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13 years ago
General
I haven't posted any real journals since December, so I figure I may as well, if only to keep anyone who still gives a flaming rat's ass about this dead end butthole of the Internet I inhabit updated.
So, far, this year has been nothing but stress, to the point of me not really bothering to get out of bed on my days off anymore. I find myself wondering if maybe the meds were doing more good than I gave them credit for BY numbing me from the neck up, but considering the stupid shit I'm currently having to deal with that I did while on them, about the only real, tangible benefit I can truly attest to them is the pain-killing side effects they had; sometimes, on the coldest days, I woke up too sore to move now, so I suppose I need to re-learn those pain-management techniques I taught myself back when I was first injured.
Worse, it's like even the tiny spark of creativity I had has gone out now. I feel...cold inside. I have to reignite it. There is no other way of looking at it. It's all I ever had going for me, and I can't let it die without clawing and biting and scratching and fucking FIGHTING until I breathe my last. Otherwise, I may as well die too.
The only thing that keeps me from succumbing to total meltdown is the knowledge of others I care about are going through even worse ordeals, and if they can keep their heads through that, then a little constant, unending grinding on my soul is nothing. I wish I could do more to help them, but I'm in my self-imposed exile here so I can be there for my son, and God knows if there was actually anything I could even do for them anyway.
And my son...it's wrong to live solely for another's benefit, but some days he is the only reason I have to even open my eyes, and half the time I can't even stay awake while he's here. It's such a weird dichotomy...I loathe and despise myself with such passion that the sight of my own reflection fills me with rage and disgust, but I'm still, somehow, convinced deep in the withered, shriveled stone of a heart I have in the sucking cavity of my chest that being here somehow is a benefit to him. I don't get it. I have to pull free of whatever is pulling me under if only so I can show him that he isn't the son of a total failure of a wretch, even if he IS.
Nobody's going to read this, I know. Even those I once called "brothers" don't come here anymore.
So, far, this year has been nothing but stress, to the point of me not really bothering to get out of bed on my days off anymore. I find myself wondering if maybe the meds were doing more good than I gave them credit for BY numbing me from the neck up, but considering the stupid shit I'm currently having to deal with that I did while on them, about the only real, tangible benefit I can truly attest to them is the pain-killing side effects they had; sometimes, on the coldest days, I woke up too sore to move now, so I suppose I need to re-learn those pain-management techniques I taught myself back when I was first injured.
Worse, it's like even the tiny spark of creativity I had has gone out now. I feel...cold inside. I have to reignite it. There is no other way of looking at it. It's all I ever had going for me, and I can't let it die without clawing and biting and scratching and fucking FIGHTING until I breathe my last. Otherwise, I may as well die too.
The only thing that keeps me from succumbing to total meltdown is the knowledge of others I care about are going through even worse ordeals, and if they can keep their heads through that, then a little constant, unending grinding on my soul is nothing. I wish I could do more to help them, but I'm in my self-imposed exile here so I can be there for my son, and God knows if there was actually anything I could even do for them anyway.
And my son...it's wrong to live solely for another's benefit, but some days he is the only reason I have to even open my eyes, and half the time I can't even stay awake while he's here. It's such a weird dichotomy...I loathe and despise myself with such passion that the sight of my own reflection fills me with rage and disgust, but I'm still, somehow, convinced deep in the withered, shriveled stone of a heart I have in the sucking cavity of my chest that being here somehow is a benefit to him. I don't get it. I have to pull free of whatever is pulling me under if only so I can show him that he isn't the son of a total failure of a wretch, even if he IS.
Nobody's going to read this, I know. Even those I once called "brothers" don't come here anymore.
Hang in there, stay strong, it will be rewarded one day.
Still, I keep myself going despite how crappy it's been for me too, I try my best not to complain, because truthfully in the end, I've nothing to complain about. I keep going knowing that one say all the effort I'm making, however little it is, will pay off big time. It's the same for everyone no matter what the conditions one is going through.
Even now, I really wish I could help you more directly, I'd love nothing more than to be able to do SOMETHING for you, man. But I can't... not as I am right now at least. I'd do more harm than good in my current condition.
All the same, I pray that you can make it through, despite the hardships. :) I'll be behind ya, as useless as it may be for me to say.
As for reigniting the creative spark, I don't know what to tell you. Everybody seems to have their own method of doing so; I'm still trying to find one myself. But I'm glad to know you're not just giving up on it. You brought up the idea of starting a tumblr for one of your girls a while ago; do you think that might help you get back into the swing of things?
ALSO BECAUSE I AM AN ASSHOLE
^1: your motivations are bad and you should feel bad.
^2: yes, talking about how sorry you feel for yourself. THIS is how to make people feel better about life.
^3: it's like you're handing him a gun and saying "i understand, just tough it out".
I know I can't claim to know what you're going through or having to deal with, but the simple fact you can give yourself a reason to keep going means you have something worth living for. Hang on to it, and I know you'll find more as time goes on. And hey, you've known me all these years. If there's something you need to get off your chest, I'm always willing to listen :)
"They're just being nice"
I also, as with many people who comment, wish I could do more to help. Honestly. I was so happy to see you come out of the funk of the drugs with a positive (well for you anyway XD) attitude, and determination.
Your son spending time with you MEANS you have something live and fight tooth and nail for. If he really thought the same of you as you do, I bet he really wouldn't be there, no matter what anyone said to "force" him. Its going to hard as shit, because I bet you're fighting your own anatomy at this point (the brain can be a beautiful and yet hideous thing).
I'm always going to care, and I always read your updates. It may not be someone in your life, and it may not be someone who can (or you'd want to) help you directly, but someone does care.
If this helps in any small way at all, its worth any amount of time I could spend reading and leaving this for you.
1. For your lack of creativity: When you find the time, turn off the interenet and the tv, sit yourself down in front of your desk with a paper and piece of paper on it and just draw. Something. Anything. Whatever pops into your head, draw it. Porn, no porn, good, bad, doesn't matter what it is or how good it is, just draw something for the sake of drawing something. Even if it ends up being utter crap, it's something. Hell, you can just doodle.
2. As for your pain: Yeah. You need to re-learn those exercises. Start small at first, then work your way up from there.
Hopefully I was helpful today. Probably wasn't.