You do NOT have to change who you are to fit in with some silly internet community. Internet communities and their circlejerks come and go, and there's no reason to waste time trying to make a single one of those people happy unless it's making you happy, too.
I woke up this morning at like 6 and it took over 2 hours for the pain medication to do anything.
During that time, I reminisced about Countdown to Destruction... and how it felt to be a 13 year old who had never experienced real loss before. Man, I was so not remotely prepared for that ending. At. All.
My dad was just like he is now, and he had joked in the weeks before the finale, "I'm sure that spiky green guy will take off his helmet and he'll be all blond and dreamy, and then he and the princess of darkness chick will run off to Malibu together." He might have even said that Ecliptor would look like Leonardo DiCaprio. *snort*
And yes! Thirteen year old me really believed that would happen! Because it's POWER RANGERS, they wouldn't just randomly kill this incredibly sympathetic character who has spent all season redeeming himself again and again. This is Power Rangers, a show for kids. No one ever DIES. Especially not flawless spiky green guy Ecliptor.
So yeah. THEN THEY KILL FLAWLESS SPIKY GREEN GUY ECLIPTOR. Like this kids show from the 90s was Game of Thrones or something! You really can't imagine how shocking that was.
While renewing my insurance, I noticed that at this time last year, my income was $1400/month.
As of right now, it's exactly half that.
The next couple of months are going to be HILARIOUS!
And what has shifted in my mind where it's NOT my first impulse anymore? Why did it make so much sense for so long and why doesn't it make sense now? And when it makes sense again, what will I do?
The Star Trek TOS ep, "The Enemy Within", played a few days ago. That is one fucking accurate portrayal of bipolar. Especially the "evil", manic Kirk who did not care that he was going to kill himself if he kept attacking the other Kirk. "Good" Kirk yelling at him that "(he) can't hurt (him), they're connected!" and evil Kirk is all LOL LIKE I CARE. I related to that episode on a scary level. I suppose a lot of bipolar people do. Especially the self-harming/self-sabotaging ones.
But, damn. Why the fuck didn't McCoy relieve BOTH Kirks of duty. I mean if there was ever a time for it. God almighty.
I got back around a thousand. What? A thousand? Don't most people have big Roth IRAs with contributions in the tens of thousands by now? Did I NEVER actually contribute?
No, I didn't. No I fucking didn't because I was a goddamned idiot and I used the money intended for IRA contributions to pay bills. Now it's too late. Now it's too fucking late.
So I can either pay one card off entirely and mess around with teensy payments for the others, or do teensy payments for all of them. Or I could take the whole shebang and just write a check directly to the Minnesota Cremation Society.
Ha ha, suicide joke! I'm kidding! No, I really am. I need to see who wins president in 2016. But that's about it, I'm not even gonna lie.
But then I mixed klonopin with excedrin and didn't eat a damn thing all day so I was actually really feeling good. Pain wasn't even too bad (though my equilibrium was really off). So I was like dancing on a cloud of drug and NONE OF THIS SHIT MATTERED for awhile. And October seemed nice and friendly like it did when I was a kid. Not cruel and menacing like it does now. October and I used to be pals. Really.
I could teach Ralph de Bricassart a thing about how to stop wanting.
Take that feeling. That precious and rare feeling. Shove it down, into a hole. Deprive it of light, of heat, of air. Crush it down. Bury it alive. IGNORE IT WHEN IT SCREAMS.
Do this over and over again until... Well, until its subdued. Nothing but a brief blip on the radar every so often that you quickly take care of by dulling it with drugs or distractions.
Eventually, you will be too damn dead and afraid to ever want anything again, you dapper motherfucker.
Had an appointment with Kumar, I feel like he's not really listening. Of course there's only so much another person can do when I go in there crying and talking about the despair and hopelessness, and then I just go silent because... is it a self-fulfilling prophecy that I will absolutely grow suicidal in winter again? Who knows. But I just didn't say anything more because fuck it.
You can TELL when a doctor has never had mental health issues or been suicidal, you can TELL because the way they talk about your emotions and actions are so... abstract. So theoretical. And there's so much detachment.
I almost asked him about the thing on my leg, how it's STILL not completely healed, but that probably wouldn't have been a good idea. :/ Even though it's been since August 3 or something, he might have flipped out.
I mean, jesus, literally EVERY time I go to the doctor, I feel like if I'm really honest with him, he'd have no choice but to put me in the hospital again. And that's not a great position to be in when I have things I need to do at home even if I AM thinking about ways to hurt myself while I'm doing them.
But while I was at the doctor, staring at the ceiling and crying, I wondered if I am just being really stupid about this and if I shouldn't just ASK that certain person to do that certain thing which would take away one of my major problems. Even if the consequences would be really bad. It seemed to make sense at that moment.
I go in and I don't remember ANY of the bullshit from 1997-2003 when we had to come visit Grandma and deal with all THAT misery. I go in and I think, "This is my dad's room. And before that, many many years ago, it was my Grandma's room where she would bring me in to take a nap."
I remember how calm and serene it was. The birds eating from the bird feeders, the (then) pretty wallpaper that I could just get lost in. Once (or twice) we watched one of those Muppet Babies storybook VHS tapes. The one where Fozzie couldn't sleep, because that one was my favorite. Her dresser was so neat and organized. She opened a drawer and there were all kinds of tapes, all nice in a row. She was very organized when she was younger.
And the room was always SO pretty and airy, despite being small. I loved it so much when I was a kid.
That is what I think of when I go into the bedroom and see Boy taking a nap on the bed. I do sometimes think of the time in 2008 that I went in there and sobbed next to Momo, because I knew that when summer ended, something would change. Something irreplaceable would be gone. It turned out to be Momo.
I remember that, but that's not what immediately comes to mind when I sit down next to the great big cow-spotted cat and put out my hand for him to sniff. It's not sadness and loss that I project, it's calm and nostalgia. So he actually lets me pet him (a LITTLE) and everything is good for a little while.
First they changed the opening so it didn't have the clips of the previous anchors. That was bad enough. But even if they brought that back... THEY COULDN'T bring it back because the last anchor before Lester Holt was a fucking liar who RUINED EVERYTHING. So, yeah.
I never watched NBC news but I was comfortable in the knowledge that the closest thing to Peter Jennings out there was OUT THERE, doing his thing. He was Jon Stewart's friend. He would have had a HUGE role in the sequel to The Wrath of Romney, I swear I had huge plans for him. He, Jon and Stephen were going to be the big 3 (lol...?) standing up for truth, justice and the American way. Them mofos was gonna save the WORLD. Together.
BUT IT ALL WAS BULLSHIT
IT WAS A GODDAMN JOKE, etc.
Oh well, I actually feel a little better after crying about something other than my own emotional bullshit/financial ruin. I do much better when I'm crying about incredibly stupid bullshit that ultimately doesn't matter a hill of beans (cartoons, network news, that kind of thing).