Strangers

I know I've written about this a million times and it's boring already. It's boring to me. I can see why it would be boring to you. As A. says, I go in cycles. It's like my life is a merry-go-round that isn't so merry. I keep thinking if I purge if I get it down on paper it'll be gone. It'll be out of my heart and on the page. But it isn't. It doesn't work. It's yet another quick fix. It keeps getting more and more acute and clearer and clearer. Like I am getting closer and closer to the hard part in the center of the jawbreaker. At first I was licking it. It tasted sour then sweet. Sour then sweet. I take it out of my mouth to see what color it is now. The color changes with every layer. I keep licking. Then I start sucking on it in earnest. I want to get to the center. I want to get to the hard part. I want to crack it open with my teeth and get to the bottom of it until there is nothing left of it besides the sour sweet taste left in my mouth. I keep thinking that's what's happening. That I am getting closer to the truth, to the center, to the end. But I'm not. Here I am here again. It's brand new and huge in my mouth all over again.

I just saw Dr. H, the psycho-pharmacologist. I didn't want to see her. I thought she could call in some refills and call it a day. She said she hadn't seen me since December and she needed to see me before refilling anything. As I stood on the crowded 6 train holding on for dear life I started coming down. I wondered where I was going to start when I saw her. A lot has happened since December when I saw her. Too much has happened since December when I saw her. And I started thinking of the big picture which is always bad. And by the time I got off the subway at 77th street there were tears welling in my eyes. I was 15 minutes early and took that time to write about everything I thought she needed to know. That I thought I needed something stronger. That when this all started I didn't know what I was getting into and now I am in the thick of it and I am lost in the forest of illness and when I see the forest I freak out but sometimes it's unavoidable and I want something for those times. I want something for when a beer used to do the trick. Now a beer doesn't do the trick. Now a beer does nothing but make me more depressed that it does nothing.

Fine. So I went so I could get the drugs that make my life bearable. I felt dirty and nasty just knowing that was why I was seeing her. I felt like a drug addict. I felt desperate. I am. It's the truth; I am not seeing her for my physical body. And nothing she could give me will make my physical body any better. I go to her so it's easier to lie to myself. I go to her so it's not as glaring how shitty my life is. I go to her so the amount of drugs I take for my underlying condition don't make my life a living hell by the havoc they wreak on my body in the form of side-effects. And that makes me feel like a junkie. I see a therapist. I have a million doctors. I am going to her for drugs straight up no chaser. Drugs. So I can more easily lie to myself. So I can dull the pain of knowing that my life isn't how I ever imagined it would be. So I can embody what she called the 'new' normal. When all I want is the old normal.

I want a cure. I want an answer. I want to be rescued. I want to believe there will be an end to this shit. I want to wake up and know this was all a bad dream. I want to stop taking all of the drugs. All of them, from the B12 shots to the steroids, to the clonopin. I hate it all. Toxins and poison rushing through my veins at all times. In the beginning I savored the moments in the morning when I was myself, before I took the drugs. Then my body quickly adjusted and I needed to take them immediately upon waking. I would be jittery and crazed and dizzy and just wrong otherwise. Now I don't know the difference. I don't know who I am. I am lost. I am completely lost in this maze of health and loss and who I was and who I don't know I will become and who I don't know I will ever be able to become again. Lost. This is a chimichanga go home early and take a bath day. This is a day where my head feels like it's going to explode. This is one of the red letter days where it all makes sense that it makes no sense and I hate it. I hate what my life has become. I fucking hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it. What about the fairy tales I grew up on? What about how being a good person will pay off? What about hard work paying off? Where the hell did I go wrong? Or is all of that shit just a load of crap that people tell themselves to justify going on. And Briana lived happily ever after. The end. Bullshit