I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.
A ride in an ambulance, trip to the ER, nausea meds, shot in the ass, X-ray, and IV-drip later, and I'm back on my back. Things got really complicated when I fell prey to some horrific stomach virus. A stomach virus when you're virtually immobile is pretty much a nightmare, logistically and otherwise. Think about it. Or don't--I'm trying to forget.
I'm home now, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration, and a lot of confusion.
Various people, all well-meaning, each a love in my life, have told me that I need to "stress less." And to "take it easy." And that "these things [I'm] worrying about are all temporary and easily fixed." To "remember the big picture." To "be grateful for the good things."
It's the worst kind of advice, the kind that asks you to tinker with your machinery, to be ______. If it was "drink less coffee" or "try not to stay up so late," I would have a better chance of following it. Not that I would follow it, but I could. I could physically not put cups of coffee in my mouth and I could physically climb into bed a few hours earlier.
But how to change the intangibles? I can't help that mountains of boxes make me feel physically weak and emotionally overwhelmed. I can't help that it takes me three hours to make a decision about which drawer is best suited for the "big utensils." I can't help that I regret nearly every action I complete, re-do the action, and then realize that it was better the first way. What I'm thinking is, I'm pretty much okay in my labyrinth of obsessions, undoings, misdoings, unyieldings, and wrongs. It's when that labyrinth gets audited by the map of others, that it seems to go cruel, vengeful. See how normal people do it? What you are doing is not normal. And then my loved ones feel sort of bad for me, and also sort of horrified by me.
I'm the worst kind of patient, an abuser. I hate needing help. "Help" means that you are obliged to accept it as it is, openly, gratefully. "Help" means "someone else's way." And I prefer, too much, my way. Even as a beggar. Even when I feel like I actually may be dying. A light bulb was supposed to come on, that didn't.
*
I wrote this last night. Today I'm walking around, cronish. Please and thank you.
I'm home now, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration, and a lot of confusion.
Various people, all well-meaning, each a love in my life, have told me that I need to "stress less." And to "take it easy." And that "these things [I'm] worrying about are all temporary and easily fixed." To "remember the big picture." To "be grateful for the good things."
It's the worst kind of advice, the kind that asks you to tinker with your machinery, to be ______. If it was "drink less coffee" or "try not to stay up so late," I would have a better chance of following it. Not that I would follow it, but I could. I could physically not put cups of coffee in my mouth and I could physically climb into bed a few hours earlier.
But how to change the intangibles? I can't help that mountains of boxes make me feel physically weak and emotionally overwhelmed. I can't help that it takes me three hours to make a decision about which drawer is best suited for the "big utensils." I can't help that I regret nearly every action I complete, re-do the action, and then realize that it was better the first way. What I'm thinking is, I'm pretty much okay in my labyrinth of obsessions, undoings, misdoings, unyieldings, and wrongs. It's when that labyrinth gets audited by the map of others, that it seems to go cruel, vengeful. See how normal people do it? What you are doing is not normal. And then my loved ones feel sort of bad for me, and also sort of horrified by me.
I'm the worst kind of patient, an abuser. I hate needing help. "Help" means that you are obliged to accept it as it is, openly, gratefully. "Help" means "someone else's way." And I prefer, too much, my way. Even as a beggar. Even when I feel like I actually may be dying. A light bulb was supposed to come on, that didn't.
*
I wrote this last night. Today I'm walking around, cronish. Please and thank you.
4:02 PM
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