February 1st, 2015

2013, cyd, new

My tweets

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2013, cyd, new

Here I am, coming to you sober . . .

No meds that make me wonky right now. A xanax in an hour so I can deal with the getting-Doc-off-to-work thing.

Then some light dishes and cat box scooping.

Then?

What?

Continue scanning journals? Look for printable labels? I have to make the labels myself for the "project". To have them printed would have cost a minimum of $150 for four colors, and I only need two, if that. And that was for way more labels than I needed. At each company I visited, they had an astronomical minimum order, that's why so expensive.

Or I can work on my smashbook. I'm cutting up the bag that LeLu came home in, with the receipt and her name, "LeLu Dallas" on it. He remembered in his grief to use her whole name. Anyway, I'm cutting that part to be the size of my smashbook and putting it in as its own page.

Has sportsball begun yet? Everyone with TVs in the neighborhood in their garages (which I would estimate at about 75%) are making a lot of noise. The day is mild, everyone was out. All dogs put away. I really wasn't feeling well, so I took Chewy on a walk, and I feel much better now. Doc brought home pizza, and it just didn't sit right with me. I really wish I hadn't eaten it.

I told Doc, and he asked if I ate too much. I told him I only had two slices and he went off on the anorexic bird eating habits thing again. As I stared at my pot belly. I'm neither gaining nor losing weight. He should just be happy I'm not all skeletal like I got a couple of years ago when his friends were teasing me all the time and even Mike, that bastard, was teasing me. I'm a little heavier than I was in high school, but no where near as big as I was in college (the second round of college) when an even heavier, dykier version of me turned up in a few issues of Wonder Woman working at a Taco Hut and driving a Jeep. No, that was egg salad and curly fries every day for lunch and white pizza for dinner and lots and lots of beer.

I'm going to switch on my play list and trust it not to fuck me over.

Well, that didn't last long.
2013, cyd, new

An Open Letter to Those I Hurt or Pushed Away

It was for your own good.

How lame does that sound?

I'm not saying I couldn't have handled it better. I certainly could have. If I had known half of what I know now . . . hindsight and all of that. My excuse? If I must put one out there? I was crazy. Certifiably mentally ill. And it was much worse than what any of us knew back then.

All things considered, it's lucky I didn't kill you all. I didn't know what to do with any of you. I had nothing to give, and so much that I needed but couldn't articulate. So I just took what you gave and then bolted. Sometimes with a few ugly scenes to go along with my exit.

There were times I was unmedicated. There were times I was wrongly medicated. I come from a house of dark secrets.

But with what I know now, I know that none of you could have handled me. None of you could have lived with me through this. Even the venerable Jeff Rizzo had to shut the door on me. I was more than a handful and all hot liquid.

As much as I hurt you, or tried to, to drive you away, it was nothing compared to what you would have seen had you stayed.

I found what I think are the only two people on this planet who can handle me. I married one for his private insurance to get help and avoid getting lost in the Medicare psych system. The other lives across the country and we talk twice weekly for an hour or more. And she comes out to visit and decompress about once a year. This is my support system. And they are very special people, with superhuman powers of patience and caring. And they are both good at faking understanding what I am talking about.

They know things, like when to reign me in and when to let me go.

They don't tell me punk is dead. They let me dress up my dog in pleather and black hoodies.

It's all so much more complicated than we assumed it would be in the future. Everyone thought I would grow out of it, but I was just growing into it.

I just want you to know that none of it was your fault. You probably already know that. Most of you probably wrote me off decades ago. But I remembered you. I remembered that I did you wrong but I felt like I was doing the right thing. I was saving you from me by any means necessary,even if meant making you hate the very thought of me for the rest of your life. Better than loving me and watching me nearly drown on several occasions throughout my life, no matter how much you love me or I love you. Mental Illness is a selfish thing, very very selfish, and I've got a corner on the market.

So, that's all. I'm sorry. Blip on your radar. Unblipping now. Thanks for your attention.