This is what I wrote down my first night in hospital in my room. It is rambling. It repeats points. It might not make for the most interesting reading, but I’m putting it here to show just where I was starting from. The bottom, the part where I couldn’t adult anymore. So yeah, head’s up. It’s was rough to write and then type up.
CN: Ableist terms. I apologize in the light of doing a lot better.
So, I’m here
I finally stopped just letting the suffering come and go and I’m in the wacko warden.
They took my phone away.
I cried like a baby. Weird, killing myself got me like “Meh” but no phone? No connection. No LIFE.
Who am I kidding? I wasn’t really engaging this week. Not a personal level. Everything was Meh. I didn’t even care enough to share before my phone went poof!
Fuck, I need that thing. What am I gonna do? Even now, I can hear the voices of the others, and I want them gone. Away, drowned out by the sound of my world. B.A.P. making me want to kick ass, Shinee making me wanna dance.
Fuck, is someone chewing? Crunch, crunch, fuck me, this is gonna be a hard one to deal with *. People laughing, people talking, people EXISTING. Fucking people. Fuck people.
I hate their noises and smells and sounds. All day surrounded by people, existing with their noises and sounds. Happy people at the mall, sick people in the ER. Fuck me, I hate this.
At least my room is private for now. No one tries to talk or make friendly back.
I want my dog. Or my heart. Need to Don to bring my heart. Not AIDS **. AIDS isn’t squishy. Not dog. Dog too fluffy. Heart to squeeze.
I want my kitty. Weasel, I’m sorry. Your human is a little, or a lot, crazy. I’m your fuzzy butt wasn’t enough to keep me going. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, SWW***. I’m not very strong, and my mind’s timing is shit. I can’t be the super awesome activist I want to be, that people say I am. I rant about injustices in the world because I can’t do fuck all about the injustices inside my skin. Rant about that is whining. No one likes a whiner.
I’ve kept myself from imposing my emotional shit on others. I didn’t talk when it really counted. They deserved that, and I deserve no more weak, useless platitudes. Everything isn’t going to be alright, and I have to get that now. Nothing is fine, the world is fucked. Allies care more about their feelings and “honor” over the lives of the downtrodden and minorities. Who can you trust? Who will turn next? Who will prove to be the next “former” ally? It’s maddening. Troubling. Pissed-offening.
So the world sucks, I suck, the system sucks, now what? What’s the fucking point of going on?
Why not just stare at the walls and drool until the end? What’s the point? What am I doing here? Why did I agree to come? Nothing will come of it. Nothing ever comes of it.
I miss Don already. He gives no fucks and that’s amazing. He’s a grown man who doesn’t need me, not like I need him.
I miss Weasel already. Little whiny bastard. I love him so much, the fucker. This bed is wrong. Smells wrong, feels wrong. No soft sheets and warm man and warm cat and me trying to fit between. I want earplugs. This is hell already. Movies I gave no shit about, groups I give no shit about, activities I give no shit about and I WANT MY PHONE!!!
I want screens, I need screens, I need that separation from the world and it’s noises and faces and presence. I need it. I feel naked without it. Without them. Eyes and voices can attack me, ravages me, flay me open with no protection now. I don’t like this.
They don’t understand and I can’t make them understand. Screens save me, make me good, gives me something to focus on.
Now, I write. My hand aches but what else am I gonna do? Watch Divergent? Make awkward “what are you in for?” conversation with strangers?
I don’t know!
So I write. Let it out. Let it go someplace where no one can respond or reach our with understanding. My screen tribe of weridos and freaks who also can’t handle the world as it. They “Like” and comment and acknowledge my struggle. Those moments when I feel that I’m not even human, when my human skin buckles under pressures and ME wants out. Whoever that is, it’s ME and human bodies are weird and hard to operate and other humans are dull and the wrong sort of weird. The sad sort of weird.
Wait. Maybe I’m the said sort of weird.
“Normal” people don’t struggle with pain that makes them weary. They don’t have thoughts that ravage their minds, that tell them how they don’t belong. How there is no point in continuing because everything you try to do is shit.
Normal people work.
Normal people have friends in meatspace.
Normal people get married
Normal people have kids.
Normal people have normal worries, like mortgages and retirement and now to get or keep good credit and now to give Junior the best start in life.
They don’t sit in a looney bin, bereft of plans. They don’t tremble at the thought of groups. A conversation on a bus isn’t a terror for them. Nope. Normal people can walk and run and stand in lines for hours. Normal people love concerts and crowds. Normal people love parties. Normal people don’t think they were not human ever, because they are normal.
I’m not normal.
I’m barely human.
I don’t deserve to be treated as one.
Look at the Fatus Freakus.
Beware her barely washed hair tentacles.
Behold the stench that wafts throughout her body, the scent of lazy exhaustion.
Careful, her soul sucking toothless maw will spit out the horrible curses every mother warned you about.
Fret not, though. This Eldritch horror is easily contained.
Just set a screen in front of it, and watch it aim itself harmlessly.
Just don’t touch it.
Or crowd it.
Or try to speak to it.
The Eldritch troll woman. That’s me.
WHAT’S THE POINT OF EVERYTHING!!
*Misophonia (sound sensitivity) is a pain in the everything. Even the nurses had no clue what it was and looked it the fuck up. Finally I got earplugs the next day.
**AIDS the plush bacteria. Don got it for me the last time we went to the science museum.
***Secular Women Work, local kick ass conference that happened August 21-23. I was supposed to be doing a couple of workshops and a panel. I made it.