Today has been a good and peaceful Sunday, 31 October 2010. After having been down in a post-vertigo-attack sleep of well over one hundred hours, I felt awake this morning, and was really not going back to bed. The certainty of this carried on with me the remainder of the day and am now well into the night.
With the back and at him's, that I am up and at 'em...the gloom and despair stirs and surrounds my very being with this draining of my energy, as when water drains into a gutter...I am exhausted yet my body pushes me on. I press rewind on my mind's VCR and watch and listen to the life I have had for the past three years...lots of other stuff has stirred too. I am trying to be so positive, but this bad medicine is sickening.
...I called the 211, last night. I don't remember the time. I just knew I needed to connect with some other human/person/spirit and listen to a different voice of reason. My bride was sound asleep, as were my daughters. I am not comfortable with the idea of waking them for Daddy's Issues, dig? Amy, thank you for listening.
Even though today is Sunday, I called both my therapist and my psychiatrist. Was able to speak with my therapist, Sir Dude. Listening and hearing his voice disengaged some energies growing uglier by the minute within. That's so not me...I am the one folks call whenever their lives hit pot holes on the Trail! Anyways, Sir Dude will call me in the morning to go over openings for a quick git'er done! I know it's the right thing to do. Just as it is the same with seeing my Dr. Psych. Sir Dude, thanks for listening!
My P.T. Lady called and confirmed tomorrow's therapy for the "physical" me. Exercise and balance/coordination exercises. I am looking very forward to this visit. Last week's vertigo attack was the first to erase an entire week of appointments. For this I am embarrassed. What is there for me to say? Are my utterances even heard? ...
Before I type much more, let me share a memory with you, real quick. I failed my first year of Grade Two. Right here in Tampa. I was diagnosed as being a "hyper-active" child...and sedated. Immediately. A real live child on adult medications. It was also right about this time I developed asthma, which required daily injections and pills and tablets...
...See, this whole process is something that runs through my veins...the poisoning began bleeding decades ago. Look, folks back then didn't communicate too fucking much. Or read, because I must have been a pretty good candidate for the Boy Poster Child with respect to being the sexually abused/raped/incested child that was screaming for help. But no one listened...no body heard, because these folks did not have ears. Nor eyes, because I dared not speak it; but shit, I sure was a silent screamer...had to be, you see.
I bring up the medicines of early childhood because I think it important to see how far I have not come from childhood. I never took pills/tabs/capsules for recreation. I didn't have to. I begin to open up about the life I have lived and am living and the life I want to live, because I suspect somehow, maybe even on a DNA level, all of this is related, somehow connected. Yes, I do.
Today was a wonderful day to be alive and it would've been just as wonderful a day to die.
I'm just being honest, en'he?
Walking The Path...
No comments:
Post a Comment