Today ( not Yesterday)

I was just thinking, wow, yesterday sucked. Then I thought of the song Yesterday, which is the opposite of what I feel. Yesterday was one of those days I have where I feel, well this is it, I’m completely useless and obviously ill enough to be in a hospital. And these feelings stay with me throughout the day even though I know that I got no sleeep and that my condition for the day, is a day trip, temporary. If a person gets no sleep, they might not be able to do much. Nothing affected me yesterday, I got pleasure from almost nothing, I didn’t even like music. I knew it was because I hadn’t slept during the night. Yet, I let all these negative thoughts flow in about how ill I am. I even get scared and spend the day thinking of myself in terms of what’s changed, and I try to learn from things I’ve been through, achieve some perspective. I am writing in a tense that denotes this happens occasionally, it does.

I get frustrated with myself and the frightening thoughts. I need to put a post it note on my screen on those days when I’m up around the clock that says, “You are tired.” I don’t need to be institutionalized, I need to be in bed.

I’m aware of English.  I used to write blogs three times a day a couple years ago. My condition has changed so much I had to force myself to start this one as a tack on therapy to coloring in things on my art program. The point is, I can’t write any more, and am aware that I write like a seventh grader’s first draft.  I just write what I feel like saying, as if I were talking, but it’s an eye sore. There are lots of fragments. That’s how I wrote before I was trained.

frag frag frag That was all over my pages in red pen. So I guess when I write from the raw it’s my pre trained writing, which makes sense. It bothers me, though.  It seems like it would be easy peasy to just do better, but I’m in pain when I write now. It’s a painful process for me, so it makes sense to me what’s going on here.

It’s difficult for me to come to terms with how much I have changed, and I can’t figure out what changes are only temporary. I’m a secretive person now. That is new, very new. I can see clearly where that comes from, it comes from circumstances being complicated and draining, and communication being a draining enterprise. It comes from people only being able to draw on part of their own experiences to relate. I mean you’d think people would be able to draw on all they’ve felt and seen, but people typically don’t even do that.  I’m drawn to the intelligence of a person whose experiences are archived to be available to them to draw upon  to relate to/ empathize with others.  That kind of intelligence is irresistible to me, so admirable. In other words, the more available to them for use, the more I consider the person intelligent. Good novels are important for this reason, widens everyone’s scope of experience.

Oh crap, I want to say something here explaining well what I mean and I can’t. I know two years ago I would have thought of some illuminating wording to express the above concept so that anyone reading it would have felt glad for those few seconds they had read those few words on that day.

I’m done I’m washed up.  I try not to panic. It’s just that I have no idea what changes are permanent. Like an aging woman in the mirror. I have not been  image conscious or vain (to a fault), but gee suddenly when signs of aging showed up, I was startled. Which I guess could have a lot  to do with vanity. Could be something existentialist in there. (Oh, of course Theresa, when you explore changes in your mirror and feel gypped by the universe, that’s existentialism and not vanity. Got it.) I love the word gypped. I wish it was PC. I know gypsies raised some sort of stink over being known as a groups as sheisters, but I’m not sure if I buy that.  They might be trying to pull something.

So I slept last night, today should be a bit better. One thing that’s been alarming me for some time is my relationship with music. It doesn’t touch me any more, and sometimes it actually is an irritation. The best way I can describe the before and after is scar tissue and how it feels. I’m numb but it’s uncomfortable, so the difference would be from a body massage (heaven!) to getting scar tissue rubbed. You don’t even want that stuff touched. It’s got that strange pain to it that only scars have. So my whole body/being feels this way. Yes, it’s not really body, it’s being.

Emotionally I’m a wreck over the changes, so there’s despair on top of illness. I feel like telling everyone,  I mean even when I’m out buying stuff, just handing over Piso, “Hi, I’m not usually like this.” Like what? Who are you? So going through this many changes, and negative ones at that really does do a “who are you?” number on me. I was clearly a culmination of experiences before AND LACK OF THEM CAPS MINE. So who are people? Who is any of us?

Yes, NOT getting beaten and sodomized as a child has also contributed to who I am. I have always known that to be true, but this seems to be a looming lesson the last two years.  Having a string of “bad” does not contribute solely to intellectual  break downs or the building fake (or true) philosophical fortresses, but acts as an agent like acid to the face, like cancer to the body.  One of the scary revelations is that things can turn out ok, and you can still not be ok. That tragedy I mentioned that I need to come to terms with? Yeah, that turned out fine. Doesn’t seem to matter. Except for that I shudder to think of where I would be if things hadn’t.

Oops, I have to go.  Also it’s really really hot here right now. Can’t get that off my mind, so…


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