I begin the ramblings of mind in a blog to see what kind of fish you can catch with it.
Who is this person anymore? There’s a limit to how crazed I can be these days, but there is still a hunger in the head for those ventures I had, and hopefully new ones.
I went to a doctor the other day. Something I have not done in years — I don’t actually trust medicine. But things were cropping up: I wasn’t sleeping more than two hours without interruption, my stress level in the day was immense, the pounds were pouring on though nothing tasted good, home was awkward, friends in this town had still not been found. It was a beige cement wasteland by day and a recurrent field of green in my dreams, past events, past people, all flowing in to try to comfort me, only to go awry in the night and I’d wake once again.
So I went with a list of symptoms in hand that he didn’t want to read, this tan and virulent doctor, and I explained that it was a holistic thing, it wasn’t just one definable problem, it was kind of cyclicle thing, you know, and I’m hot and I’m cold, and there’s this too and I poured out my panic on the stainless steel for him. He was such a cheerful powerful life force kind of guy, such a car-salesman strong person, who looked a little like Joe Montegna.
“Well”, he said, aiming his gaze into my green contacts, and then being very distracted by them, commenting on them cheerfully, trying to distract me with a compliment, and then resuming: “…well, if your tests for diabetes and any thyroid deficiency come back negative, I have to tell you what I think it is: You’re depressed.”
This was a jaw-dropper for me. That happened to other people, to my sister, to my mother, to my ex friends, to my bevy of gothkids across the bleak wasteland looking for friends at age 15 — not to ME.
He went cheerily on describing the various medications they have for such things these days and that it’s not what it used to be…. I was thunderstruck that this garbage was spewing out. This is why I detest medicine. This is not about healing, after all, it’s about patching the symptoms. I had known that before I went, but SHEESH, this was a moral insult to me. He couldn’t have known that, humanmechanic that he was.
But in weeks afterward, I have been picking myself apart (when I’ve had enough sleep). So much more has to happen. I had been putting little effort into rebuilding myself after the fall of my life in Seattle. I’ve had no energy and no direction, and I need a map.
So that’s what I’ll be doing now. I brilliantly beaned myself with a simple revellation the other day while lying on the sick couch in our company restroom sickroom, which we all use for naps when we’re out of it.
Thinking comes more easily to me in the madrugada before sleep.
You’re not doing anything forward.
Everything is looking backward, everything is being carved out in comparison to the past, past people, past loves, past deaths, past happy places.
You’re not doing anything that plans for any new future.
And that was when I planned to do more planning. And I’m planning on it. Here.
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