Hey Man, You’re a Real Bummer

November 10, 2011

Hello Sexy Beasts!

Yes you…

For a number of years I’ve been fighting against my situation, fighting to stay positive, fighting to stay in the game. It’s been hard. The stress has been off the charts.

Well, not so much off the charts as I made the original chart-makers go back to the drawing board to fashion all new charts. Ones that could more accurately reflect my off the chart levels, in the hopes that once again, my levels would be chart-able.

It was folly from the outset. First you’d need a pencil twice the size of Donald Trumps ego… right there I should have known it wasn’t possible, how does one go about doubling infinity? Can’t be done.

Charting is over-rated anyway. It should be enough to just say “off the chart” – no need for further hyperbole. And listen here that in and of itself is a major step because hyperbole is my wheel house. Exaggeration and I are no strangers, we actually used to room together back before I met sarcasm and then for a while the three of us had this weird triangle open relationship thing going on…

Since then I’ve been pretty monogamous with sarcasm, although there have been more late night hyperbole booty calls than I’d care to admit…

I guess what really got to me was the way all these different speech patterns and writing “tools” I used so well before, went on hiatus. My head went on a sort of self-imposed strike. It’s still not really 100% back up to speed. Although it’s more of a half-hearted job-action now than a full-blown strike.

The mind is capable of inestimable heights and equally dizzying depths. I’m not saying I’m depressed although I’m sure there are elements of that, I assume my sub-conscious has been shooting up signal flares for months and months, trying to warn the rest of me. But I remained blissfully ignorant of the brewing calamity, going about the daily drudgery of my existence… apparently I’m channeling Dickens at the moment…

Ok, long story short, I kind of short circuited. Where once my idea cup runneth over, now I was struggling to make even the simplest of decisions – what to have for lunch for example. I would feel hungry, start the process of trying to think of something to have and before I knew it – it was dinner time. Hours would just disappear. I had become exceptionally talented at feigning enthusiasm, but I couldn’t muster the wherewithal to even do that.

I didn’t want to watch tv, or read… even the violent baby animal rape porn didn’t interest me anymore. Everything annoyed me, more than usual. Family annoyed me, daytime annoyed me, night as well – noise annoyed me, silence was worse. It was a most peculiar state of being put-out or aggravated by absolutely everything. Pillows on the couch didn’t look right. The lint on my sock was a criminal violation.

It’s like someone slipped me the red pill from the matrix, but rather than wake me up to the artifice surrounding us, all it did was intensify the negative aspects of absolutely everything. I think honestly it was how a true psychopath must feel throughout their lives. Nothing really matters. People, don’t matter, feelings, don’t matter – working, what’s the point. My girls were the occasional shaft of light stabbing into the darkness, but even they were not immune.

Their lack of ambition, their happy-go-lucky positive attitude (which I’d half-killed myself carefully constructing for them, since the day we first met) was at times, maddening. How could they not see how cruddy thing were, was I ever that oblivious to the dirty, self-centered hordes sleep-walking through their lives?

Ok well this has all gotten incredibly dark and more than a little woe-is-me to go on much longer, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to read this but… it’s the truth.

I’ll come out of it, I always do – but my goodness it sure can be lonely out here in space sometimes.

No word on any of the medical stuff, still waiting, waiting, always waiting. Still occasional bleeds for no reason, heart is almost constantly in a state of spastic-jitterbuging. My sincere hope none of you ever have to feel the sense of unrelenting unbalance that is my constant companion. Resting heart rate is north of 118 BPM… if you’re up for it, just run around your backyard until you get your heart up to 120, then when you’ve got it there , quickly lie down and try to nap. Or read a book, or concentrate on something. I’m betting you can’t. That’s where I am all the time, and as if the speed isn’t enough, now add in whatever the complete opposite of rhythm is, so I have the ridiculous speed and double beats, skipped beats, faster staccato runs, immediate followed by deep pounding beats where you can see the throb in my feet with each pulse.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, and again and again until someday when I’m better… I would very much like for this to be over now. Please and Thank You.

Take a minute on Remembrance day – to remember — you know – it’s like, right there in the name, once upon a time people fought and died so I could be this miserable in my blissful democratic freedom.