Issue #17 Food Delivery
“What will move me beyond this state of anesthesia?” - Siddhartha Mukherjee
I dreamt I was killing my dog.
Every day, Thursday takes 150mg of Trazodone for her anxiety and it's not working. She doesn't respond to the drug. In my dream state, I call her vet who suggests I give her one 50mg pill every hour until the bottle is empty. That's when I wake up with a start — dreaming about killing a pet will do that to you. (Also a reminder to call the vet to get Thursday on something else.)
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I looked up TheBassist's Facebook profile for the first time in over a year. I felt, blissfully, almost nothing. (Rage still peeks its head around corners at times.) He looks thinner and wore a too-big suit as his usual signature look. His hair is what struck me as he leaned less from a mohawk and more towards close-cropped when we were together and when the widening of our gap began, he started transitioning into a mohawk and here he was — close-cropped. I didn't have to look at his relationship status to know I'm 98% sure he has a girlfriend or some kind of partner. I quipped to one of his friends last year TheBassist would survive much better if I was the ideal and he only had to deal with a Lisa-lite. The friend responded that is exactly what TheBassist said and ultimately did.
Some things change, others never change.
I used to feel I was "too much" for someone — when most of your break-ups occur, — emotionally violent when you are bat shit crazy — where "too much" was the standard protocol for the reason why. Because of course, it is. For some, I would throw myself on the sword to win them back and for others, if they didn't want me then fuck them — tho, truth be told, it would not be unreasonable to say I had those exacting standards with 99% of my ex-lovers. In the end, fuck them all. I am pretty awesome. (Which of course, once I stepped back and fixated my sights on something else, 75% of them came rushing back because I was "the one." We always want what we can't have. The only exception is TEH.)
TheBassist's parting words to me were I was "too stressful" which is the 21st century of "too much." Time enough has passed he's now moved into my "fuck you" category and the idea of throwing myself on the sword for him then makes me want to travel back in time now and bitchslap myself into an awakening.
I'm still aghast at how I behaved from the fall of 2014 until, oh early 2016? I am so frightened and angry for that person. It wasn't just the rise and fall of the TheBassist relationship but the rise and fall of so much in my life just accumulated into one big fuck all ball of hot train wreck mess. Most of that is over and I am slowly, oh god so slow, putting things back together again.
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If I needed to describe my life right now, the following would be said: rejected, dejected, hopelessness, frustration, and egotistical. I struggle with the reasonable (lack of job, money, purpose) and the unreasonable (if I close my eyes to sleep, I'll go blind). At times I do not know if it is the depression talking or if this is a normal state of affairs. It's not that unusual, according to my shrink, to have these feelings considering where I've been for the last few years (loss of job, a beloved pet, home, husband, and finally, getting sued). Normal people have these feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and frustration but the big difference is how they care and bounce back is almost wildly different than someone with a mental illness. This comforts me, to a degree, but being "on" all the time to figure out if it's normal or the crazy just exacerbates the feelings.
While I feel anesthetized, I do recognize this is different from the feeling of depression that started in 2012. The big difference is now I know I can navigate my way out of this if I'm patient; then the prospect of killing myself was not an uncommon thought.
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I found myself the other day staring blankly at my notebook then at my laptop screen — back and forth and back and then forth — willing for something, ANYTHING, to come forth. There is a mag who has a theme for this month and their end date is April 17. 200 word maximum. "I can do this," I thought. "I can make this happen," I added. And yet nothing came. I went so far as to create a word horde and the most I could conjure up was a bit about a slushy princess which at 150 words for the intro, I could not see myself closing in under 50. "She killed them all. The End." I suppose could work. There is an unlimited amount of entries you can do and I'm longing to write something with a princess (who saves herself?) but so many pages of kicks and starts and nothing is solidified. Then I feel helpless and useless. So I buy (dairy-free) ice cream to assuage my worthlessness.
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My shrink says I need to fake it until I make it. I am so tired of these aphorisms. "How?" I asked. "There are a million ways," she said. "Give me one example," I requested. "Give yourself a mantra when you're feeling like shit (my words) such as you're talented and good. I know you are these things, you just need to believe them too." I am suspicious because at our last session she chided me for being too prideful — TEH has also said this often. Do I need to be humbled? Do I need to learn humility? Am I proud of the wrong things? Do I believe I'm prideful?
This has been a week of questions — I have warned myself something is going to snap soon. I can feel it. Some sort of breakthrough is coming and I keep pushing myself so I'm not caught unawares when it happens. Last time I broke, my world fell apart but this time, I think the break that is coming will make my world whole.
Can you imagine the joy it would be to be whole?
In the meantime, I will read and continue to contemplate my status of life in the universe. Hopefully, I can find some sort of relief in that quest.