Whoa/Woe

Every morning starts the same: a new chapter in the never-ending dialogue with the panicked, paralyzed girl on the ledge. She isn’t going to kill herself but she just might fall off, and I have to convince her to leave the ledge and come back to where it is reasonably “safe”.

Of course, the girl and I inhabit the same body and so when I say it’s “safe”, she isn’t fooled. She knows that really, nowhere is safe, particularly not any location she might find in my brain where she could set up shop. The reason to panic is everywhere there. The knowledge that this thing – which could barely be called a “livelihood” and upon which we must subsist – has no longevity, that it needs to end as soon as possible but there is nothing to replace it, thumps a bass drop heartbeat to go along with my own. That we are basically painted into a corner and it feels like there is no way out (unless we care to shuffle off this mortal coil). That any skills laying dormant in our wheelhouse are laid to waste, because agoraphobia is still a big issue, and we have no car. And we refer to ourselves as “we”, at least in this moment, and that could also be problematic – the fact that we are “seriously mentally ill” (as is our label given to us by the government healthcare system).

I am still working on the coding lessons, but my issues with Javascript past ‘for loops’ and simple functions make me wonder if I am fooling myself about my potential in this field. My attitude has been that if you work hard enough and study hard enough then eventually you get it. And maybe I am judging prematurely, haven’t put enough time in or something. But I am starting to wonder if maybe my right brain bias is impacting my ability to use my left brain. Am I simply a creative who is fooling herself that she could be logical? Am I ridiculous for being an exceedingly unorganized person who is trying to do one of the most organized things you can do, create a step by step algorithm that can figure out, say, complicated math?

Just the fact that I say “complicated math” does not bode well.

So each morning, I’m trying to push out the echo bouncing off the walls of my interior, the echo of “I’m fucked (fucked-fucked-fucked-fucked)”. It’s not that I doubt I’m fucked and that I am trying to push the thought away so as to be more “positive”. It’s that I am pretty damned sure I am definitely fucked, but still I am trying to figure a way out that is realistic and achievable. Which from here, looks absolutely impossible.

But in order to get through the day, the morning, the hour or the minute or the next fucking second… I have to pretend that I have a chance.

It’s the only way to keep going. A manufactured false hope is my fuel.

Hi, I’m a fuck-up machine, and I run on pipe dreams. I was born musical and artistic but never encouraged to develop those potentials into something sustainable because “you’ll never find a job doing that.” Which I am sure was well-intentioned, but sadly, not at all helpful.

In less than a month I will have a “milestone birthday”, and frankly, it is crippling to juxtapose that with my current situation.

If I could somehow afford a car, I would have the agency to change a few important things that would go a long way to beginning to solve my predicament. I could go into some sort of sliding scale therapy, where I would have support to help guide me into something better. Also, I would not have to be so fucking isolated and alone all the time. Being around people would give me new experiences and new confidence which I could build upon and eventually use to propel me into that next thing – whatever it is, if it even exists. The car could be a total beater. It would not need to be pretty. It would just need to run and have good tires. I don’t even need air conditioning – I could affix a portable fan to the dashboard.

Good luck saving up a few grand for a beater car, though, girl. Everything I make goes to bills and expenses. I have a very, very low overhead, but still, each month, I barely squeak by. And despite the people I’ve talked to recently telling me that I am “at the top” of the thing that I am doing (I disagree, bigtime), i am lucky if I make enough for utilities. Lucky. And that is not even close to my rent. And it’s not guaranteed, either. If I don’t work, I make nothing. So if I have a sick day – or a sick week – I am beyond my usual amount of fucked.

But. Here I sit, tear-stained face and all, and that is not an option. Writing all of this has not exactly brought that girl in off the ledge. But at least it isn’t just sitting there fermenting silently inside me, like pretty much every other thought I have.

Everything they say about solitary confinement is true. It does make you crazy. It does break your spirit.

You would be surprised, however, at how far you can get on a broken spirit. Because when you have no other choice but to keep going, that is what you do.

No matter how pointless and futile it may seem.

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U.S. Politics is like a Bosch-ian theme park with numerous labyrinthine tunnels that all wind their way to a central clusterfuck that is so tangled and unpredictable that it can distract one’s attention away from other matters elsewhere in the world. Like, for instance, Brexit.

I will honestly tell you that I know fuckall about Brexit. But. I saw this sign at a Brexit protest on TV and found it hilarious:

BREXIT: NOT GOING WELL, IS IT!

I love the exclamation point at the end that says “this is not a fucking question, I know the answer already and I am yelling it at you.” And the utter politeness of the rest of it just tickles the hell out of me.

 

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Nihilists that had good upbringings are just slumming, which makes them little more than privileged imbeciles out for a backwards joyride.

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Mercury

Mercury FINALLY comes out of Retrograde today. Communications might get better. Machines might work more efficiently. Who knows? Sounds good, right?

Fingers crossed, man. Fingers crossed.

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Trauma is Not Good

“Results from MRI images suggest that both childhood maltreatment and recurring depression are associated with similar reductions in surface area of the insular cortex — a part of the brain believed to help regulate emotion and self-awareness.”

So if you mistreat a child, that child will lack self-awareness and the ability to regulate its emotions. Somehow, we need SCIENCE to tell us this. We need studies. Somehow, this is not common sense. Somehow, a control group is needed to help us figure this shit out.

I mean, I guess we should be grateful. This stuff has come so far from the Walk It Off Seventies and the Take A Valium Bitch Eighties. Then, of course, the Prozac Nineties happened, and everyone decided at that point that we were all Enlightened About Mental Illness. But – fun fact – that hasn’t exactly happened yet. We are still treating depression with anti-psychotics. We are still blanketly blaming “the mentally ill” for acts of domestic terrorism. We still have untold numbers of homeless vets with PTSD on the streets.

But things are at least getting better. At least the powers that be in Science care enough to do these studies. Honestly, because of my life experience, it surprises me on a daily basis when people actually and genuinely care about other people when they are not required to by law or rules. I’m used to being abandoned on the reg and in general mistreated (though I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that in specific I’ve had some people be extremely kind). It’s not that I think people are bad. I just don’t expect them to care about me, I guess. And part of that is the treatment I have received because I am mentally ill.

Because no matter how “normal” you may act, when you are mentally ill, people treat you differently. There is an invisible coating of stigma attached to you, a separation between you and the person feeling uneasy around you for reasons having nothing to do with your current behavior. And maybe that stigma is why we still need studies. I don’t know.

I just hope that stigma doesn’t prevent me from getting a job in tech when I have enough coding knowledge under my belt.

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Keep the Channel Open

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” – Martha Graham

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Roughage

I am working like crazy because I’m really hoping that I can save enough to have a little local hotel weekend for my birthday the first week of May. I don’t know if it’s gonna be possible but I’m sure as hell trying. I am burning with determination. So this is why I have not posted. But I shall soon, because I will need a break before I fall over dead (during which I will code and blog and still work, just on other stuff). And so, more when I keel over.

To make this post worthwhile, here is an article talking about how freaking dangerous it is that we don’t get enough fiber. If you are one of the people who doesn’t get enough, it may feel like you have to eat your weight in cabbage or drink weird water with psyllium husk and cellulose in it, or take 8 giant pills throughout the day, not to mention a few voodoo rituals, in order to fulfill your USRDA. There is a way you can get some help with getting enough fiber, however, that’s not a hassle and it’s pretty fucking tasty:

Fiber Advance Gummies. I don’t even like gummies but these things rock. They taste so good it’s hard to stop at the recommended dosage of two. If you read the article – these are fermentable fiber, and so these gummies feed your microbiome. Make the little critters hanging out on your stomach lining happy! (I do not work for this company. I just have some of these on my desk and they are yummy and convenient.)

Okay. Back to the salt mines with me. Imma get me a damn hotel room! I swear it! (I hope…oh I really hope…)

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