The Bloody Doors Off

The past week it’s been near impossible to write in my blog, and I couldn’t figure out why. I also haven’t been sleeping well.

I think the two are related.

Because I’ve been keeping just how awful I’ve been feeling to myself. Today I realized it more than ever, just how paralyzed I am feeling. The idea of just picking up the phone and making an appointment for Mels (Toronto Human Society is offering $20 spaying in February) should be a no-brainer. Calling a case worker to help with my Trillium, OW and ODSP applications can only help my situation.

But I’m so fucking afraid. Of what, I don’t know. But it’s pervasive. It haunts my every movement. I feel it behind my eyes. Like it’s not even me looking out, but someone else. Still hearing my own thoughts, providing a monologue.

This isn’t me. It hasn’t been me for too damned long. The guy who walked out of the hospital in October, the one who hoped things would turn around and tried to make it happen. I don’t know where he is right now. And I don’t know if I can get him back.

Today I’m grabbing a bite with my brother and then seeing a play with a friend. I haven’t decided if I’ll be coming home. Because right now, I can’t fucking breathe.

I’ve set this to post while I’m out. We’ll see if there’s another post tomorrow. If not, then I’ve most likely checked myself back into Toronto East General.

That’s how I felt 2 hours ago. I’m much better now.

I considered deleting this post. It was set to publish hours from now, when I wasn’t at the computer.

So why the change? Why didn’t I bury it? Because that’s not who I want to be. I can’t bury the problems I’m having. But I also don’t want to be that guy who write cryptic shit and makes their friends worry. But most of all, I need to recognize that this was going through my head.

Still afraid. Still don’t feel like myself, nor do I know how exactly I’m going to change it. Like my friend Kate has expressed to me, my brother Kevin today suggested I consider volunteering. As a virtual shut-in of late, this is resonating more and more for me. Maybe giving back to others will provide a new sense of purpose for me. While I look for new purpose.

Anyway. Not going to ‘take a walk in the snow’. Don’t know what my next move is yet, but it’ll be something… positive. I hope.

Now is the winter of my discontent, made worse by the winds of the North.

Seriously, I fucking hate this weather.

(Aside, I just saw an ad for pills for bi-polar depression: possible side-effect, increased thoughts of suicide, oh fucking joy.)

I like to walk, but not in -30c weather.

My doctor recommends it; he calls it ‘exorcising’ (as in exorcising demons, of which I have many).

In the good weather? It’s fantastic. I’ve walked from Pape and Cosburn down to the Beaches boardwalk. But when it gets so cold you can toss a cup of water out and it turns to ice, I’m lucky to make it to the mailbox and back.

This needs to change.

I really wish there was an upgrade I could order for my brain.

Or a factory reset.

Microsoft pretty much admitted this week that they’re re-releasing Windows 7 due to “popular demand” (meaning, Windows 8 ain’t doing that well among users). I’d really love to run a system restore on my mental/emotional state sometimes.

But then, when I consider how far back I’d have to go, well I don’t think there’s that much storage available.

Go back to 2007 when I finally got diagnosed? That was the spring/summer of hell. I spent nights in terror, I couldn’t stop crying.

To my early 30s? When I was working midnights? Maybe if I was more self-aware, my relationship with Suzi wouldn’t have crumbled. Unless I got diagnosed and on meds, I suspect the same outcome.

So, further back. To my mid-20s when I was doing improv? I was also freelancing and barely making a living (gee that sounds vaguely familiar). Living above a pawn shop, relying on a pager and a pay phone because I couldn’t afford a land line.

A teenager? Barely getting through high school, sleeping until noon. Besides, who ever says “oh wow, if I could just relive high school, that’d be awesome!”

No. There’s no going back. No resets.

Gotta wait for the next upgrade then. Which, because the specialist at CAMH is on vacation until March, won’t happen for another 6 weeks. And that’s a conservative estimate.

I’d like to think I’m a team player.

Screw it. I’ve got nothing tonight. The tank is empty.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Conway Twitty.

I’m not talking about alcohol, though I’ve got stories. One day I’ll tell them. There’s one in particular I can never get forgiveness for.

I’m going on almost 3 months without a cigarette. The anniversary is coming up in a week. The liquid cum vapor e-cigarette is helping. There are times I still crave the cancer stick, but so far I haven’t given in. I know if I do, it’ll taste awful and it’ll reinforce the decision of quitting.

It’s odd and funny how easy it turned out to be. To quit, I mean. Just get yourself locked up for a couple of days and not have permission to go off-wing for a smoke, and the body turns against it. I wish other crap was just as easy.

Had a moment this morning again where I considered the freedom of walking away from everything. Pack a bag, empty the bank account (what there is of it), make plans for the cats to be cared for, grab my pills and my passport, and jump on a bus to nowhere. It came with the latest news report of the guy who went out for a run and went missing. I wonder if that’s what he did? Woke up one morning and realized he wasn’t living the life he wanted, and made a choice to change it. But then I realize the futility of my thoughts. I’m in the middle of bankruptcy and this would default it and the hammer would come down. No matter where I ran, it would haunt me. I’d have to live completely off the grid, and I like my internet too much.

There’s also the staged reading coming up. I wouldn’t want to leave before hearing the play read out loud. And that made me feel shallow.

But this isn’t the life I want to be living. I’m rudderless; no full-time income, lack of responsibility, a dearth of purpose. I’ve got avenues I need to explore. Help is out there, somewhere. I hope it’s enough.

I promised myself I’d write daily, without fail. It is after 2am, and I am very tired.

Today was, on the whole, a decent day.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

One thing is for certain, for the foreseeable future there will be renovations/construction going on above me 6 days a week, from 10am to 7pm. This will, more than likely, drive me out of my skull and send me scrambling for serious self-medication before it’s done.

Good night.

I give you the sun that once rested on my head so early in the morning. May it warm you in the coldest moments.

I offer my breath, so that you may exhale when the pain grows to great.

I bequeath my heart, may it one day be repaired and help another find love.

I donate my eyes, so that you may see past obstacles.

I would provide hope, but the well is almost dry.

And last, my words, for I am silent.

I’m going to start screaming now.

17 months without a full-time job. No EI, looking at OW. Which won’t pay the rent, let alone anything else. Way too much cost in prescriptions per month. Bankruptcy fees.

The weight is crushing me.

You know, I really don’t get it. Have the rules changed so much in the past 12 months? Is there a cheat sheet I can access when it comes to having a conversation?

Here’s the deal. I started a conversation last night with someone on OKCupid. Now, unless you’ve lived under a rock or are completely allergic to the news/Facebook, you’d heard about the guy who set up a female profile on OKC and ended up deleting it after 2 hours because of the testosterone-fueled morons who bombarded ‘her’ with demands for sex and other stupid shit. This woman I was chatting with actually commented how refreshing it was that my profile actually said something, as well as carrying on a decent conversation.

But this morning, it seems, I committed a ‘cardinal sin’. I didn’t finish a comment with asking a question. Yes you want to get to know the person on the end of the tube (the internet is made of tuuuuuuuuuuubes) but I didn’t realize that ‘getting to know you’ talk strictly had to be question and answer. I believe in allowing the conversation to grow organically. Maybe you’ll say something I think is interesting and wish to add to, or have you elaborate on. I don’t want to just discard it to ask what your 5 favorite movies are.

Maybe I’m just old-fashioned that way. I’m not expecting magic overnight. I don’t discount someone because they failed to ask/answer a particular question. Connections take time. Don’t be so quickly dismissive. What’s the damned rush?

It was a story construct in Doctor Who, the idea that a ‘quantum-locked’ statue of a Weeping Angel could, if you blinked while looking at it, send you back in time to live out your years.

I mention this because, there are days I feel like I was born too late in this world and would really love to get sent back to a simpler age. Specifically, the 1940s. Aside from being a huge nerd/fan of film noir, and yes I’d be avoiding as much as possible getting drafted into the second world war, it seems to me (and correct me if I’m wrong) but it was an easier time to live in. After the Great Depression came a resurgence of jobs, people could own homes, raised families, were valued for who they were, not what they purchased.

Second choice: the late 1960s. The summer of love, freedom. The choice to turn on, tune in, and drop out. Again, it just seems like there was more possibility.

I wouldn’t live in the 1980s. I did that already, though I couldn’t appreciate (or hate) how capitalistic and greedy the world had started turning.

Nor would I go back to the previous century. While it’d be interesting to see how the industrial revolution really changed lives virtually overnight, I couldn’t stand the idea of prim and proper (and the lack of proper plumbing or air conditioning).

Bottom line: these days are hard and frustrating, and I’m desperate to escape.