Home

pit of despair – day three

September 30, 2013

Well, I’m out of bed.  Only cause my phone was going off repeatedly and it was really far away.  Future note to self: if I am going to make attempts to respond to the outside world via my chirping phone while depressing (yes, I am using the word ‘depressing’ as a verb – it really should be one, sometimes it’s the only way to describe it), anyhow, point is, remember to turn phone off or bring it to bed with me.

I’ve even managed to make a cup of coffee so I have some degree of functioning.  I guess that’s something.

I’ve gone and got broken again.

I’m not sure how many times one can get put back together.  After a while, don’t the pieces get too small and damaged; beyond repair.

I am on my own today.  It’s monday and everyone is back to their weekday life.

It’s amazing how old ways of dealing with pain surface.  Negative coping mechanisms you think you have overcome work their way into your mind.  Just one more thing to deal with and have to fight.

I remember how cutting into my skin used to distract.  How one pain could be traded for another.  How the trade was a relief; how it felt like control.  I don’t like how these recollections have surfaced as ultimately the pay off wasn’t good for me; wasn’t healthy; provided only a moment of relief; did nothing to help me get better long term.  So I remind myself I am here now instead.  By here I mean on this page.  I write my pain.  I am naked and exposed to the world, but it is the safer alternative.

I can’t have people on watch over me 24/7 (though all my feline fur ball friends seem to be strangely alert and keep checking on me) so I have to deal with the alone.  I’m completely sucky company right now anyhow.  I don’t want to talk.  I mostly stare into space, lost in my thoughts.  I cry occasionally and, just to mix it up, once in a while I hyperventilate.  Who wouldn’t want to spend time with that?  I don’t even really want company.  It just seems somehow easier as I don’t have to fear my own thoughts quite as much.

That’s all the words I have right now.  There are so many more, but they exhaust me.

I’m going to attempt to contemplate if being in the pit of despair is a better option than the bog of eternal stench.  Maybe it will distract me.  If it provides even a few moments of respite, I’ll take it.  I will take every teeny tiny little break from my thoughts that I can latch onto.

I really, most genuinely, hope that you are having a better day.  That you are having not only a better day, but a wonderful one.

Advertisements

Seriously can’t get the song out.  Damn contagious musical episode.

This wasn’t meant to be a Buffy post. Yes I worship at the brilliance of Whedon… and I do love the show… and I have all the dvds… and the soundtrack from the musical episode… and I may have named my cats Buffy, Willow and Xander, but a girl has to draw the line somewhere.

My brain is mine Joss Whedon, and you can’t have it!!!  (Though quite frankly, no one wants to deal with the mess in there so I think I am probably safe.)

Any who, so it may be my own psycho stalker-ish chain of thoughts that naturally brought me here, but now I no longer remember where that supposed to be.  What the hell was I intending to write about in the first place?

I was kinda hoping if I kept babbling I’d find my way back to the beginning, but all I can recall was that I was trying to figure out where I was going (and not in a MapQuest kind of way)… and now the song is back again.  I give up.

Soooo….., resorting to video escape route for post gone horribly wrong.

Please enjoy this 20 second clip on the wondrous experience of successful dry cleaning!

And thanks, Joss Whedon, for contributing to my writing problems, but also leaving me a way out.

Sort of.

Once upon a time there was a girl, and she lived in a house in toronto with her husband and her cats, her hoops and her dead dolls in coffins.

She had a computer.  She had a keyboard for this computer, and she had hands.

She used the fingers of these hands to type and create a blog because she liked to write; not about anything in particular,  not about anything that she thought others would care about, and not because she thought she was particularly good at writing, but because she liked the feel of a pen gliding across paper or her fingers pressing gently down on keys.  She liked to watch the paper, or the screen, fill with words and since her babbling capabilities could go on ad infinitum, she could look at  what was previously blank and feel she had actually accomplished something.

Mostly, the girl wrote about random musings from her life and her mind. She wrote about spaceships and strange little snowmen appearing from nowhere; about mermaids and cat vomit and time spent with her belly dancer friends.  And she wrote about her dreams.  Not the big dreams about life, the little dreams that take place while you sleep that are mostly about shoes.

Occasionally, the posts became a little more serious for the girl and she struggled with this as she really only wanted the world to see the quirky crazy, the if-someone-had-a-really-big-butterfly-net-she-might-be-in-trouble-crazy.  She could accept this part of herself and even choose to revel in it, but the dark, cavernous, pit of despair kind of crazy was another aspect completely.  One she not only wanted to be able to hide from the world, but also from herself.  For the girl had a problem with the wiring in her brain and despite her best efforts, she could not control this.

In fact, her wallowing, oh-woe-is-me capabilities were second only to her babbling ones and when these combined with messed up synapses, it became a very potent, self-destructive cocktail.  No pretty drink umbrellas to be found.

So why does all of this matter?  What is the purpose of this story here?

Well, the clever reader would notice that it has been well over a month since the girl last wrote.

You see, while there is no specific happily ever after ending to this story, the girl did come to realize that there was a benefit to sharing more than just the stories of her attempts to sabotage her husband; that sharing the dark moments openly and honestly as part of who she is has had some cathartic benefits for herself and occasionally has also helped others.  Yet despite this knowledge she once again forgot this.  She stopped writing and the longer she let it go, the harder it has been for her to come back. She also noticed that this would be her fiftieth post and let that intimidate her.

Having not written for so long she felt that her come back at the fifty mark should be witty and brilliant, but as nothing in her life or her mind was providing such fodder, she waited.  Of course the longer she waited, the more amazing the post would have to be and a vicious circle formed.

However, the girl fought back.  She pushed against her self sabotaging behaviour, accepted non-brilliance and finally wrote something down.  So while her journey and struggles are far from over, she did have a small moment of triumph.

Of course, there is the possibility that all this above is just a big steaming pile of poo and that it is simply her dislike of the number five that she has been avoiding.

The girl thoroughly detests the number.  She finds it ugly written out (five) and even more hideous in numeric form (5).  And the sound of anything containing the number, well, it’s kind of like taking the above mentioned pile of poo and putting it in your mouth.  Disgusting.

She’s been known to lie about her age, but only when there is a 5 at the end.

Sooooo…

There’s a slight possibility that the time spent over the last month trying to (unsuccessfully) banish the number from existence may have left little room for writing. And that, while the brain wiring issues may be true, it’s also possible that in the end, it was the paste eating kind of crazy that got in the way.

I guess only the girl knows for sure.

 

 

 

Some days I revel in my idiocy, some days I just shake my head, roll my eyes, and pretend I am someone else.

Someone who has their life together.

I hear these people exist.

You know the sort; people who can make a pot of tea and actually remember that they did so.

Clearly, my idea of someone who has their life together is rather grand and not achievable for all, but I have high hopes for myself.  And please don’t tell me that there is something further I can strive for.  I’m fragile, and keeping my delusions intact is paramount to my daily existence.

One stage at a time people.

I have hopes however, which is why I was attempting to take some time to enjoy a nice pot of blooming tea while listening to some metaphysical well-being interview thingy.  I believe that’s the technical term.

So I listened while I did dishes and waited for the water to boil; while I waited for the tea to brew; while I replied to emails and bookmarked websites for further reading – all while still waiting for my tea to brew; while I sorted through papers and eventually made my way back to the kitchen to put items in the recycling bin which was when I discovered I’d forgotten about my brewing tea and then I decided to start this post all while still listening to the uplifting recording.

I remember something about rings and something about flushing, which is just a little bit weird and I think maybe I’m glad I didn’t hear the rest of that bit, but I’m sure my unconscious mind must have taken in all the important parts right?

Spiritual enlightenment, health and well-being must be just around the corner.

I’m thinking I should write a book about how to achieve bliss through multi-tasking.  I mean, really, I have this covered.  It may take a little longer and you may always be drinking your tea at the wrong temperature or eating a lot of burned foods, but at least you can still watch tv, listen to podcasts, play solitaire or do any other number of activities simultaneously.  It will have to be sold as a print and audio book set, but it could work.

I like to spread my obsessions interests around all virus like.  Unfortunately, while it’s nice to think that I may occassionally influence people, sometimes it bites me in my own butt-oly.

In one of life’s synchronous moments I was just talking about my desire to be a mermaid in my last post.  It’s a passion that has been with me since childhood and to this day whenever I dive into a pool or lake I still keep my legs pressed together and imagine I have a fishy mermaid tail.  So of course, like any reasonable adult would do, I decided to share this interest with my niece when she was visiting from england last summer.

I showed her the photograph of me with mermaid melissa and a dvd I have of her swimming.  I promised to send her links and videos of other mermaids (which, over half a year later, I finally did… no procrastination problems here).

I generally push encourage anything faerie and/or mermaid that I can, which has now resulted in me spending most of my day in stores, both in person and online searching for moxie girlz magic swim mermaid dolls.

My niece is back in toronto again and is here for her birthday; this doll is what she requested and I only have a few days to track it down.  The boy should be at toys r us  as I write this, taking his turn in the hunt as so far I have been unsuccessful.

There are mermaid and faerie toys/games/books all over the place, but she has to choose the one, specific, hard to find toy.  I wonder if her mom put her up to it as payback.  When I asked what she wanted, I thought she would go for things a little more generalized or prevalent like something monster high-ish.

I also have a tendency to lure her to things slightly darker whenever I can.  Monster High and Ruby Gloom may be a bit frou frou and perky, but if it opens her world up to zombies and ghouls and all that sort of thing even a little bit, then at least I have an in.

I may not be the best aunt.

Or, depending on your perspective, I am an awesome aunt!

Any who… that’s my day.  Well that and having the water tank replaced on our furnace.

Please.  Contain your jealousy.

 

I’m in obsessive single-minded mode.  I’m in ranting mode.  And I’m in self-ish mode.

I’m obsessed with tedious organizational tasks and feel like I can’t do anything else until I am completely done with these few things, but as my mind is constantly bouncing between tasks, I can’t focus long enough on any one to actually finish anything.

Even now, although I made the conscious choice to take time out to write (because I haven’t written in forever and that guilty feeling was causing more disruption in my brain which interferes even more with my ability to focus ), I struggle to actually do so as it is taking time away from what I am supposed to be doing, but I’m the only one in charge of what I am supposed to be doing, so there is absolutely no reason I shouldn’t be able to make the choice to write without creating a self-induced panic about lost time, when nothing on my current to-do list is so important that it can’t wait another day and therefore I should be able to take the time to construct proper sentences that don’t run on forever, and yet, even though this is all of my own doing, and I can see it happening and write about it, I feel powerless against it.

On the plus side, while I do suffer from a certain amount of day-to-day obsessive behaviours, these spurts only occur once in a while and I do tend to get a fair amount done… it just comes with a whole lot more crazy.  I think that may be why Peter keeps going out to his office so much right now.

I have also worn myself out enough that I don’t have enough energy left to rant about itunes anymore.  Probably best as I have been yelling at my computer for many, many days now.

I think this may also be why Peter has gone into hiding.

For the record, I love itunes overall, I HATE their latest incarnation.  It sucks.  The whole thing kinda sucks, but if they would just give me the ability to scroll through my lists without the scrolling function jumping around all spastic-y colon like, I could (maybe) learn to live with the rest.

Ok, so maybe I still had room for a wee little rant, but believe me, this was the cliff notes version.

Part of the reason I have spent so much time on itunes (apart from restoring a crap load of lost music) is cause I got a new toy!!!  Finally upgraded to an ipod touch and it is all awesome and technologically advanced and what not.

I’m always behind on technology, I mean I am only now finally getting to play with apps! I’ve been very envious of this ability, but now I have it too!!! It’s like gaining a super power. Plus, I actually have room for most of my music and don’t have to keep shuffling songs on and off all the time, and if has wi-fi and email and it’s shiny and pretty and it’s all so very exciting and new.  Kinda like the Love Boat.

Actually, new ipod (she’s called doomkitty) is a lot like The Love Boat.  Exciting and new, life’s sweetest reward (until the next sparkly thing comes along), promises something for anyone, a course for adventure, basically take away all that love crap and it has it covered.

Signing off for now,

your cruise director.

…and maybe a few shenanigans.  But no hootenannies.  I just don’t have the time for that sort of thing.

Holiday festivities with my family are coming to an end and I will be heading back to toronto in a few hours to celebrate with Peter and the kit kats.

I don’t know where I am going with this post anymore.

I am way to distracted by the filthiness of my computer screen and the weird reflection of myself in it.

Can’t take it.  It’s really not attractive and isn’t the sort of thing that makes a girl feel good.  Must get to a mirror to confirm this look is the result of nasty computer and not something freakishly wrong with me.  Praying to only find my usual level of disdain.

 

 

%d bloggers like this: