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19 October 2013 @ 01:53 am
Got a bottle* and a rosary  
*"bottle" is the way I misheard "bible" for a long time in "16 Days." Don't blame me, Ryan Adams was involved.


I could sleep, but where would that leave LJ?

Let's see . . .my deviant sexuality and tendency to overshare reached a point where my mother has now not spoken to me in seven days. I don't know how to articulate how strange this is. It seems like a stress-reducer, because I'm not hearing about her horrible days and how my aunt is still dead and getting deader (birthday anniversary in November, to be followed fairly closely by first deathday anniversary in December.) I make a point of not looking up that second date. It was bad enough while it happened, but my Southern Gothic family, living in the shitty mid-century mansion of misery that they do, have only drink and depression and pain and murder mysteries and constant mourning and fear. --Oh, and lunches out. There's nothing I really want to hear about, and not hearing about it makes it easier for the co-dependent part of me not to try to fix something. But I wonder how well I'm really taking the communication cutoff.

Today started with breakfast from Atomic Coffee, a cayenne-laced mocha in an actual mug and real egg, real cheddar, and thick bacon served between inverted halves of a glazed donut, courtesy of one of my closest friends who I did a really fun semi-nude photoshoot with earlier this week (my idea).

After that, I went antiquing, and found a great pair of green Wedgwood lamps with Battenburg lace-decorated shades. Only $800 . . .but the rooms full of costume jewelry, art glass, furniture that wouldn't fit in my house, along with the oldies-so-old-they're-actually-good Pandora station, made browsing really aesthetically satisfying. I slow-shimmied my way between the crowded aisles of glorious old things and felt more at home than I do driving through town. That was the last real good I was able to experience today without chemical assistance.

I got diagnosed with PTSD (repeatedly) last winter. I got laid off at the end of September. The unexpected life change and the lack of insurance has made things hard. My depression and panic have reached levels where I can't expect any given day to allow me to function, except during the brief windows when the medications I'm taking function at their peak. Being depressed is not my full-on norm, and is mobility-and-thought limiting, but the absolute panic of being trapped in this body, the feeling of each bone being wrong but not removable, is godawful. Some hours I can barely stand to move, the sensation is so bad. Especially in my hands, which are my primary way of relating to the world. Not like I could speak right now, not really. Typing's bad, though. Really hard.

I need help, but have no idea where to go for it or how it's to be financed.

The girl I'm dating dropped by today, when I wasn't shivering mad, and I made her tea and listened to her explain the different paths she'll have to choose between at the end of her doctoral program -- more teaching, or more research oriented. She talked pros and cons and I asked her where her passions were, and we talked life philosophies, and I talked about what I do and don't like about the idea of going back for an MFA (which I contacted an old professor about today -- she repeatedly writes to me to tell me I shouldn't let my poetry drop, and I'd take her less seriously if she didn't rack up awards and fellowships and have many of the same driving goals for poetry that I do).

This girl -- I have no idea if I can love her. I wait until it's time to kiss her goodbye, and kiss her, and she feels good in my arms -- but I love other people more deeply and warmly and insanely, and all I can do with this is give it decent time and see if I'm capable of more than the depression is letting me give right now. Maybe, for her, I can't. Or maybe it's a glacial thing and I will, eventually. I'm kind of locked up right now, Tingirl badly in need of an oilcan.

It's so hard to (literally) move. From my couch. Into the laundry room to fetch the dry clothes that have been there most of the week. To change the sheets. To go to bed and leave it again. To make dates to see people, take my dog to obedience class, just take care of her. Dress myself. Calm down enough to bathe.

I never knew I could get this bad, and I don't know how to tell anyone, besides articulating it here. Why I don't have a job yet, how hard it is to use a keyboard, enter sane, true, desperate information in neat rows and write cover letters. I'm managing figure modeling for a small group of reliable artists every few weeks, but that's pocket change. I feel like I don't deserve anything and I have no claim to any accomplishment, relationship, worth. I'm still writing. And I'm still attractive. And I can still bullshit my way through a conversation on the phone if I answer it at all.

Today's second round of Klonopin has kicked in enough that I can make it to bed, I think. Then power through the morning so my Great Pyr, who's currently sleeping on my knee, can get proper training and I can be better trained in how to raise her. I should leave the house every time I have a decent reason.

I should believe I'm one of those people who isn't going to break and disappear. Jesus. I just want so badly to feel stable.
 
 
Current Location: Some suburb of hell.
Current Mood: stressedstressed
Current Music: Whiskeytown & The National
 
 
 
AJ: defaultburning_purple on October 20th, 2013 10:00 pm (UTC)
You are not your issues and your issues are not you. Your sexuality or experimentation is not deviant.
Everything may be hard, but as long as you keep trying (which I know you are), you're still on the right path.

Make a schedule. Plan out your days, plan out your weeks. Plan out when to clean, when to jobsearch, when to social, when to curl up and wallow (no judgment, it's a necessary part of life) in a book or a game or a TV show.

Drink more tea, drink less alcohol. The hangovers are wrecking your productivity and you feel doubly shitty for them as a consequence.

Eat more food, even if it's just semi-healthy snack (I highly recommend almonds and sunflower kernels).

And I know none of these are going to magically stabilize your world, but they are things you can control, and hopefully cut down on the stressors that have you alternately hyped up or oppressed.