Category: The Lisa Chronicles

high and dry

i used to think creating the titles of my entries were the hardest part of writing and now I’m thinking it’s more like the actual intro.
it is hard, you know, to write something and get dialog going within your head and then putting it out on paper (which actually is just bits and bytes since I’m doing this via keyboard and a text editor, and what not).
i honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me and i don’t have sarcastic repartee in my head that gets me going.
i don’t know what’s wrong.
i wish i had the magic eight-ball to shake and say ‘what the hell is wrong with me?!?!’ and get an answer, but life doesn’t’ work out that way and i can’t say that i blame it.
i used to get so wrapped in fantasy from reading books/movies that i used to half think my life was a sitcom where everything got neatly wrapped up in 30 minutes or at the end of the last chapter and that what i was experiencing was merely the epilogue.
and in the interim, I’m on 900mg of lithium, 100mg of Serzone, 200mg of wellabutrin plus i have some anti-psychotic drugs that I’m supposed to use whenever i get angry. Woah, i realised part of today’s issue is that i went down on my Serzone! woo!). But the drugs isn’t the issue, it’s ‘deep seated issues’ i have and why I’m so fucking angry. But here is another thing, I’ve had these ‘deep seated issues’ for forever and a day, and i always felt okay with myself — even if it was ‘deep rooted’, but it was my deep-rooted-ness and i could deal with that, because i still had a personality and it was mine.

happy xmas eve

Today was one of those days where I went to work and got paid to goof off, eat fudge and smoke a lot.
Have I mentioned the horrors of my company? No? Well they cancelled the holiday party this year (some poor soul tried to set up a holiday potluck in our department but no one signed up…), health care has been detained for open enrollment due to “funding” and they even took our GODDAMN VENDING MACHINES! Free coffee went out the window as they are now replacing them with coffee machines (hence why our vending machine was removed — needed room for the coffee machine). Bonus structure has been rearranged. And the sad part? That MY department does FIFTYSIX PERCENT of the revenue for worldcom. Yes. It’s true. I say the company stats. WorldCOm has been in the black for the last three quarters and they are penny pinching to the point where you can feel the collective sigh as the holidays approach.
fucking eh!
So today was a waste.
They kept all of Wcom open but we yelled down “hello!” down Main St. (the main large hallway that connect all the buildings) and heard an echo back towards us. No one called us, as most businesses are closed or closing early on the eve of the holiday. So I did a site audit on myself and basically ate fudge, wrote personal email and smoked whenever I could. A friend of mine who works in a different department is a part-time Rabbi and he said it’s been pretty slow where he’s at as well.
So I left the joint a few minutes early and drove to the grocery store as Paul said he wanted to make creme brulee for dinner tonight (there are three of us and he’s cooking like there is 12..) and lemme tell you, the one if not the MAIN ONE reason I hate the holidays is how effing rude people get. Look, I’m sorry YOU waited to the last minute to get your xmas shopping done, food bought and gifts wrapped but don’t take your anger out on me. One of the reasons that people get so pissy this time of year pisses me off. I’m also a bit miffed because I had asked a friend of mine what she and her family would like for xmas and she said “instead of three small gifts can you just get me one expensive gift?”. I’m perturbed that she had the audacity to /ask/ it in that manner. I don’t mind helping someone else out but shit. I still haven’t even gotten gifts for my closest friends and now I feel effing OBLIGATED to get this thing for her. Feh. It angers me, as you can probably tell. But I don’t have the balls to tell her “no, sorry, can’t do that” because I already promised her we would. We being a few of us who are doing this. Paul’s all pissy because he’s like “well they don’t treat us well, xyz, why should we buy them something?” And I can see what he means — to a point. but I don’t quite, I can’t quite say no.
I’m not in the mood to write anymore. Haven’t been in awhile, so I’ll be back when I have something more worthwhile to say.
Happy Holidays.
x0x0x

warm weather

the warm weather is making everyone cranky.
At least here in Northern Virginia.
We’ve been having an un-seasonal spurt of warm weather, which naysayers are saying is due to Global Warming. It’s been in the high 60s and low 70s for nearly two weeks now and it’s scary. December should be the month for chilly weather, boots and fires. Not me wearing pedal pushers and flipflops.
Maybe it’s the drugs I’m on, maybe it’s because the holiday season is drawing to a climax, regardless of the reason, I’m a bit angry that the one year I want to celebrate xmas and all the trimmings, it feels like we are living in Miami.
bah. humbug.
[Originally published at LiveJournal]

busy as a bee

I never did finish my NaNoWriMo novel, but congrats to the people who did. I had issues, matter and concerns happen in November and it was perhaps the overwhelming stress of trying to be wonder woman that I just threw down my lasso of truth and said ‘fuck it’.
modgirl.net has been nicely updated, much more than my LJ, which is fine. My new project was installing and using the patch for greymatter to add all the old entries in my journal and use a database instead of doing it singlehandedly. If you want to read the past, be my guest. I suppose I have this fetish that I need to get this completed sometime in my life. I have this fantasy where my children will find the web page and get a better understanding of my life. Nothing like living in the ether.
[Originally published at LiveJournal.]

usenet oldies

kara was mentioning some information she found on her name via usenet, and i did a search and pulled up this:
https://groups.google.com/forum/#!search/lisa$20rabey$20net-link.net/rec.arts.bodyart/GLpd0-LBkkY/RaYibVrjGGMJ
that was an message i dropped to rec.arts.bodyarts over five years ago after i got my first nipple pierced.
damn.
i feel all internet-old and shit.

shadow boxer

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.
Lisa

drugco

It’s 3:15am Monday morning, and like all good boys and girls, I should be in bed sleeping. Instead, I stayed awake fretting over the slight idea that my electricity was going to be cut off tomorrow (it’s not) and the added fact that I had a five hour nap lasting until 8pm this evening also did not help.
I’m still struggling with the fact of the amount of drugs I’m taking on a daily basis. Dr. B. says we have to work on my issues one at a time and she’s adding bipolar/manic depressiveness or ADD/ADDH to the mix because apparently while both are similar, I also exhibit symptoms of ADD/ADDH but apparently some of the underlying issues with learning disorders also clearly show to be like bipolar as well. Like how Anthrax has “flu like symptoms.” Bad connotation but you get the point.
I remember, five or six years ago when our GP put me on Prozac and I woke up every morning with suicidal thoughts. Apparently, I am one of the very few that had that kind of side affect happen to them. I think Dr. B. mentioned that Lithium and it’s derivatives are the same way, but the point is to remember it’s the medication and not how you truly feel, which is also my strong point. I’m too fucking stubborn to die. I take my anger out in other obtuse ways, like chopping off my hair (I did mention that I used to pull my hair out in huge clumps when I was pissed back in the day, didn’t i?), dying my hair, getting pierced/tattooed and shopping. When I’m angry, I spend money. heh. Yet I still look at my bookshelf and think I don’t own enough books. I cleaned off my desk while I was getting bills together this morning and found a book I had purchased over a month ago and forgot about.
I keep straying from the point.
So about five or six years ago, GP puts me on Prozac and i felt like a zombie. I did not feel like “me,” i felt like someone who wasn’t me but was sharing my body. I did not know who that person was, but it was pissing me off. I did not feel the highs or the lows like I was used to and that angered me. I wanted to feel the highs and the lows, but that would require me to be off drugs and it seemed everyone wanted me to be on drugs.
It was then and there that I swore that I would use holistics, therapy or other ways to control the body chemistry and not use artificial means. But after having panic attack after panic attack for months in the summer of 2000 and feeling like you were dying will change that in you.
Dr. B. asked me why I was so defensive. heh. I spilled out words to her about growing up in my family and school and what i was like. I was always effing alone when I was growing up. That’s how i felt. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t have very man confidences. There was me, my books and reading.
Paul was pretty adamant about me going on lithium because he said it was addictive and that he had family members who could not get off of the drug. I asked Dr. B. about it and she said that lithium was not addictive and that really, none of my meds were except klonopin. Even then, because while i have an addictive personality, I’m so afraid of being strung out on drugs or alcohol, I refuse to put myself in that situation. I hardly every drink — last time I had beer was on 9/11/2001 and prior to that was Paul’s 21st birthday. I cannot even remember the last time I did illicit drugs. It does nothing for me. Growing up in an alcoholic family will do that to you, either you become this almost fanatic about alcohol and drugs or you succumb and do it yourself. I choose not to succumb and kept my mouth away from alcoholic pleasures for quite a long time. I won’t say I don’t drink, as I’ve been known to imbibe in a few yummy alcohol laden treats a few times in my life, but I don’t use alcohol as a crutch. Never could get over some of the taste and the smell of whiskey always reminds me of my dad. I never could date anyone who liked drinking whiskey and coke, because that to me along with a few other smells reminds me too much of my father.
I’m still fucking angry at him dying on me. I’m still pissed at my mom. Dr. B. says that I need to let the hurt go and I was almost shouting “I want to! I JUST DO NOT KNOW HOW!”
I don’t know how.
Wish I did.
x0x0x
lisa

reverb

Those few hours between when I had ended my last entry and went to my shrinks were the longest in my life. Or so it felt. Once I had gotten into her office, I started bawling and I couldn’t stop. I had no idea what was wrong or what was wrong with me and why I could not stop crying.
What had partially happened medically is that I had started a new birth control pill called yasmin and had slowly started weaning myself off of Effexor. Dr. B. thinks it was a combination of the pill and the weaning of the Effexor that made me, um, lose control (if you want to call it that). She immediately gave me a low dose of Effexor and had me check back in with her Wednesday to do follow up.
On Wednesday I felt a bit more in control of myself when I went to see her, more composed and more willing to talk. She prescribed a lithium derivative (600mgs) so that my daily pill intake is now:

  • 1 birth control pill
  • 1 37.5mg of Effexor
  • 2 150mg of Serzone
  • 2 300mg of lithobid
  • 1 multivitamin

I stare at all the pills in my hand and just wonder what the fuck I’ve done to get this far in life. A shelf in one of the kitchen cabinets looks like a pharmacy as I keep all my meds and vitamins (and for some reason, a bottle of hair dye — can you NOT see the irony with that one?) with half open bottles of various prescriptions I’ve had over the last few years. The good drugs, such as klonopin, are kept in my purse for ’emergancies’. The fucked up thing with klonopin is that when I was having panic attacks left and right last week, I popped the full pill and it didn’t seem to do anything. Which was odd because in the past, 1/4 of the pill was fine. That bothered me.
Even with all the goddamn drugs I’m on, I’m STILL having panic attacks. Had one today when I was playing video games with Alisha and my heart started racing (160bpm — I counted) and I excused myself to the bathroom. When I had gotten an EKG back in January, the on-call doctor had shown me a few tricks to slow my heart rate down, and one of the tricks is to ‘push down’ like you are taking a shit, which I was doing er well attempting while I was sitting down next to Alisha but I just excused myself and went to the bathroom any ways. I had this feeling my face looked like I was constipated. I went into the bathroom, and did the exercise for a few moments and my heart rate slowed down to less than half of what it was. I don’t think Alisha ever knew.

about a girl

i was crying this morning while i was making coffee.
Considering that i had scratched and punched Paul on Saturday, that is somewhat of an improvement.
let me backtrack:
For the last few weeks, mentally, something had not been going right inside my head. I started coming home from work, eating dinner and almost promptly going to bed. Stuff like school, writing, NaNoWriMo, my journal, etc all went out the window. I felt like I was being dragged down into this cesspit of despair but nothing externally had changed. Paul and i were still, well Paul and I, my mother still hadn’t gotten her SSI yet and I was still supporting her and everything else gosh darn remained the same.
But then stupid little incidents started setting me off. Customers who were dumber than a box of rocks (nothing new, however, I seemed to be taking a new path on how to deal with them which wasn’t good), people on mailing lists I would blow up on and use this foul language that bothered even me. The woman who ran me off the side of the road on Saturday, every little slight against me sent me into this fury that pissed me off so much I was shaking physically. I was/am spinning out of control and I do not know how to stop it.
On Saturday, I was sitting at my computer all nonchalant like when Paul asked me to fix the printer. He was prepping the list for us to go shopping for Thanksgiving dinner and I just blew up at him. My movement was so fluid, that I had no time to think or to react. I got up, and started punching and scratching Paul. I threatened to stab him with something. All the while he is looking at me like “What the fuck are you doing?” I started screaming at him about why couldn’t he fix the printer himself and i tried to force open said printer when he started yelling at me I was doing it all wrong. Once I got the printer opened, I took the color cartridge out of its place and shook it all over him, leaving drops of blue and red ink on his white T-shirt. I just did not give a flying fuck. At some point, I went and laid down, to help calm down, and that did not seem to help either. All I kept thinking about was sliding a knife down my arm vertically and just fucking ending it all. Fuck you, fuck the world, fuck my mother and my family, fuck work and most especially fuck Paul.
But I didn’t grab a knife, I just laid down and slept for a few hours hoping that the monsters would go away.
They of course, did not.
Sunday morning, I woke up after a few hours of sleep and went to the massage therapist. All the work my chiropractor had done on me for the last year had gone to hell in a handbasket as all the pain i started suffering came rushing back within the last month or so. I can’t sleep, I’m angsty and i feel like stabbing someone. really. Charisma (yes, really, that is her name) started working on me and i felt myself tense up and eventually relax. By the time I had left her an hour later, my body was like rubber. However, later on that day, I was back to being pent up, angsty, angry Lisa. Nothing was working. Not massage, not going to the chiropractor, not drugs, not relaxing, nothing. zip. nada.
I’ve never thought of myself as a cutter and have prided myself on being ‘too smart’ to follow through with cutting myself or attempting suicide, but, I’m telling you, the idea felt warm and safe in my head Saturday and this morning, the fact that all this frustration and anger came welling to the top, I’m this close to wanting to hurt myself. I’m literally hanging on by a thread.
in over a year of being with my therapist, not once can i honestly say that i wanted to hurt myself until recently. Oh, i had bouts when on new drugs that the idea seemed to be golden, but, i rationally knew it was the drugs not how i felt consciously. My family, genetically, seems to dispel drugs like there is no tomorrow. My mother had been on various anti-whatevers for the last year and she would get to the point where she would be okay, she would be almost maniac but not quiet and then BOOM, she would fall. With me, it is almost the same. Prozac, paxil, Effexor, zolotf, now Serzone all seem to have the same effects one me — fine for awhile, then the drug does not work anymore. I’m tired of feeling out of control and like my life is spinning 180 degrees. I fought so fucking hard to not be where I was five years ago only to find that it seems worthless. I feel worthless and I feel like my life is not worth it.
My eyes are welling up with tears again, like they have been for the last few weeks or so. Everything, everything is setting me off. I feel so fucking helpless, because i AM seeing a therapist, i AM taking anti-whatever drugs, i AM going to a chiropractor, i AM seeing a massage therapist. NOTHING IS WORKING. I’m so fucking pissed because I’m doing all the ‘right’ things, and yet i feel I’m back where i started over a year ago. That fuels my anger even more and i want to hurt myself or someone around me.
I just got done making breakfast as I decided it was in the best interest that I not go in today. I’m lucky, in that, half my department is fucking loony toons and that they know my history that I can call in ‘sick’ and tell them really why i was ‘sick’.
I sat there chopping up onions and green peppers thinking I can make this omelette (which, I of course burn) and the thought of slicing my skin is still there. I watch the omelette burn and I have this special omelette pan in which when I flipped it over, a plastic part of the pan starts burning stinking up my kitchen. I toss the whole mess into a regular frying pan and end up making scrambled eggs with potatoes, onions, and green peppers.
My life could be described just like that: it’s a mess so i transfer it over to something else. I’m tired, oh so tired of fighting to stay alive. I keep myself in check all these years, busting my ass to do the right things, and to make up for all the things i feel I’ve done to slight people and myself and I can not catch up. I just can’t do it anymore.
For a long time, I wanted to be crazy, like really crazy , mental hospital crazy, but my mom’s experience this summer showed that what i saw in movies and what was real were wildly different things. I still want to be crazy, I feel worthless enough because I cannot accomplish anything feasible. Everything feels like this huge burden that I cannot even begin to touch.
You’re a child, and you are told from day one that you are special and worthwhile and bright and gifted. You are told you can do anything you want, that the world is your oyster and you cannot fail at anything.
Then the chemistry changes and at the age of nine you are seeing a therapist because “you’ve been a bad girl,” and your mother keeps yelling at you how everything is your fault, and you are grounded not for days or weeks but for months and years. You run and escape into books and feel paranoid. You feel like everyone is out to get you and you can’t understand why at the age of 9,10,11 why you don’t have friends like other people have friends. You’ve spent so much of your young life being grounded that you miss out on birthday parties and events with other kids. You don’t have friends. The people who say there are your friends only use you because you are stupid enough or naive enough to think they like you. But they don’t, not really. Kids are cruel creatures.
So you grow up, your family moves, and you start a new school where no one knows you. You think that you can be anything you want to be, but your attempts at making friends is feeble and you spend most of your lunch periods reading or writing, always alone. Your 13. Your body changes and you suddenly develop breasts and lose some of the baby fat, and suddenly guys want to date you. You still feel like this insecure be-speckled person you were when you were nine and 10. Fat, worthless, pointless. You don’t know what changed but now people want to be your friend, but they are they wrong type of friends. They are the ‘bad kids’, but you don’t care because someone finally pays attention to you and you feel happy because now you have ‘friends’, and that’s all you wanted. Everything becomes this big blur as you enter high school and everyone leaves you alone because they either don’t know you or assume you are a transferring senior when really you’re just a 5’10 150lb freshman. You still think you were so fat. Then you go on the special school trip where your class of AP students travel to Kentucky. You get lured into and locked into a cabin with the swim team where they get this bright idea to gang rape you. You fight and claw and run screaming into the bathroom and a friend saves you. But no one is told. Not the parents, not the guardians, no one. You sit through the going away party glaring at the boys who had tried to harm you and they act nothing is going on. Back to school, everything changes and suddenly rumors are spreading and the same boys who grabbed you are leering at you and making comments. Kids are so cruel, they didn’t mean it.
You start getting older, 14, 15 and things remain the same. You now feel like two people instead of one. One who doesn’t give a fuck and the one who does. She (me/i/her) still hangs out with the ‘bad kids’ and the other half goes and starts studying for the LSAT. The two worlds cannot reconcile themselves and the fighting at home becomes worse and your mother keeps taking you to separate therapists where you confess just what an awful child you are. You start a new habit of breaking things. You get angry and start breaking anything made of china or glass. Your friends get used to it and you laugh it off and your mother gets angry for breaking all the dish ware in the house. You had as a child taken a point of where you used to sew your fingers together with needle and thread, through the upper layers of your skin. You would sew and sew and then rip it out gingerly and start over again. You used to pull huge clumps of hair out. At 16,17 and 18, nothing has changed. You lose your virginity to someone you don’t love only to have him dump you four days later for a whore. You sleep with whoever and you don’t care, thinking your this badass who can deal with it and you know they are jerks and won’t call you again. You spend a lot of time hiding under your desk when on the phone, as if the wrath of your family is just that bad, but your family consists of a younger brother and a mother and how can it be so bad?
Anyone who was seriously into you, and I mean seriously into you, leaves because they can’t deal with the mania and the depression that follows. Sometimes you forget to eat and when you do eat, you gain weight. Except now you are cycling, between the mania and the depression. You move again and again with your mother and move to Toronto when your 18, only to find that the lessons you had learned as a child are still with you. You come back having only made a few friends, didn’t leave the house and nothing changed for you. It was still the same.
Then it cycles faster.
And as you get older, you notice that the so-called ‘adults’ you are supposed to be, still have the same tenacity as the children you knew. No one is interested in being ‘real’ or friends with you, they would rather lie, cheat and steal. Instead of hair pulling or sewing, you cry and don’t leave your room for days. Friends call and want to go out, and you have panic attacks thinking about leaving the house. Then a few days later everything is ‘fine’ and you pretend nothing happens.
Your world has become disjointed and you tell yourself you’ll pull out of this bullshit and move on. But you can’t reconcile the differences between reality and fantasy. Reality is much too fucking painful to deal with. Either that or your sense of reality is too fucking painful. You don’t see happiness or warmth in anything, it’s all gray and dark and dismal.
Memories keep shooting up to the forefront and you still cry. You cry when your mother left you with cast up to your thigh on the Christmas you were 22 and your 16 year old brother was with you to help you use the port-a-potty because you could not walk the 50′ to the bathroom. Your brother helps you up the stairs and you really bathe for the first time in a week and your next door neighbors come over on Christmas day and help you hobble over to their house for dinner. THEN the police show up at your door because your father is worried you were being mistreated (22, no phone in the house, no food and your mother and her husband are gone for the holidays). The following Christmas your mother gives you a bottle of washer fluid for your car, and you sit there crying. Your brother and you start a tradition where you go to blockbuster and grab burger king for dinner. You hate Christmas and all the fake cheer that is associated with it.
Now you are 29. Next year you’ll be 30. All through the years you’ve kept a pretty good handle on the monsters. You’ve kept them at bay and worked to not let them interfere with your life on day to day basis, but you know that is a lie of sorts. If you really kept them at bay, you would not be suffering this pseudo-breakdown you are today. You feel embarrassed and guilty for bringing it up, and the non-stop headaches you have lately does not dissipate with bringing all this information forward.
Part of you, a good chunk of you, has given up. It’s easier to automate your life and work on that than to work on what’s really bothering you, but even you don’t know what’s bothering you anymore. Everything seems so trivial and of a lesser extent than when you make it real. But if there were true, there would be no fucking reason why you would be fucking crying at Harry Potter or any other movie that shows some sort of goodness to the heart.
The other part of you, albeit seemingly feeling small and unimportant is hanging on for dear life. Sheer will is keeping you together as your body is trained to handle certain things, but, sheer will is losing out fairly quickly. Rationally you know that you won’t necessarily do anything to harm yourself, but that is fast running low against the monster that wants to hurt you.
The irony of the saying “god only gives you what you can handle” which has been drilled in your head since your Catholic school days is fast losing its hilarity.
———–
I’ve got a 3:30pm appointment today with my shrink.
x0x0x
lisa