I slept for nearly 12 hours last night, but I had earned it. I had taken a five hour nap Sunday afternoon and had not gone to bed until after 4am Monday morning. I managed to function on a few hours of sleep and by going to work and was thankful that I had to leave at 2pm to go see Dr. B. for more drug follow up.
She’s changed my meds again so that I’m taking 25mg of Effexor and upping the Serzone to 375mg, which is not even close to being the actual medicated dose, which is 400 or 450, I forget which.
Last night I was sitting there thinking about my friends, both online and off, and their reaction to me. Except for a few emails from a few people who read my journal, everyone else just left me alone. I had not thought of whether or not this made me sad, more than I was disappointed. But I realized, that I really am a tough person to get to know, and it’s fucking hard as hell to approach a conversation with someone who just spent eternity on writing about suicidal thoughts and cutting themselves. How the fuck do you approach that?
You can’t. Even I know that.
But it’s hard though, because I feel like I have to start from point A to start learning social niceties again from the very beginning. Somewhere, back in my past, prior to puberty I would suppose, something changed in me and that brought forth everything that has happened. But I learned that even memories can be deceiving when talking to my mom about the petite mal seizure I had when I was 3, because for nearly 20 years, I thought it was grand mal, which makes a difference.
I always remember being scared, and I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t. I remember I always had to prove myself to someone or something, to say “Hey! I’m here! Hello!” and I don’t know why I did that. I remember, silly as it seems now, when I was living in Toronto that after going to the movies with my dad to see “Pump up the Volume” that I had stood at my window looking at the Toronto skyline and talking into a mini-recorder. I am too easily influenced and some would even say I was horribly naive.
But I suppose that is part of my charm.
When I was getting ready for work yesterday, I realized that I didn’t want to have a kid now because the state of my relationship or my age, but I didn’t want to have a kid now because of the state of my mental relationship with myself. I did not want to put my child through the BS I am going through simply because that to me would be cruel punishment and the cycle would start all over again. I couldn’t let that happen. I realized that my relationship with Paul wasn’t the problem but it proved to myself I had to be somewhere, inside of me, in a grounded place before I could move on to the next phase in my life. I cannot be angry that if it takes me forever and a day to finish school or if I’m 35 when I have my first kid. I just want to be secure in myself and financially before I bring a brat into this world.
Andrew said recently that out of those he knew, i was one of the few (including himself) that he could imagine not getting married or having a child. I suppose I did agree with him that the idea did seem ludicrous at the time, but, the thing is, I do want a child. I want a little girl, and genetically, if the patterns in the family keep on trucking, the first child I have will be a girl and there is an 80% chance that she’ll have brown hair and brown eyes, and basically look like me as I looked like my mother and my mother looked like my grandmother and so on and so forth. I have dreamed, for a very long time, that this child would not grow up in the kind of life I did and all my mistakes would be rendered negative simply by her birth. I almost feel, amusingly enough, that this child would be the second coming to me.
I’ve been at a crossroads for a few years now in my life and I’ve been coasting. I know this. But I did make a lot of changes by getting my ass out of Michigan and out of San Francisco and moving on with my life. Emotionally though, I feel like I’m still in the same place where I was when I had left Michigan nearly five years ago, but I know I have grown and it’s just in minute ways but I have grown. I do not feel almost 30. I look at successful women in their 40s and 50s and realize that I do have a long life ahead of me. I look at my mother as a supporter and a figure of hope because she did go through a lot of fucking shit and she’s still surviving (and even talking about dating again! woo!). But the ties that bind us also seem to gag us and I need to start taking small steps to make that work.
Right now, Dr. B. thinks (and I agree) that I need to work on inner self first before making any major changes in my life and I agree. Some of the stuff seems to work like taking classes online and putting together small goals but I cannot do everything at once nor should I be expected to. But I do have to prioritize and figure out which way to go first.
With that, I bid you a good morning and a happy day.