Sunday, January 30, 2011
Scream
Inordinate amounts of pain. Ovarian cyst acting up again is my guess, and I just shot up with the Torodol since I can't take normal over the counter drugs. The pain is unbelievable. Took a shower and a bath. Nails peeling, dog whining, but it's pain and pain and pain above all. Trying to think of other things. Just spelled "of" "ove" and had to correct it. Feels like I've been ripped open or I want to rip myself open, not quite sure which. Both.
Corvus. He's in Charleston. His grandmother's funeral was today. Want to say more about it but now is clearly not the time. Too lost in the immediate negative corporeal. Come on, Torodol. Fix it.
This is after I spent a few days fighting the jitters, only to realize they were me adjusting to medication change. Add Lorazepam and all is forgiven. And forgotten. Sleep away the changes. Now after sleeping most of today I am awake and I eat and it stabs the cyst. What the fuck. Body is not very cooperative. Want to clip my toenails. Something positive and body and pretty. Corvus thinks I'm hot. Is broken the price of hot? Could perfect toenails negate the pain?
O! True apothecary! Thy drugs are quick! 20 minutes from wishing for death to re-evaluating my tolerance for aliveness. Not bad.
Corvus. He's in Charleston. His grandmother's funeral was today. Want to say more about it but now is clearly not the time. Too lost in the immediate negative corporeal. Come on, Torodol. Fix it.
This is after I spent a few days fighting the jitters, only to realize they were me adjusting to medication change. Add Lorazepam and all is forgiven. And forgotten. Sleep away the changes. Now after sleeping most of today I am awake and I eat and it stabs the cyst. What the fuck. Body is not very cooperative. Want to clip my toenails. Something positive and body and pretty. Corvus thinks I'm hot. Is broken the price of hot? Could perfect toenails negate the pain?
O! True apothecary! Thy drugs are quick! 20 minutes from wishing for death to re-evaluating my tolerance for aliveness. Not bad.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Holy Fucking Corvus
My dog has declared a bit of snuggle time; he's feeling neglected, having been locked away to give this crazy electricity free reign over my house and my heart.
Corvus. What the fuck? How does a reciprocal crush become oh my god without blinking? For once, I don't actually care how. That's a mini "oh my god" in itself.
But Corvus! Like a mirror--a reflection without being the same. And so much kindness, so sweet. He babbles things fit for poetry, apologizes for perfect words (and I'm supposed to be the writer?). Then, without thinking, he holds my head up as I drink water in bed, tries to wash the dishes, makes the bed the moment I'm preoccupied...I'm not the porcelain princess, he treats me like I'm made of gold; like an unworshipped goddess; like an adored equal.
He sees beauty and light and hears it, too. He doesn't know he's brilliant or doesn't believe it. He is story after story and he is warm strong quiet and he understands the laughter in the saddest of things.
There's so much more, but to dwell and list seems petty this time. Somehow, it's all more real and fair to just babble and swear and scream the name of the nearest deity.
Holy fuck.
Corvus. What the fuck? How does a reciprocal crush become oh my god without blinking? For once, I don't actually care how. That's a mini "oh my god" in itself.
But Corvus! Like a mirror--a reflection without being the same. And so much kindness, so sweet. He babbles things fit for poetry, apologizes for perfect words (and I'm supposed to be the writer?). Then, without thinking, he holds my head up as I drink water in bed, tries to wash the dishes, makes the bed the moment I'm preoccupied...I'm not the porcelain princess, he treats me like I'm made of gold; like an unworshipped goddess; like an adored equal.
He sees beauty and light and hears it, too. He doesn't know he's brilliant or doesn't believe it. He is story after story and he is warm strong quiet and he understands the laughter in the saddest of things.
There's so much more, but to dwell and list seems petty this time. Somehow, it's all more real and fair to just babble and swear and scream the name of the nearest deity.
Holy fuck.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Starry-Eyed
Boy, oh Boy.
He kept using the word "hypnotized," and that's about accurate...we're both still hypnotized. Chemistry and starry-eyes and things I can't yet render in words.
Boy gets a name..."Corvus." Constellation, raven, sacred servant to Apollo.
I picked him up at the airport. I've been cleaning my house and myself. He seemed entirely taken by surprise...I wasn't surprised by Boy and Girl make with the smooching, but the whole thing was surprising...listening to eachother's heartbeats just holding close but somehow doing so without pretense or even awareness at first...it was all so crazy electric yet smooth and perfect. We're so awkward until...we're not. I'm less and less sure he's real or I'm awake because it seems impossible, but there's no question, we were awake and alive. Jesus fucking fuck.
He kept using the word "hypnotized," and that's about accurate...we're both still hypnotized. Chemistry and starry-eyes and things I can't yet render in words.
Boy gets a name..."Corvus." Constellation, raven, sacred servant to Apollo.
I picked him up at the airport. I've been cleaning my house and myself. He seemed entirely taken by surprise...I wasn't surprised by Boy and Girl make with the smooching, but the whole thing was surprising...listening to eachother's heartbeats just holding close but somehow doing so without pretense or even awareness at first...it was all so crazy electric yet smooth and perfect. We're so awkward until...we're not. I'm less and less sure he's real or I'm awake because it seems impossible, but there's no question, we were awake and alive. Jesus fucking fuck.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Nocturning
My psychiatrist may be brilliant.
I've been in my standard winter useless-lump-slump. Every year I forget that it happens every year and I fight it tooth and nail, or at least "fight it" as much as I can without leaving the house or accomplishing anything and really just fight my own sense of self-worth. But every year I try new drugs and new therapies and new resolutions to not be generally miserable and this year has been no exception. So far it's been a sun lamp and that horrible, horrible Ritalin experiment and lots of yelling at myself to be fucking positive and get off my fucking ass and accept my health and my family and get on with it already.
It's not working. At all. Which is much of why I'm not writing. I don't feel like doing anything, writing included, but I also am trying so fucking hard to be positive and I don't feel positive so I can't write positive so I can't write. Hell, most of the time I can't feel because it's feel crappy or feel nothing. We're messing with my medications again or still or more or however you want to look at it. The migraines have been so much better, I don't know why The Sads have been so much worse.
But in the past 9 hours I've gotten more done than I've been getting done in week-long stretches, and without stressing or straining; just quietly working and accomplishing like I do when I'm not in depression mode. Like I said at the beginning, my psychiatrist may be brilliant.
I was trying to explain to him my listlessness and days of foggy nothingness, migraine or no migraine.
Is it cognitive? Motivational?
I don't fucking know, probably because I'm having too much in the middle of it to have a clear understanding of what it is.
So is it a medication? Does it get better or worse at different points of the day? When I've taken things?
I'm clearest at night. Always have been. I wake up at 9 or 10 and can only start to think then...which is right around or after I've taken my night dose of the same crap I take in the morning and feel like a fuzz-bucket.
So maybe not the medication...
BUT!
If I'm naturally nocturnal and am clear at night, what if I actually allow myself to be nocturnal? Get shit done at night when I can get shit done and sleep during the day when I'm a grog-monster? I can still see my friends in the evenings, when I see them anyway, and spend some portion of business hours awake so I can make phone calls and go to stores and things.
It took me about 24 hours to get over the idea that staying awake all night and sleeping during the day made me an automatic freak of nature and quite possibly bad person who just couldn't make it in society. But why? Other cultures have different sleep patterns than ours, anyway. It's just when the sun shows up that tends to dictate the most popular times for productivity, and even that's BS as proven by the existence of Cleveland where the sun never shines yet at least three companies still operate (though I hear one is in talks with Miami).
I'm still adjusting and figuring out what works with my biological, medication, dog-walking, hypothetical social, and errand-running schedules, but today started to feel right. I slept hard from 5-10 PM and it's now 7:15 AM and I've done all kinds of Etsy stuff, written this, worked on a BS time-wasting project I enjoy (in which case maybe I should be nicer to it and stop calling it a BS waste of time), did all the dishes, researched prices on printers and contact lenses, talked to my brother and Aural Girl on Facebook, and walked the dog twice. Maybe the return of the bitter self-hate is an indicator that it's bed time again. Also I'm itchy, another good sign. I'd wanted to write a bit about The Boy, but I'll give the extremely condensed version instead:
Boy. Talked hours and hours of IM pre-Christmas. Then didn't hear from him between Christmas and New Years. Heard from him New Years Eve, ended up talking to him on the phone for a long time, now no sign he's alive for a week. He's on vacation and working on his own stuff (and getting a shitton done, it sounds like). And I had a fear it'd be like Love in the Time of Cholera or something...passionate love letters curdling when faced with actual proximity...but he comes back in a week and I'm trying to play it cool when we all know very well I'm a giant dweeb whose unsure about everything in the entire universe, worst of all myself and second-worst-of-all Boys.
7:30 AM. Sounds like a good bed time to me.
I've been in my standard winter useless-lump-slump. Every year I forget that it happens every year and I fight it tooth and nail, or at least "fight it" as much as I can without leaving the house or accomplishing anything and really just fight my own sense of self-worth. But every year I try new drugs and new therapies and new resolutions to not be generally miserable and this year has been no exception. So far it's been a sun lamp and that horrible, horrible Ritalin experiment and lots of yelling at myself to be fucking positive and get off my fucking ass and accept my health and my family and get on with it already.
It's not working. At all. Which is much of why I'm not writing. I don't feel like doing anything, writing included, but I also am trying so fucking hard to be positive and I don't feel positive so I can't write positive so I can't write. Hell, most of the time I can't feel because it's feel crappy or feel nothing. We're messing with my medications again or still or more or however you want to look at it. The migraines have been so much better, I don't know why The Sads have been so much worse.
But in the past 9 hours I've gotten more done than I've been getting done in week-long stretches, and without stressing or straining; just quietly working and accomplishing like I do when I'm not in depression mode. Like I said at the beginning, my psychiatrist may be brilliant.
I was trying to explain to him my listlessness and days of foggy nothingness, migraine or no migraine.
Is it cognitive? Motivational?
I don't fucking know, probably because I'm having too much in the middle of it to have a clear understanding of what it is.
So is it a medication? Does it get better or worse at different points of the day? When I've taken things?
I'm clearest at night. Always have been. I wake up at 9 or 10 and can only start to think then...which is right around or after I've taken my night dose of the same crap I take in the morning and feel like a fuzz-bucket.
So maybe not the medication...
BUT!
If I'm naturally nocturnal and am clear at night, what if I actually allow myself to be nocturnal? Get shit done at night when I can get shit done and sleep during the day when I'm a grog-monster? I can still see my friends in the evenings, when I see them anyway, and spend some portion of business hours awake so I can make phone calls and go to stores and things.
It took me about 24 hours to get over the idea that staying awake all night and sleeping during the day made me an automatic freak of nature and quite possibly bad person who just couldn't make it in society. But why? Other cultures have different sleep patterns than ours, anyway. It's just when the sun shows up that tends to dictate the most popular times for productivity, and even that's BS as proven by the existence of Cleveland where the sun never shines yet at least three companies still operate (though I hear one is in talks with Miami).
I'm still adjusting and figuring out what works with my biological, medication, dog-walking, hypothetical social, and errand-running schedules, but today started to feel right. I slept hard from 5-10 PM and it's now 7:15 AM and I've done all kinds of Etsy stuff, written this, worked on a BS time-wasting project I enjoy (in which case maybe I should be nicer to it and stop calling it a BS waste of time), did all the dishes, researched prices on printers and contact lenses, talked to my brother and Aural Girl on Facebook, and walked the dog twice. Maybe the return of the bitter self-hate is an indicator that it's bed time again. Also I'm itchy, another good sign. I'd wanted to write a bit about The Boy, but I'll give the extremely condensed version instead:
Boy. Talked hours and hours of IM pre-Christmas. Then didn't hear from him between Christmas and New Years. Heard from him New Years Eve, ended up talking to him on the phone for a long time, now no sign he's alive for a week. He's on vacation and working on his own stuff (and getting a shitton done, it sounds like). And I had a fear it'd be like Love in the Time of Cholera or something...passionate love letters curdling when faced with actual proximity...but he comes back in a week and I'm trying to play it cool when we all know very well I'm a giant dweeb whose unsure about everything in the entire universe, worst of all myself and second-worst-of-all Boys.
7:30 AM. Sounds like a good bed time to me.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
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