December 10th, 2006

2013, cyd, new

(no subject)

i dreamt of the hospital last night and didn't want to wake up. my back had other ideas.

i need to sleep on the other side of the bed for a while.

i plan to go back to sleep, back to the dream, as soon as the pain relievers kick in and my back stops hurting. i'm almost there.

i spent all of yesterday in my room with doc. we watched the Librarian movies on TNT and then watched Gangs of New York. it was nice to spend the day close to him. we really have become distant since kelli got here. it's no one's fault, it's just happened that way. i've been trying to give him time to himself. yesterday i just felt like i needed to be around him.

aside from cleaning the litterbox and sleeping a bit more, i have no plans for the day and i kind of like it.

one thing i will do is try to get the clothing disaster in my room taken care of. i'm starting to fear the piles of clothes.
2013, cyd, new

(no subject)

what kind of person would i be if i let go all the guilt, shame and fear? would i be happier? i think so. these things stand as forboding signs in my psyche. they make me veer away from certain thoughts and they seem to hang off of me. they have been my constant companions through all the years. would i miss them? they are so familiar, so much a part of me. and i wonder what kind of person i would be without them around. i am surrounded by security and safety and still can't or won't let them go. my brain always has a hung dog look to it and i don't want it anymore.

would i get things done? would my words and art come back to me? are those three haunting things even what keeps me silent creatively? something is.

i'm on my meds and i take them daily and they make me feel better but not best. i'm happier, but i'm not producing any art or poetry. and i miss that rush i get when i finish something that says all i want to say. or all i need to say at that time. i look at my materials and draw a blank. there are things that need to be done before i can even think of art. there are messes to clean up and things to be done.

but should i look at my art as a reward for doing something constructive, or is it a gift in itself? something that needs to be done to get the feelings out of me.

i've been holding in my feelings. trying to behave and be stable. and so much of my time is wrapped up in that . . . effort expended so i don't sit and rock back and forth, so i keep my voice even, so i appear normal.

what is in the halls of the psych hospital that i keep dreaming of it? what is my brain trying to tell me? why must it be so cryptic?

and why do fear, shame and guilt follow me around and haunt my every thought? surely these things are better left by the side of the road. they aren't things that i need and i wish i could take them out to the desert and dig a hole for them.