There are a couple of things I want to mention today, the first of which is that, while I haven't talked to R in over a week (I think?), I did talk to Mom the other day and she assures me that what I thought was happening/going to happen with R is not the case. It's just another example of how our pasts get in our way sometimes-- I was reacting emotionally to a perceived threat of "abandonment" that wasn't really there... and he was reacting emotionally to a very shocking piece of news, so there's no way that I could judge his intentions by one short, emotionally charged conversation. Having a conversation with E the day before my convo with Mom also helped put a few things in perspective regarding this situation, and so I totally want to take back whatever negativity I put out there regarding Father's Day and my apparent dearth of fathers. It's not true. R is still my dad, and it was wrong of me to question that without getting his side of the story.
I needed to get that off of my chest. I feel better now.
Fighting depression again today, but I know why. I'm worn down from being at such high pain levels for so many days in a row. As I was (dismally) thinking about it earlier, I realized that it's kind of like torture. You know, like POW stuff? I'm talking old-school, ignoring the Geneva convention style of inflicting massive amounts of pain to get the information you want. Theon Greyjoy? The Dark Ages? Spanish Inquisition? (Expected by no one...) That kind of torture. Not the more humane, "we're going to simulate drowning and use your survival instinct to our advantage" that people get so worked up about in our modern world.
It's torture, day in and day out, and I'm caving... except there's no one to confess to, no information to trade that will somehow stop the suffering. I'm being tortured by chance, by a fluke of my genes and the dysfunction of my own body. How do you stop that with a few well-place words? There is no stopping it, it seems, and I'm quailing under the immense load of unrelenting, high-voltage pain.
This is normal. This is to be expected. I've done damn well, I'd say, in maintaining positivity and a good attitude throughout this ordeal, so I can forgive myself for wearing out.
Also, it's Father's Day. D's first memorial service was today, and I thought of him several times today, along with the family. I wonder how they're holding up. I wish I could be there with them. Selfishly, I wish that I were back home with the S's, because I know that they would help take care of me when I'm like this. I think I just miss real food. I don't have the energy, stamina, or appetite to make myself real food lately. Poor asparagus has just been sitting in the fridge forlornly, sharing a crisper drawer with some other veggies that never made it down my gullet. I think there's even some 2 week old squashes in there.
Missing D. Frustrated not only about this pain that I can do nothing but endure, but also about the loss of activities that I used to enjoy... even something so simple as cooking good food. I loved cooking for the S's, and I remember D enjoying the sometimes exotic cuisine that I'd put on the table. Now D is gone, my appetite is gone, my past times are gone... and I am sad.
A friend of mine spent the night in the hospital. I laid into him when he showed up sick for C's barbecue the other day, because it really pisses me off when sick people try to "soldier through" and end up spreading their illness to people who are very easily susceptible to illnesses, like me. It's one of my biggest pet peeves. If you're sick, stay home. Everyone in our circle knows that to come over when they're actively sick is a death sentence, because I will get very upset... and they're kind of afraid of Corey, my watchdog. This is all in a partially joking sense, of course, and we all laugh about it, but I think there's some truth behind it. But most of the guys respect me enough to stay home when they're sick.
Anyway, this friend has some stomach thing going on that he mentioned, and I guess some tonsil-infection thing which took a turn for the worse, so he ended up in the hospital overnight. I didn't know what was wrong with him at the time he posted a status update about being discharged, but I kinda felt like a bad person for my internal response to his plight. He said, "well i wont be needing surgery after all. They are discharging me in a bit. ill have to take like 5 different kinds of pills and see a doctor next week to so how i am doing. I dont know what i will be able to eat though cause i can only eat certain food. that blows cause i want some pancakes right now." My mental response?
5 kinds of pills? Not able to eat what you want, only certain kinds of foods? Have to check in with your doctor about your serious symptoms? Bitch, please. That's my life, and I haven't ever been hospitalized for this crap. (Uh, not to put down those that have had to be hospitalized for their chronic illnesses, it's just that I haven't had to deal with that yet, hopefully ever. Your experience is totally legit, I assure you.)
Anyway, I felt bad for not really feeling bad... especially when I found out that it was his tonsils. His tonsils. Not to say that one disease or illness is more serious than another, but... tonsils? Really? And I've been lying here in agony for how many days now? As you can see, I have serious entitlement issues going on with my pain and sickness.
I mentioned to a different friend how I feel like a bad person because "I'm just like, 'Psh, suck it up. That's my effing LIFE. You'll be fine. At least yours goes away.' And then I feel bad for not feeling bad... although I DO hope that he recovers quickly. Because I feel a little bad, I guess... but not bad enough to be sympathetic."
He asked, "Did you tell him that stuff?"
I replied with horrified affront. "Of course not! I just told him I hope he gets better soon."
His reassurance was, well, reassuring. "Then you're better than most. I would've told him to get over his molehill and take a look at my mountain."
"Nah. I feel like that would be real selfish of me. To him, that is his mountain, you know? Just cause my life sucks more... well, we're not in a negative dick measuring contest. So, okay, with your feedback, I feel like way less of a bad person. Thanks."
That's why I don't feel like a bad person anymore.
I do still feel like the gum scraped off of the bottom of someone's shoe, though, so I'm out. Peace, yo.
I needed to get that off of my chest. I feel better now.
Fighting depression again today, but I know why. I'm worn down from being at such high pain levels for so many days in a row. As I was (dismally) thinking about it earlier, I realized that it's kind of like torture. You know, like POW stuff? I'm talking old-school, ignoring the Geneva convention style of inflicting massive amounts of pain to get the information you want. Theon Greyjoy? The Dark Ages? Spanish Inquisition? (Expected by no one...) That kind of torture. Not the more humane, "we're going to simulate drowning and use your survival instinct to our advantage" that people get so worked up about in our modern world.
It's torture, day in and day out, and I'm caving... except there's no one to confess to, no information to trade that will somehow stop the suffering. I'm being tortured by chance, by a fluke of my genes and the dysfunction of my own body. How do you stop that with a few well-place words? There is no stopping it, it seems, and I'm quailing under the immense load of unrelenting, high-voltage pain.
This is normal. This is to be expected. I've done damn well, I'd say, in maintaining positivity and a good attitude throughout this ordeal, so I can forgive myself for wearing out.
Also, it's Father's Day. D's first memorial service was today, and I thought of him several times today, along with the family. I wonder how they're holding up. I wish I could be there with them. Selfishly, I wish that I were back home with the S's, because I know that they would help take care of me when I'm like this. I think I just miss real food. I don't have the energy, stamina, or appetite to make myself real food lately. Poor asparagus has just been sitting in the fridge forlornly, sharing a crisper drawer with some other veggies that never made it down my gullet. I think there's even some 2 week old squashes in there.
Missing D. Frustrated not only about this pain that I can do nothing but endure, but also about the loss of activities that I used to enjoy... even something so simple as cooking good food. I loved cooking for the S's, and I remember D enjoying the sometimes exotic cuisine that I'd put on the table. Now D is gone, my appetite is gone, my past times are gone... and I am sad.
A friend of mine spent the night in the hospital. I laid into him when he showed up sick for C's barbecue the other day, because it really pisses me off when sick people try to "soldier through" and end up spreading their illness to people who are very easily susceptible to illnesses, like me. It's one of my biggest pet peeves. If you're sick, stay home. Everyone in our circle knows that to come over when they're actively sick is a death sentence, because I will get very upset... and they're kind of afraid of Corey, my watchdog. This is all in a partially joking sense, of course, and we all laugh about it, but I think there's some truth behind it. But most of the guys respect me enough to stay home when they're sick.
Anyway, this friend has some stomach thing going on that he mentioned, and I guess some tonsil-infection thing which took a turn for the worse, so he ended up in the hospital overnight. I didn't know what was wrong with him at the time he posted a status update about being discharged, but I kinda felt like a bad person for my internal response to his plight. He said, "well i wont be needing surgery after all. They are discharging me in a bit. ill have to take like 5 different kinds of pills and see a doctor next week to so how i am doing. I dont know what i will be able to eat though cause i can only eat certain food. that blows cause i want some pancakes right now." My mental response?
Anyway, I felt bad for not really feeling bad... especially when I found out that it was his tonsils. His tonsils. Not to say that one disease or illness is more serious than another, but... tonsils? Really? And I've been lying here in agony for how many days now? As you can see, I have serious entitlement issues going on with my pain and sickness.
I mentioned to a different friend how I feel like a bad person because "I'm just like, 'Psh, suck it up. That's my effing LIFE. You'll be fine. At least yours goes away.' And then I feel bad for not feeling bad... although I DO hope that he recovers quickly. Because I feel a little bad, I guess... but not bad enough to be sympathetic."
He asked, "Did you tell him that stuff?"
I replied with horrified affront. "Of course not! I just told him I hope he gets better soon."
His reassurance was, well, reassuring. "Then you're better than most. I would've told him to get over his molehill and take a look at my mountain."
"Nah. I feel like that would be real selfish of me. To him, that is his mountain, you know? Just cause my life sucks more... well, we're not in a negative dick measuring contest. So, okay, with your feedback, I feel like way less of a bad person. Thanks."
That's why I don't feel like a bad person anymore.
I do still feel like the gum scraped off of the bottom of someone's shoe, though, so I'm out. Peace, yo.
0 thoughts: