Mother Marijuana and Pollyfuckinganna.

Every morning, when I open my eyes and I slip out of the cozy comforts of dreamland (I always have great dreams) and crash to the hard floor of reality, I tell myself, “Go, get up, you can do this.  Go find something fun.  Something to give you pleasure, something to bump your dopemine.  There will be something in this day to make it worth getting out of this bed.  Even if it’s just to smoke weed.  You love weed.”

Every morning.

Weed never fails unless of course, I’m out.  Out of pot.  Nightmare.

This admission reeks of sad and pathetic.  First that I have to give myself a pep talk Stuart Smiley Style just to get out of bed.  Sad.  Second, pleasing myself is vital.  In a life or death kind of way.  Pathetic.

Third, my fall back pleasure principle is marijuana (fill in your own judgy adjective here, I do).

Mary Jane wraps her Big Mama arms around my shoulders and holds me tight against her soft, soft (and maybe a little sweaty) bosom and rocks me while singing Everything is Gonna be Alright, in a perfect-pitch Bob Marley lulluby.  I get sleepy and she strokes my hair as I am pulled back into Dreamland.

My boss doesn’t do that.  The jerk-hole who cut me off this morning while having a fight with her crying teenaged son doesn’t do that.  My cats don’t do that.  My mother doesn’t even do that.

WHY DO I NEED THAT??

I can’t always smoke pot.  Well, the law says I can’t always smoke pot.  Really, it’s just bad form to let your professional associates see you stoned.  That’s the only reason I am not high every second of this life.  That and the conflict between my own taste for the good stuff and my beer budget.

Anyway, when I have to get out of my head and I can’t get out of my head, I use a tip I heard on a self help program.  “List the things you appreciate,” is the advice.  I dismissed this idea the instant I heard it just based on pure dorkiness.  It takes way too much effort to summon my inner Polyanna to use it on the daily.  I have to save that for family deaths and any child I may come across.

The idea announced itself again once when I was driving in my car alone after a huge disappointment that caused me to forget I was a lioness and had me howling like a hurt kitten.  I had just put on some fresh makeup and this ugly cry just could not continue.  I had places to be.

Through my tears and with a shaky voice, I recite the easy stuff.

“I appreciate my car,” I say out loud, giving the steering wheel an adoring stroke.  It’s paid off and pretty zippy.

“I appreciate my family,”  I say proudly.  An image of the recent memorial services for my two closest cousins lost to alcoholism nine months apart came to mind.  The tears come again.  I am frantic for a new thought to replace this unexpectedly poor choice.  The panic seizes any thought I might have and I wait it out a minute, sniffling and gasping like a four year old who skinned her knee.

I stop at a red light and have a quick look around.  It was a beautiful, sunny day.

“I appreciate this beautiful, sunny climate,”  I say with the voice of a four year old who skinned her knee.  Pollyanna ain’t got shit on me.

“I appreciate this green arrow, because I remember what it was like to drive before green arrows and it sucked.”  Not really a profound thought, but I’m getting the hang of it.  I could maybe find a better descriptive word than, “sucked,” but not the time to be picky.

“I appreciate Circle K’s because they have Polar Pops and cigarettes and both of those things are… awesome.”  My vocabulary is limited to the basics and I am not trying to pressure myself right now.

Conclusion:  I got my Polar Pop (Dr. Pepper and crushed ice) and cigarettes and all was right with the world.  Well, my world.  For the moment.  Sometimes that hokey shrink shit works.

 

 

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Things to Tell a Shrink.

A lot of times, when I am trying to give my full attention to something, I hear a chatter in my brain.  It’s my voice, I think.  Sometimes a song with a catchy beat or lyric will accompany the conversation that I cannot understand.

I don’t “hear voices” but I have thoughts that are unwelcome.

TAID

10.09.17

4:09 PM

I took the weekend off from work to camp with my boyfriend and some friends.  I drank.  I really shouldn’t and I did.  It will take me a couple of days to recover from the drinking.  I don’t mean like a hangover, I mean like temporary alcohol induced depression.  When I was young, this meant more drinking in order to forget what damage I just caused to my body or relationships or a job.

Now, it just means having to push myself to do normal things.

I think it’s advisable to keep a little quiet on social media lest I appear sad or pessimistic to my online friends, some of whom are real life friends.  This helps to keep me out of trouble as well.  I tend to drop friendships that require too much of my attention or any work at all, really.

Drinking while on anti depressants is not advised, although, I am not positive why.  I am positive about a few possibilities.

The temporary alcohol induced depression (is what I am calling it).  I am happy as a clam when I am drinking, I don’t want to stop as a matter of fact.

One of the reasons I made this blog a free write is because of this kind of depression.  It makes me a little confused and if I concentrated on editing, I would never get past the first mistake.

In the mean time, instead of taking steps forward, I am making up steps I already took.

Mental.

 

Grape Ghost Smell.

9.30.17

10am

Mood:  Calm, hopeful, almost energetic, could look a stranger in the eyes right now and smile.

A culmination of a few days of regular medication taking, regular supply of weed, writing, positive thinking, positive self-talk along with limited drama, embarrassment, pressure and stress have led to my feeling normal today.

I feel good about that and I expect to have a good day because of it.  I have had a pretty light morning, I will work this afternoon/evening and meet up with my boyfriend on the other side of town where he lives.  We will have a relaxing evening and go to bed at a reasonable time.

I have taken pictures today of one of my cats chasing around a lizard he had caught and wounded.  He proudly presented the lizard and his hunting prowess to our family and then left it at my feet to go inside and get some water.  I promptly scooped up the lizard with a pair of flip flops and threw it in the trash.  The cat has returned and is searching the entire catio for his prize.

Flesh eating flesh is so gross.  I wonder why I am not a vegetarian.

I smell a grape smell in the air and I have no idea from where it is coming.  I hope I am not having a stroke.

I have been thinking a lot about my own death since Wendy died.  I have heard that is normal, but I am really afraid that I may bring it to fruition because it’s become a little more “real” to me.  The fragility of our bodies and the what-the-fuck-is-the-purpose-of-my-life-already feeling that I have most days have me in a little bit of a tizzy.

I have to remind myself these thoughts are only hurtful to my mental health and consciously push them out of my mind.  I don’t leave a void in my thoughts, I replace it with something that makes me feel good.

Sometimes, this makes me feel a little better.  Sometimes, it makes me forget existential questions and able to concentrate on the moment.  Sometimes, the thought that makes me feel good won’t stick in my head long enough to make any difference.  The other part of my mind, the part I do not control is still there.  Still missing her.  Still pissed off that she died on someone’s kitchen floor in Butt-Fuck, New Mexico.  Pissed that I can’t call her.  Sad that we won’t get old together.  Sometimes, I can’t think of anything that feels good.

Anyway, I hope the grape smell doesn’t mean stroke and that one day, when I think of Wendy, I won’t want to throw up or cry or both.

I will remember our good times.  I will remember her before the disease took her soul away and had it’s way with her body.

And look… grape smell was about 15 minutes ago and no stroke.

 

I Can Fix a Drink.

10.2.17

Mood:  Calm, but distracted.

Last night, some guy shot up a country music concert in Las Vegas.

When these mass murders occur (thankful that is still a weird sentence), I have to remove myself from social media and the news and concentrate on other stuff.  If I stopped to think about the people who died (58 so far) or the reason this man decided to kill innocent people with a weapon for mass destruction that he probably bought legally in the US, I will go to a really dark place.  The End.  Going to spend the rest of the day distracting myself from the horrors that men inflict on other men.

9.22.17 Friday 11:20am

Not well.  Been off meds last three days.  Forgot to take them.  Forgot to bring them with me when I was out and it was time to take them.  Ran out of pot.  Ran out of money.  Anxiety high.  Withdrawal.  Irritable.  Sleepless.

Took meds this morning.

My father is hoping I will want to help with the fall garden.  He bought me some plants.  I can’t even pretend that interests me right now.  He is disappointed.  I am sad for him.  He should have better kids.  He should never feel lonely.  He has worked hard for everyone.  He is generous.  He is kind.  He is a guy who knows life is not fair, but doesn’t accept it.  He still roots for fairness.  Justice.  Happiness.

I am going to half die when he leaves this earth.  Life will be even colder.  Be even more confusing.  It will be a challenge to get through the pain and live again.  I will over come it, and be grateful, but I will still want my daddy back.  No one loves me like he does.  No one ever will.