tribute to Neil Young

trying medical marijuana again, so far a tiny buzz and frequent BMS, yeehaw.

Going to try acupuncture again.

No joy, just despair. Exhaustion of body and spirit. Although, let's do away with the dualisms, it's all one entity= me. Components of a person, all in disarray, so very lost, despair .  Broken record.

Keep thinking I need to add something new to these observations, yet there is nothing new, there remains the steady erosion of strength, every kind there is, dwindling, rusting, failing.  Hey hey, my my.

Are you having a bad day?

Just existing. Waiting, for what? Brutal. So very sad. Lifeless. Waiting for mm. New prescription. We'll see. Are there people who feel good out there?  naturally I mean. Cause I can't imagine it. I can't remember feeling well. There must have been times when I did.

The morning I was writing a letter, or at least trying, to my siblings. Somehow to account for my absence from their lives. But. They have lives. I cannot believe I matter to them, I suppose so, academically. I cannot imagine someone loving me because I feel,  Profoundly,unloveable. Really do. Crying, aching, searching. So tired. So very tired. Sleep somewhat improved but not rested. I imagine many many millions of people are sleep deprived. How do I speak my truth without sounding weak? Whining? It must be exhausting for the people around me. I keep people away, who wants to Hear my truth?

Are you having a bad day?

Yes, everyday.

A good day seems so improbable. I ruminate , obsess, negatively. Is it a choice? Have I made it such a habit that I have convinced myself there is no other possibility? Apparently. This fucking sucks. It sucks. It's really fucking hard . I hate myself. Profoundly. Hate. Not too fine a point. I hate me. I cannot see anyway around this, so through it I go.

birth as rejection

We are birthed as paradox. Rejection as life. So it has been seared into me. As I write I judge myself so fiercely. Everyone reminds me of how hard other people have it, how strong other people are. Is this meant to help me? It doesn't . It shuts me down.

So much rejection, small wonder I reject myself. If one is told enough times that one is wrong, fundamentally as in, then one believes they are wrong. And so it is. And so I am.

I cannot forget grade 7 and the petition to have me removed from the basketball team (yes, I am still thinking,feeling talking about this, fuck off) the shock of it. I was no longer safe. I could trust no one. I think there were things before, entrenching me.

And people in my life, a year ago, told me how much trouble I cause them. Like sharks they circled and struck. Left me bleeding out, apparently unaware of the damage they inflicted. And now some want to help.

No thank you.

The benign cruelty is worse than the overt. I'm not the first to think this. Not the first hurt, for sure. Nor sadly will I be the last. Can I help myself back to who I was/am meant to be?

Is it whining to speak my truth? Apparently for some.

Since I can find no one to be present and listen, can I do it for myself?  I guess that's what this blog is.  L.M. Seems genuinely interested in helping me. So the gift I can give myself is to talk with L.M. More often.

have I ever been alive?

I'm beginning to understand what it means to be a prisoner of my own mind, at least for me. I'm so very lost. Think of death daily, frightened, want help but no idea what help looks like. Mostly I just want to talk and talk and talk and empty everything out. No drugs right now, weird pain and aching joints, quasi-manageable with Advil but oh so odd. Showed up when i weaned off clonazepam. So a lengthy withdrawal? Did some blood work, first go around showed.  Slightly elevated marker(s) for inflammation, my GP looking into fibro, rheumatoid arthritis, asked about bruising (leukaemia) but maybe my body is just brimming with untold stories. I want to talk but no one seems to want to listen, don't blame them, not exactly scintillating stories. Just how many times a heart can be broken. That Sherlock movie where the woman completed suicide because she had no place to put her love, and that was grief. I relate to this, I have love to give or did, now it feels rancid, poisonous. I have no interest in anything, early laugh, no motivation, f to l fear, not. Sl is ping much or well. Saw the ECT psychiatrist this past week, at first was interested but then I though him glib, then read stories of ECT and brain damage. Argh.
Fired the 1st acupuncturist, so many levels of unprofessional. Hurt me several times.
Am I beyond help? Hope is trying to leave, although at times it feels it has left. I'm fading. It's so weird yet familiar and I'm feeling angry and despair and desperate, I want me back but was I ever here?