do run in cycles and when the low hits, it get dark very fast and for a very persistent period of time.

My day to day Anxiety is at such high levels its affecting my health. Seemingly ordinary stress from trying to managed very ordinary skills such as the randomness of grocery shopping or dealing with the local post office are constant land mines that I still haven’t been able to adapt to.

I’ll never be free of these symptoms, physically or emotionally, there’s too much psychological damage for that. To me that’s not really a bad place to begin from. In the sense that if I accept that I do in fact have challenges, as do many other people with all sorts of disabilities and varying degrees. Then the work begins in dealing with the one last topic I’ve never been able to fully unburden myself of and that’s having been sexually abused by my own Aunt while my Grandmother and Mother both knew. It’s the mainspring of all the events in my life as I recall them.

I’ve never met anyone else like me. I probably never will. I think that part hurts me the most right now. I disconnected myself from trusting people at the age of 5 but it began much earlier than that and was fully complete at the age of 8 in the story I’m about to share.

Over the years one way I tried to categorize things in my life was in terms of biological issues versus nurture issues. Biological would be things like multiple childhood surgeries starting with a skin graft at the age of 2 and kidney surgery at the age of 8. The kidney surgery was during one of the roughest times of my life while trying to adjust to being newly diagnosed with ADD w/hyperactivity disorder, they didn’t call it ADHD back then. The house I recuperated in with my mother is also where I would have Petit Mall seizures. My father was verbally abusive and on his visiting days and would enter the house by loudly saying “Alright…what’d he do this week?” all while staring at me as though he couldn’t wait to hit me and chase me. It was like a sport with him. The truth is I never did do anything other than have trouble in a school environment that wasn’t able accommodate my ADD needs while being raised by parents who never followed up on recommendations by our local neighborhood family services clinic.

This was the same house my mother left my suitcase on the doorstep for me one night after spending the weekend with my father. We pulled up on the opposite side of the street. No lights are on, the screen door looks open but I can’t make it out.

Inner Video: My ears begin to ring…time slows…I don’t understand…my stomach hurts, it always hurts. His head is down as he walks back to the car, slow motion, mind racing lightning fast, wondering, calculating for what was about to come. I’ve always had to plan for every eventual outcome, it’s a survival mechanism.

The suitcase goes in the backseat and we drive back to Van Nuys. My father was a factory worker with challenges of his own. He kept a simple one bedroom apartment there while he worked 2nd shift with split days off for a large commercial bakery. I never lived with him full time until 7th grade. This was the night he sent me to live with the family of the woman he cheated with at my mother’s reception. I didn’t know all of these things at the time of course, but it definitely explains the horrible living conditions I was in with people I didn’t even know and no support from anyone anywhere that my mother just abandoned me and my father is paying strangers to take care of me. Zero, zip, nada.

Next video: “I don’t know where she is, all she left was his clothes and a note,”

I see myself from behind every time I recall this, hair wet, knees pulled to my chest in bath with water that’s gone cold. Cold because I didn’t want to make noise moving so I could hear what was happening. Stuck. Panic. Fear. What was going to happen to me? If not with my mother than where? Where????

“Please don’t send me back to my grandmother’s house. Please. That’s where Catherine lives, I can’t go back there.” my inner dialog is raging, racing, panicking.  I’m paralyzed, forever broken and unimaginably gutted…my father would never know as I swallow my fear and await for the next fork in my timeline to unfold…

i can’t go back there…someone hear me…please…someone protect me…please…….please.

this is real time as of Tuesday May 15th at 6:32pm.

I’ve just come from a crucial therapist appointment where I may finally have a way to move through this. I’m not editing this piece. It just poured out.

This is my story. This is where I begin.

#MentalHealthAwarenessMonth #CSAQT #WallofSilence #HealMeToo #NotAlone #RAINN #NAMI

 

thursday…8:37 PM

thursday…8:37 PM

…bad day today. one of those days where my body let’s me know how much it hates me by making every inch of it ache. brain fog pushing against you while trying to string together sequential thoughts.

coffee first, no, not coffee…which…backtrack, cats…yeah cats first…no no not that either…bathroom definitely bathroom…everything hurts. back, shoulders, neck, legs, feet, knees, hips. i want to crawl back into bed but have to try and keep moving.

on these days i measure my accomplishments by task completed and in as few steps as possible. i hate being physically winded when my brain is overloaded, makes pushing back against the rage and frustration of simple things a lot more difficult.

8:54pm the tv just came on by itself. happens every once and awhile and doesn’t bother me oddly enough. must be vern or my sister having some fun, nothing to lose sleep over.

cuckoo clock strikes early and the gentle tick tock resumes… funny how they speed up or slow down depending on the humidity. the living room humidifier needs refilling and i think i need a fire tonight. soothes the arthritis.

flashbacks can come in all sorts of forms i think. like dreamscapes that seamlessly work their way into your thoughts and before you realize it you’re transported right back to that particular moment in time…

i have tunnel vision and i’m looking at a long concrete walkway, it dips down at the middle and then leads to a set of steps. patches of grass but mostly dirt to the right, tallish grass along the rusty chain link fence to the left. a long row of identical single story apartments were on the other side.

i never liked the concrete stairs, too granular and hurt your knees and hands when playing. we must have had a front door but i never recall one. my film only ever sees it with through the screen door, shafts of light coming right filling the small living area.

a faux avocado finished console style record player was front and center. can’t remember where she got it but she was happy trying to refinish it. some combination of avo green pain and black and somehow you got some wood grain. lines of black mingling with the more predominant and shiny looking green. one large round speaker on the front with some gold’ish fabric for a cover. i’d play my peter pan record on it over and over.

9:21pm tired, exasperated, frustrated. trying not to let my depression and anxiety get the best of me so i’ll pick this up later. writing about things does seem to help.

like unpacking a dusty leather bound chest from the attic and taking things out one by one. in a place of silence and calm without distraction. even if my body isn’t cooperating, i still know i’m one of the lucky ones.

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