The words that come out

Maybe I need to filter less

Or filter differently? 

Maybe I should speak my mind more often. As in say what I'm REALLY thinking instead of trying to make it sound more accommodating. Or do I do too much of that now already without really noticing? I can't decide right now. I can't think clearly at this very moment. 

Do I need to be more straightforward? Admittedly, it feels kinda good when I am. But I'm more used to tip-toeing and walking on eggshells. It's annoying, and I known I'm starting to lose my ability to do it skillfully and subtly. I don't think my brain has the capacity to keep it up anymore. So maybe I should stop trying? Maybe I should just be more blunt. About everything. To everyone. I just need to figure out how.

I'm tired.

Read my mind. 

People Forget

And it sucks. Cause I can't keep reminding them. I don't WANT to keep reminding them. I need some to understand, but I can't keep explaining. I don't WANT to explain over and over.

People forget. And it's only normal. But there's gotta be something to be done about it. Should I put on a label? I hate labels. I don't like the idea of being labeled. Labels tend to be defining, and THIS does not define me. But it's become a part of who (or more accurately HOW) I am, and I need it to be recognized and taken into consideration. Should I wear a bracelet? In time, it'll go unnoticed. And I don't need a constant reminder in my face, maybe nobody does. Maybe the idea of a reminder or a label is horrible, but what's the alternative?

People forget, and it kind of hurts. Cause people have expectations that I'm not completely up for. They get disappointed... They can even get angry... And I can't constantly explain and justify. And I worry that it'll be a broken record to some. So I zip my mouth sometimes. I tell myself to hold it. Don't say a word. It's getting boring, Hagar. And it's only been 2 years.

Speaking of, it IS exactly 2 years ago today. I didn't plan to write any of this shit today, the date just happened to coincide with how I feel. Two years today and it makes me wonder: If it's getting too boring to bring up today, how will it feel years from now? If I'm still alive 20 years from now, will I still have to explain myself and remind others that I have a chronic condition? That is if it's still invisible by then. I don't want to have to do this. And I hope to God it's never too visible in my lifetime either.

It's chronic, okay. It does not fully disappear. It does not go away. It's always there. Some days more than others. I'm not making shit up and I'm not using it as an excuse to get out of shit. It's legit, I promise. I hate having to explain this. I know I may need to inform some of you or help educate you with what I've learned myself, but it's taxing.. And I feel it's even a little humiliating to ask to be heard. But I do need to elaborate on energy levels and the whole "spoon theory" shit, and how I start the day with a lot more energy that mostly fully evaporates by sundown. But even if I tell you all of that, will you remember it a year from now? A month? Next week? Ever? 

Will this ever change? 

Sep 27, a Wednesday.

It's been a year. The date really means nothing because there are more important and still relevant things that happened a few days before and for days/weeks after.. But I think I needed a date for myself to just mark and note down. To draw some sort of imaginary line between before and after. The day itself wasn't all that significant. Maybe.

I didn't plan to REMEMBER the date, it just hit me today that it's been about a year.. So I checked the calendar and swiped back to last September and turns out it's today. And then I started to realize that those past months I was processing. Sometimes internally overreacting, sometimes downplaying, and sometimes pausing. I may still be processing.

I don't know how to talk to anyone about most of this without regretting it a little afterwards. The first time is okay... Allowed... But a second or third time of trying to rant about it leaves a self-loathing aftertaste. It should be okay. I feel I need to actually talk (and not just type) about what's going on inside my head. But it doesn't come naturally, and it doesn't feel great.

You don't really change, do you Hagar? I mean... Of course you do outwardly. Life leaves its marks and I probably do not give the same vibes I used to give some 18 or 20 years ago... And yes I've grown up a bit (as I absolutely should have)... There's some progress in some parts and a sort of slow death to others... But deep down I don't think I've changed at all. And I don't think I want to change all that much, but I do wish I could overcome the shit that's been crippling me for decades. I promised myself I would at least try. But I keep missing my chances. 

Why is it so hard to say what I want? Why can't you just read my mind? When will it be okay for me to say no? To anyone... about anything? 

I know I'm still lucky cause at least I don't live with someone who makes it harder... At least not the way others I lived with before used to (and still do).. I just wish I could make things easier for myself and for HIM by speaking my mind when it matters the most to me! Cause it's not like I'm silent around him... I talk his ears off... But there are times when I just choke. And those are the times I need to rant the most. There's some sense to it. I'm not completely unreasonable. But I need to find a way to break this chain.

It's past my bedtime. It's almost another day/date now. And it doesn't matter. I think I wanted to bring it up today/yesterday... But it didn't feel right. It felt like it might seem like I'm looking for a reason to feel bad. But it really isn't. It just means something to me. Even though the date isn't significant, its passing means something to me. And I wanted to share that. With you. But as usual, I held back. And that's on me. I know.

Good night I guess. 

Why, December? We're supposed to be friends!

This hasn't been an easy week (in terms of shit I had to do and errands I had to run without actually achieving the purpose of those shitty errands). In fact, it hasn't been a good week for 2 weeks now. Or is it 3? I lost count. Or maybe I'd rather NOT count. Anyway, it wasn't an easy week, but I think I handled it better than I would have say 2 weeks ago. I mean... I'm still frustrated... but it's low key. It's not very dramatic. It's just mostly exhausting, but still less than before. 

Am I getting used to this? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Do I WANT to get used to shit? I mean if I can't change it, if it's completely beyond my control, maybe I should get used to it so it won't take a toll on me every time? Running futile errands, doing them again the next day only to be told to come back again the week after... Is it better that it came as no complete shock and that I braced myself for the possibility? Or should I not be normalizing what shouldn't be normal? 

Hagar pull your shit together. If you can't change it, you better not lose your sanity to it. Just... handle it. Like every other person probably would. Maybe.

I don't know what to rant about. There are those errands of course... then that evil stomach bug (if that's what it was).. the feeling that my intestines were held, twisted, and squeezed by giant grips... the waiting rooms and the painfully uncomfortable chairs... and of course there's my sweet lil' crab getting sick like he never had before in all his 7 and half years of life... and having to clean off vomit from a mattress among other things... and a newly adopted pet tortoise that's still getting used to his surroundings by abstaining from food... Then that fugly partially removed toenail in the background with its recurring annoyance that just refuses to come to an end... I won't even mention the outside factors that pile up on the bulk and sit on top of my extravagant shit pie like a cherry. 

You know what? I don't feel like ranting about any of it right now (I kind of just did anyway). Today I feel a little blessed. Just a little. A tiny bit. I know I have a lot to worry about, but I'll save that for next week. And I hope it goes easy on me. I hope I'll have the will and mental state to handle it all gracefully and patiently if it doesn't run smoothly. I really just hope it goes easy on me. I could use a reminder that things don't always have to suck... a break of sorts. 

And that toenail better fix itself. It's irritating. Just fucking move on already! (Speaking to the toenail).

Shhh

 

drip drip drop

So lately my focus is shit. I forget to do things I used to easily do on autopilot. I repeat things I say minutes after I've said them only to realize it half-way. And I often catch myself unable to think clearly or finish a thought; my mind draws a blank or reaches conclusions I KNOW are not right. 

I know I have a lot on my mind, and it feels like I'm juggling tasks and plans and thoughts and priorities and mundane distractions, so maybe I should go easy on myself if my attention span is almost non-existent. But I really don't like it. I'm not really used to it. Not like this. 

I always used to take pride in my mental/intellectual capabilities, and I'd joke about getting dumber but I most always knew what I am: among many other things (good and bad), I'm smart. So I feel that pang when I act dumb or irrational or spaced out. I feel it, I recognize it, and I try to justify it to myself. But the frequency of it lately feels unprecedented... And rather a bit humiliating.

I need to get my shit together. (Or do I need a break? But a break from what exactly?) 

So is this middle age? I just turned 38 a couple of months ago. Is that even a thing? Is it stress? Chronic fatigue? Or who knows... Maybe my all time joke is true and my IQ IS actually declining 🤷🏻‍♀️ I mean it CAN happen.

Please make it stop. 

Dec 9th, 2023

As I walked the long corridors, I felt my left leg slowly numbing up. I wasn’t sure if I was only imagining it or if it was actually growing tired. I felt heavy, dull, and rather desperate. I knew I would eventually find the place, but as I walked back and forth trying to find my way, climbing three flights of stairs up then down then one flight back up, walking what seemed like an endlessly long corridor, I grew angrier by the second. Why would they send it that far out? I cursed beneath my breath, hoping I wouldn’t have to waste more than the twenty minutes already wasted trying to find the so-called pharmacy. 

The corridors I walked were mostly empty. An old hospital, partially abandoned. I came across a patient or two in one hallway on one floor, but that was mostly it. A couple of nurses walking lazily with no sense of real purpose, and the occasional security guard every 12 meters or so. I walked past large windows overlooking the hospital campus, letting me know that I’m crossing the distances from one building to other extensions. I walked back that first corridor when I realized I was heading the wrong direction, only to make similar trips through other corridors on another floor. Hours later in the day, as I thought back on the long trips through the empty abandoned hallways, it felt like a dream. A very random dream; the kind where one wakes up confused and upset for no apparent reason. 

It felt futile. It felt like a punishment. I just didn’t know what I was being punished for. 

My anger turned into resentment for everything these institutions are and represent. For everything that could’ve been a million times better but is  not. For the status quo and for how I’m supposed to accept it because it is what it is and there’s no easy way around it. And all the while, a voice in my head reminds me that “hey, you know you have it easy… you know you’re privileged and you know millions go through worse EVERY DAY”. But that didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it made me feel worse. And why should I feel better only because I suffer less? Why should it be enough that I’m not the only one suffering? Why should it be tolerated at all? Why am I expected to feel okay by telling myself that some people have it worse? I do not want anyone to have it worse… I do not want to be the privileged one among many, that is if you call walking and climbing stairs clueless for 25 minutes - after wasting two hours waiting for someone to sign a piece of paper -  privilege. Why should it be strange for me to feel like shit afterwards just because I eventually got what I went there for? 

And yes, today it took me forever but NEXT time it won’t because now I know where the office is. But the fact that there’s a next time, and a time after, and a time after…. Even if I will know my way around… it feels like nooses being pulled tighter around my neck and arms and my entire body. A trap. And I go there willingly.

I couldn’t help thinking “What if I actually had trouble walking? What if my condition was significantly worse? How do they expect people with possible physical disability to walk endless corridors and climb whole flights of stairs? What is this fuckery? Who the fuck is in charge? Why is everything in this shithole so fucked up?” 

The image of the hospital yard from the large windows and the empty corridors haunts me. It felt surreal. It was nothing. A drop in the ocean. But it felt like some sort of mental torture. Like some evil psychopath was behind it all. But it’s more likely that whomever is behind it is simply a thoughtless idiot; someone in charge who did not think it through quite enough. Isn’t that the way it is in most governmental matters? All it takes is some bureaucratic ass who wanted things done a certain way without thinking it through. 

I used to think I’m done getting angry over things like that. I know it will always be irritating, but I actually thought that by now I’m beyond it. Turns out I’m not. Those fucking hallways. 

And the thing is, while walking, I wasn’t completely oblivious to the old architecture of the hospital. It felt like a museum of sorts. If I wasn’t furious, I might’ve paused to admire what’s left of the old building. The high ceiling, the caged elevators, the walls with an ancient smell… But I was too frustrated. 

I hate it when I’m incapable of seeing the beauty in the ugliest of things, and today was a reminder that this ability has been escaping me lately. Rather, I feel robbed off of it. 

I felt powerless. I now think of my all-time self-proclaimed super powers, and I mourn them. 

It just didn’t have to be like this. It could’ve been better. All of it. All of life.