Perception vs Reality

By appearances it would seem I’m doing quite well – I’ve even received correspondence congratulating me for same – but the truth is, I am doing so far from well that the light from the planet Well would take several million light years to reach me. But you know, I do not know of anyone who has a Complaining Fetish, so I can’t really make a lot of Truthful Posts about the condition of my innards and outtards (yes, I just made that word up) and say honestly that hey, I am in severe pain, on an almost completely liquid diet now because of my teeth, I live in poverty, I have termites and black mold, no bed, really really need that dental work more and more by the day, live in abject fear they are going to raise my rent beyond my means and I will be homeless, and spend most of my days just trying to hang on to life by my fingernails mentally and physically, that I battle the living fuck out of mental illness and it battles me right back, I can’t really make every single post about all the nightmares and the new special nightmare meds I have to take that are supposed to knock out my REM sleep that I’m scared to take, or the flashbacks or the voices or any of that shit, or that I’m being sued by my mother’s mortgage company for a reverse mortgage I was not even involved in, because that’s not very sexy, is it?

But since this isn’t my “other blog”, the one that I run that helps me to stay afloat, again honestly here, and very barely, I might add – lest anyone think that is some sort of nest of abundance over there, it’s not, it’s a lot of effort for very very little return – I thought I would pony up with some reality today and speak the truth, the meaningless, meaningless truth. Lest I give the impression that I live in the lap of luxury or that I have it easy in some way.

Okay, no, wait. There is an easy part. Keeping honest here. The easy part about this, and i am grateful for this, I assure you, is that no one is actively beating me up right now. I am so grateful for that. For most of my life I did not have that assurance of safety. Safety is like what wash and fold is to Jerry Seinfeld – a delight. A delight and joy to sit here and not feel like any second I could get punched. I will say that. So okay, in that sense, I do have it easy. I have it easy as hell and I am so grateful. Of course, now that I realize the absence of an attack, I am uneasy and expectant of an attack. Nice trick, PTSD brain. Thanks for spoiling the moment. Things like that occur in my circuitry all day and prevent a lot of things from moving along in a timely reaction. Things like being grateful for something and then having the feeling of gratitude followed by some sort of abject panic or terror. My wiring is all fucked up.

And of course the fucked wiring and the living conditions do sadly go hand in hand. Crazy doesn’t get the deluxe apartment in the sky-high-high unless Crazy inherits it. And this Crazy did not inherit anything except a legacy of suffering, so… yeah.

And then there are the holidays in your face, and except for the chronically, demonically abusive persons I have disconnected from, who I am not actually related to anyway, I have no family at all. Zip zero nada.  World, Table for one.  So now my roommate and my buddy and my other buddy are my family. And of course my cats.

tina dancingSo, the point of all this twofold. The first fold of it:  just to be honest and real and say hey, this is what is true at this moment. And the second: In case you don’t have family, or your life isn’t freakin’ perfect either, maybe you will feel better about things now, because maybe you have a really nice bed and you’ll be like, hey, at least I’m not this sorry ass bitch sleeping on a futon! I have the best bed, I rule! And it might make you feel better? Or you might be, yeah, my brain does that shit too, the hell? And relating with someone else’s brain might be cool? There might be some positive that could come out of this, is what I am hoping.

Or, you know, someone could be a dick about it and send me playground taunts, YOU AIN’T GOT NO BED, BITCH! YOU AIN’T GOT NO BED, BITCH! and then I’ll cry myself to sleep in the middle of the day while half-watching something on a basic channel cause YOU AIN’T GOT NO CABLE, BITCH! YOU AIN’T GOT NO CABLE, BITCH! Because clearly, cable is the largest of my concerns.

Nah, nothing anyone can taunt me with will hurt me any more than my teeth hurt me. I know this for a fact. I also have confidence that no one reading this is a dick. I should have said that at the very first.

Anyway. The next post is going to go into Non-Complain mode and we shall continue from there. I may even endeavor to say something that is of some use to someone or something somewhere.

Note: When I did spell-check for this, spell-check recommended “POTSDAM” for PTSD. What the hell is a POTSDAM? Reminds me of pot stickers and the Hoover Dam. I’m simple like that.

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