Locked and loaded

Sometimes I can feel these padded walls closing in. If I'm smart, I listen to anthems that both acknowledge the war and also have a drummer boy slamming the sticks as if possessed.

That's what I'm trying today. I still had to take a couple of Xanax. "Climbing down the walls", as I put it. Why is my head spinning? No reason. Crazy is as crazy does.

No intrusive thoughts. Only fleeting thoughts of making a mess with my own blood. Easy enough to ignore this morning. Still enough to need medicinal help. I am not weak for this. Or so I say to myself.

White rooms. Hospital gowns. Silent spaces that go on for days, to where the one opportunity a week they give us to listen to music (usually Christian music, but the break is always appreciated) can actually be jarring. Bandages. Endless wandering the short halls with a hospital blanket draped across my shoulder. (They keep those places at 40 degrees, I swear.)

It all comes at such a price. I don't want to give up that kind of currency today.

My sanity, my time, it is money of the soul. I am getting better at what I spend it on.

I need to spend some time with Jesse when I wake up (Xanax knocks me on my ass). We've been apart for a few days now, despite being in the same room for those days.

RANDOM: I found a positive in chronic illness. This disease that cannabilizes my own internal organs has also made my weight steady at a much lower number than I've spent the last several years.

137 pounds as of last week. Lupus may kill me someday in some horrific organ failure, but goddamn if I'm not going to let the single advantage (to my vanity, oh pure vanity) be lost on me.

RANDOM/RANDOM: I've also discovered that there are three - and only three - ways for me to get "legally drunk". (The kind that won't break my nearly 20 years of sobriety from drugs and alcohol.)

(1) Food comas. This is nearly impossible to reach, as we usually have enough food for one meal a day.

(2) Taking meds and then taking a really hot long bath. Makes me wonderful tipsy, but absolutely wrecked for things like driving or wandering downstairs to see friends.

The final one, (3), to be in the writing zone. This is what I'm most likely to hit, just for the sheer VOLUME of what I write. And when I hit that, I know that THAT feeling is the best drug I've ever consumed. Nothing hits as heavy as that, nothing else quiets the world as that, nothing makes me feel as god-like as when the will and the words line up and write themselves out as if they were their own sentient beings.

Just not after a hot bath and medications. Too often the heat makes my heart race, which doesn't lend itself to pretty words.

Still, good to know I'm not completely cut off from the "funner" feelings that others indulge in every weekend. There are just different "funner" things for me.

/END RANDOM

Jesse struggles. I feel it even in my sleep. As if my own tossing and turning matches the twisting in his soul. I feel so terrible that often my arms hands grow short and I am not able to reach out to his hands, so often held out to me.

He does love dating someone with colored hair. My mind also loves it. Thank you again, Michael.

THE FACE BEHIND ALL OF THIS RAMBLING





"We didn't come this far just to get this far.
We didn't come this far just to fade to black.
FIGHT, BABY, FIGHT!!!
" - Icon For Hire, Demons

I WILL NOT FADE TO BLACK. THERE'S TOO MUCH IN ME LEFT TO BE SAID TO LET IT BE ECLIPSED BY THE SICKNESS THAT THREATENS TO SWALLOW IT ALL. I AM SO MUCH BIGGER THAN THE DARKNESS.

And if hair dye is a weapon (and it can be), then call me locked and loaded, because while I've got bullets littering my psyche, I've also got safes and locked boxes to keep them in. A gun without bullets has little ability except to pistol whip you across the cheeks.

Hurts like hell, but a A HELL OF A LOT LESS than a shot straight to the jaw.

This entry was originally posted at http://quirkytizzy.dreamwidth.org/1091147.html