I’ve gained 7 pounds. Not sure why. I have been exercising. Isn’t that the point of moving, to LOSE weight? Or at least not gain any?
Sigh.
Waiting. I hate it. Yesterday, I waited with Mom at the doctor’s. Almost an hour. With weak Edge, at best.
Visit went well. Mom is now officially without both her leg brace and the thumb brace. We should hear from PT this week to schedule her therapy. You couldn’t pay me to be in that room when they start working her knee. I’m not ready to hear my Mom talk like Hilly.
Fucking cocksnuggling sonofaWHORE! Touch that knee again and I’ll rip off your head and shit down your neck, you festering pool of donkey piss!
Today, we went to Social Security to ask a few questions. They have a brilliant system. If you go into Social Security at, say, 15 years old…then, by the time you get to the window, you’re probably eligible for Medicare.
They also tell you to turn your cell phone off before entering. Whatever. Listen, I’m barely convinced that my cell phone is a threat on a plane 33,000 feet in the air. I’m certainly not shutting it off in the Social Security office. I did, however, mute it.
Patience. I don’t have much of it. I quit asking God to give me patience, because it inevitably means He provides me a shitton of situations in which I HAVE to be patient. Screw that. I don’t have the patience to gain patience legitimately.
I don’t like waiting, especially when the ball is totally not in my court. I chomp at the bit, grasping at something to do while I sit around and do, well, nothing. Waiting on YOU. Ugh.
Waiting on friends. Waiting on doctors. Waiting on the assclown in front of me in the checkout line at the grocery store to pay with all coins. Waiting on my meds in the mail. Waiting on 2HT to be finished. Waiting on April to get here so I can see Shannon. Hate it all.
SecondHand Radio Returns
One thing I have been waiting for is SecondHand Radio to return. It’s been months since Mom broke her kneecap. I tried one show after that and it didn’t go over well. I needed a break while Mom healed from her break. Well, she’s walking around now – slowly, but steadily – without a splint, so that’s good.
Thursday at 10pm Eastern, 2HRadio comes back. My guest is the lovely Maria, aka Mommy Melee.
Please mark your calendars, tell your friends. We’re back. I’m returning to one show a week, though. Thursday nights. Twice a week was too much.
Live chatroom to play in while the show is on. You’re all welcome to call in and talk to Maria, say hi, ask questions, whatever. Go to the SecondHand Radio page and get all the info.
Looking forward to it. I’ve missed my show. Thankfully, the waiting for that is nearly over.
I haven’t lined up any other guests. If you know of someone you’d like to hear as a guest, let me know. Even if it’s you.
Lot of my friends are hurting at the moment, and I don’t like it. Just finished reading a post over at Britt’s blog and it made me…acquire severe eye allergies. Same thing happened when I found out Hilly’s cat died recently.
Yeah, again…you can do whatever you want to me, say whatever you want, and I’ll be just fine. Fuck with my friends, though? Look out.
I don’t know what it says about me that I can cry for Britt and Hilly (and other friends), but not myself. Other than that I’m a hot mess, I mean.
I know why the Numbness exists. It’s a protective mechanism that our bodies/minds throw out there. It’s common, particularly for people who have suffered through trauma. Sometimes the world is too much to bear and our brain says, “Fuck this shit. Emotions OFF!” It feels good, being numb after so much pain. But it can be scary, too, particularly when you’re an emotionally-connected person.
I spoke about this phenomenon last night with my bestest bud, Mindy. We sat on her front porch, smoking and talking. She recounted some of the crap happening with her at the moment, there may have been some tears, and I sat and listened…threw in some commentary and advice as needed.
But me? I felt…hardly a thing. I mean, she’s sitting there, telling me about this and that, a lot of it I can relate to. A lot of it is happening to me AT THIS VERY SAME MOMENT. But I can’t FEEL.
And that’s exasperating. On one hand, as I told the Matrix Therapist on Friday, I’m terrified of connecting to this overbearing sadness within me. Feeling that overwhelming sense of grief and pain and sorrow? Actually letting it rush through me, take me over? Crying my eyes out, pounding fists into the snotty pillow?
Fear on a paralyzing level.
On the other hand, I NEED to let that shit happen.
Mindy said to me - after we had talked about her strife sufficiently - that she felt completely safe with me. Like she could tell me anything, without fear of judgment. That she doesn’t wear any “hats” with me. I call them “masks,” those different versions of ourselves that we present under appropriate circumstances. Hell, I’ve been a mask-wearer for as long as I can remember. Put on a Happy Face here, a Clown mask over here, a Thoughtful and Understanding mask here…etc.
With me, though, she says there are no Hats. And that’s nice to hear.
“I wish, though,” she went on, “that you would realize you can do the same with me.”
And there’s the bitch, right?
“I know I can,” I told her. “I wish I could…FEEL enough to describe to you what’s going on with me. I know it’s safe to tell you anything. I know it’s safe to cry with you. But…I can’t even cry by MYSELF.”
She gets it, totally. But wanted to put it out there, that this friendship isn’t a one-way street. That I can share more of myself than I am, and still have us be okay.
Right. So what the fuck? Why does it take a song to make me cry, when I can’t feel or cry about my own shit? Why does it take a blog post to get me all teary-eyed, when I can drone on for 10 minutes on a video blog about my own pain and then watch it later and feel zilch?
Why is it that I’ve never told a single, solitary friend…EVER…about details of my shit? Sure, they’re clued in on the very basics. But I’m afraid to put the nastiness in their laps. What’s that about?
Part of me says I’m not lovable as I am, and if I told them the dark gristly details, then I’d be even less so. Bullshit, I know, but these are my thoughts, mind you. Not necessarily the most logical thoughts.
Part of me, of course, is scared shitless that if I lay down the specifics with a close friend, they’ll sit there in shock and actually hug me or say supportive and loving things, and then I may actually connect with that sadness. And cry. Like, in FRONT of someone.
And I’ll curl up into a fetal ball and sob and sob and sob impossible amounts of tears until I’m dead. Again, bullshit. We only have so many tears in our body. You can’t cry forever, it’s impossible.
But you can SCREAM forever. Inside your head, anyway. And I worry that if I allow myself to connect, that’s what’ll happen.
More and more I’m hearing from friends, that they want me to know I can share more of myself with them. In my dichotomous mind, I react in various ways to this realization. (1) I’m touched. (2) I’m surprised. (3) I’m glad. (4) I’m scared.
And on and on.
Here’s what I know for sure. It would be a very, very good thing - therapeutically speaking - for me to take some of these people up on their offer. To really TALK and open up about myself. To really tell someone, even just one person, the horrors zipping about within my gray matter.
Matrix Therapist asked me on Friday why it is I’m being so “revealing” about my depression on my blog lately.
My immediate response was, “Because I can’t bring the funny right now.”
MT: “So why write anything at all?”
Me: “Because if I don’t write anything, I’ll drop off the map. Totally off the grid. For a long, long time.”
MT: “But why share your struggle with your blog?”
Me: “Because my blog is ME. Whatever I’m going through at the moment, I put it out there. If I’m feeling goofy and silly, I may dance on a video or write a stupid Top 10 list or something.”
MT: “But when you first met me and we talked about your blog, you said it was just a ’silly humor blog.’”
Me: “Yes. Well, it is. Usually. But if I don’t get this shit out somehow…”
MT: “Then what?”
Me: “I don’t know how to explain it. Writing is my go-to skill. It’s what I’m best at, aside from self-flagellation. If I’m going to express myself, writing is the way to go. I feel the need to get it out somehow.”
Then we started talking about people’s REACTIONS to my depressing posts, and whether I was able to soak in the comments I’ve received. (The answer is no, btw.) And how strange it is to me that I get more comments with those “real” posts than I do when I’m trying to be funny. And what THAT means. (Gee, I don’t know, Karl. Perhaps people relate more to you when you’re being REAL and GENUINE? Hmm, whatever.)
On and on, it goes. It boils down to this, it seems. It doesn’t matter how intelligent I may be. I’m still utterly confused about a ton of shit. I’m afraid. Anxious. Global warming doesn’t scare me in the least. The prospect of nuclear winter? Nope. But God forbid I should FEEL something real…like anger or sadness.
that shit brings me to my knees
Don’t Give Up
(Peter Gabriel w/ Kate Bush)
In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail
No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I’ve changed my face, I’ve changed my name
But no one wants you when you lose
Don’t give up
cos you have friends
Don’t give up
You’re not beaten yet
Don’t give up
I know you can make it good
Though I saw it all around
Never thought I could be affected
Thought that we’d be the last to go
It is so strange the way things turn
Drove the night toward my home
The place that I was born, on the lakeside
As daylight broke, I saw the earth
The trees had burned down to the ground
Don’t give up
You still have us
Don’t give up
We don’t need much of anything
Don’t give up
cause somewhere there’s a place
Where we belong
Rest your head
You worry too much
It’s going to be alright
When times get rough
You can fall back on us
Don’t give up
Please don’t give up
got to walk out of here
I can’t take anymore
Going to stand on that bridge
Keep my eyes down below
Whatever may come
And whatever may go
That river’s flowing
That river’s flowing
Moved on to another town
Tried hard to settle down
For every job, so many men
So many men no-one needs
Don’t give up
cause you have friends
Don’t give up
You’re not the only one
Don’t give up
No reason to be ashamed
Don’t give up
You still have us
Don’t give up now
We’re proud of who you are
Don’t give up
You know it’s never been easy
Don’t give up
cause I believe there’s a place
There’s a place where we belong
I heard the horrible news last night just before going to bed at an ungodly hour (10pm for me). Hilly’s beloved FC died yesterday, and that makes me even sadder than I am already. Love that cat.
FC (Fucking Cat) is a kitty I’ve known for a while. Just saw him a few weeks back at Hilly’s, in fact. He certainly seemed older than when I’d seen him last summer in California, but I just figured he was mellowing out. Finally.
Cancer. Again. I mean, cancer has claimed the life of yet another family member/friend. This time, kitty cancer.
I’m sorry, Hil. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. Just know that FC’s freaking clawmarks will be on my fucking suitcase forever. Damn cat used it as a scratching post and it’s always gonna be frayed on the outside.
FC is the reason why most every airline baggage checker says to me, “I have to mark this bag down as damaged,” and I just nod my head and say, “That’s fine.”
RIP, FC. Fucking Cat.
Tonight’s episode of SecondHand Radio is going to be at Blog Talk Radio INSTEAD of Talkshoe. Yes, you heard right. Tired of people having trouble with Talkshoe, so I’m going somewhere else to see if it’s any better. I’m hoping there are far fewer tech issues for people at BTR than there have been for the last year at Talkshoe.
If this works well, I may switch back over to BTR. Talkshoe has been good to me. I like it, particularly the Talkshoe client, which makes the chatroom a lot easier to navigate. But it does me no good - or you - if you can’t get into the show.
First, you’ll want to go register at Blog Talk Radio if you’re not already a member. It’s free, doesn’t take long. It’ll let you participate in the chatroom and stuff.
My guest tonight is the infamous @Onlyaman aka Mr. ChurchPunkMom aka Mr. 5 Questions. You can find him over at his blog, where he does all sorts of multimedia stuff. He’s a great guy that I got the chance to hang with in Chicago a few months back…shit, it’s October now, isn’t it? Really HAS been a few months.
I don’t click with a lot of dudes, but he’s one of the rare ones. Father of 5 kids, still likes the rockin’ tunes, and he’s a god (lower-case god, of course) with the camera and editing. He’s also funny and smart…some might say handsome, but I wouldn’t. I just say he’s IN MY WAY. Y’know, ’cause he’s married to Megan and all that.
So aside from the venue, nothing is really all that different. Same show time, same concept. There’s still a chatroom available to play in while you’re listening. Still a call-in number that you’re all welcome to use to say hi to Aman and me.
Please pass the word.
Keep in mind, the call-in number is DIFFERENT than usual.
My guest on Monday night - which I may also move to BTR if tonight’s episode works well - is the gorgeous Sassy Smith, known as @Sassy1969 on Twitter. Details to follow.
Thursday at 10pm Eastern, 2HRadio comes back. My guest is the lovely Maria, aka Mommy Melee.
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