(no subject)
Small wins, a little gold star mentally totted up for the components of a day: get out of bed, one gold star. Put on clothes, another. Take all the meds (not just the ones without which my balance is pummelled) another. Eat decently, two stars.
Tell a friend that shit's gone southwards: all the stars. Because that's harder than doing dishes or showering, which, if you want to be frank about it, nobody's going to notice if I skip.
Last month I got a bad flu bug at the same time as a wave of blue-bad-brain hit, and I couldn't look after myself very well (or really, at all) and I still don't really have an Action Plan! in place for if it happens again. All I can tell you is that one sunny day, I seemed to turn a corner- did a month of laundry, weeks of dishes, tidied a bit, and felt like a normal and likeable person.
It didn't last, but it was nice.
Today is not bad. Last night, I visited Luna and her traveling companion in town from the UK: wine and gin and cheese were had, jokes were told, and I made a fine drawing. It was really decent human contact. And before that, feeling really disconnected and about to bail from the co-work, my crushable friend noticed and invited me to chat. Which I did, and which helped- he has a gift for connection.
So these things, these human moments, propelled me into the next day with a buoyant heart which even the rain couldn't weigh down. I acquired some small needful tech, upgraded my art gallery membership, treated myself to Chinese pastries for a late lunch, made contact at work with Kumar re: an outing tomorrow. Honestly I don't know if this is two work colleagues taking some time off together or if it's a... you know... a date. Time will tell, I'm not fussed either way.
It's past twilight now, fully dark outside- the workspace is mostly empty, but I'm still typing away while listening to fun techno music and sneaking bites of egg tart. Home soon, to cook up those fish cakes I brought home in my luggage from visiting my mom. (Yes, they were frozen.)
Oh, well, okay. There is a memory from yesterday that should be preserved.
I went to the hospital pharmacy to pick up a prescription that's been ready for a few days. It's the cancer-be-gone drug, the one with all the side effects, but I have to take it for at least another five years. It's not particularly expensive. But it is something that only cancer patients should come in contact with: a pharmacist told me that they prefer it sealed in blister packs, because otherwise counting them out involves gloved protection.
There was a bright pink sticker on the pharmacy receipt: COMPLIANCE. I was asked to speak with a pharmacist, who introduced me to a student (nurse? doctor? pharmacist?) who was shadowing her. This is a teaching hospital. I'm always glad to help contribute to the education of the next generation of healthcare providers.
"It looks like you haven't been taking them very regularly," said the pharmacist. "Are you getting any supplies somewhere else?"
"No," I replied.
"You know that it's important to take this every day so that it's at peak strength?"
"Yes, but I don't really care."
"You mean...?"
"I mean, I don't really care if I die. But thank you for checking up on me."
The student maintained her professionally neutral smile, just like the pharmacist. But I don't know what they were really thinking. I don't always know what I am, for that matter.
How to explain? It's not that I actively want to die. Not at all. It just seems so pointlessly difficult to stay alive, sometimes.
But that was yesterday. Today I'm thinking about dinner, looking forward to the new season of iZombie, I have tickets to treat Kumar to the AGO tomorrow. I have a gig on Sunday. And in a little while I'll walk home and my big comfy bed will be waiting.
Tell a friend that shit's gone southwards: all the stars. Because that's harder than doing dishes or showering, which, if you want to be frank about it, nobody's going to notice if I skip.
Last month I got a bad flu bug at the same time as a wave of blue-bad-brain hit, and I couldn't look after myself very well (or really, at all) and I still don't really have an Action Plan! in place for if it happens again. All I can tell you is that one sunny day, I seemed to turn a corner- did a month of laundry, weeks of dishes, tidied a bit, and felt like a normal and likeable person.
It didn't last, but it was nice.
Today is not bad. Last night, I visited Luna and her traveling companion in town from the UK: wine and gin and cheese were had, jokes were told, and I made a fine drawing. It was really decent human contact. And before that, feeling really disconnected and about to bail from the co-work, my crushable friend noticed and invited me to chat. Which I did, and which helped- he has a gift for connection.
So these things, these human moments, propelled me into the next day with a buoyant heart which even the rain couldn't weigh down. I acquired some small needful tech, upgraded my art gallery membership, treated myself to Chinese pastries for a late lunch, made contact at work with Kumar re: an outing tomorrow. Honestly I don't know if this is two work colleagues taking some time off together or if it's a... you know... a date. Time will tell, I'm not fussed either way.
It's past twilight now, fully dark outside- the workspace is mostly empty, but I'm still typing away while listening to fun techno music and sneaking bites of egg tart. Home soon, to cook up those fish cakes I brought home in my luggage from visiting my mom. (Yes, they were frozen.)
Oh, well, okay. There is a memory from yesterday that should be preserved.
I went to the hospital pharmacy to pick up a prescription that's been ready for a few days. It's the cancer-be-gone drug, the one with all the side effects, but I have to take it for at least another five years. It's not particularly expensive. But it is something that only cancer patients should come in contact with: a pharmacist told me that they prefer it sealed in blister packs, because otherwise counting them out involves gloved protection.
There was a bright pink sticker on the pharmacy receipt: COMPLIANCE. I was asked to speak with a pharmacist, who introduced me to a student (nurse? doctor? pharmacist?) who was shadowing her. This is a teaching hospital. I'm always glad to help contribute to the education of the next generation of healthcare providers.
"It looks like you haven't been taking them very regularly," said the pharmacist. "Are you getting any supplies somewhere else?"
"No," I replied.
"You know that it's important to take this every day so that it's at peak strength?"
"Yes, but I don't really care."
"You mean...?"
"I mean, I don't really care if I die. But thank you for checking up on me."
The student maintained her professionally neutral smile, just like the pharmacist. But I don't know what they were really thinking. I don't always know what I am, for that matter.
How to explain? It's not that I actively want to die. Not at all. It just seems so pointlessly difficult to stay alive, sometimes.
But that was yesterday. Today I'm thinking about dinner, looking forward to the new season of iZombie, I have tickets to treat Kumar to the AGO tomorrow. I have a gig on Sunday. And in a little while I'll walk home and my big comfy bed will be waiting.