“And the drugs don’t work. They just make it worse.” – The Verve
Mood: I really don’t know.
I’m struggling today and I don’t know why. Well, I have some ideas, but none that – up till now – the heroic dose of medicines prescribed to me haven’t been quieting.
There have been a couple of moments over the last couple of days where I’ve felt I was losing the plot, but after these many months of fairly steady sailing, it is genuinely easier to course correct. But that old weight has settled on my chest, that old mixture of tears and impotent anger is attempt to cauterise my wounds from the inside. Like a dick. (Speaking of which, the anger is impotent, not I. I remain pointlessly functional.)
It’s the kind of feeling where you want to say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Of course, that would be a lie. I know exactly. But I’m not supposed to feel this anymore, even this watered-down, manageable version of it. It’s aching like a phantom limb.
I want to cry. And I’m not against crying. I am almost entirely sans macho. However, I am not entirely sans ego and I did a lot of crying over the last year. I’m not supposed to want to cry anymore.
Yes, I know. That’s life. We all have days like these. It’ll pass. I know all these things intellectually. But I’m still angry. Angry that I should have to jump through so many hoops to change my life, my path and my vision of myself and still have to put up with this shit.
I also know there has been a lot of stress, and maybe I’m less aware of it in the moment when I’m medicated. So it gets sneaky.
I don’t want to feel hard done to. I don’t want to feel angry. I want to be okay. Damn you, you stupid brain, you stupid body and you stupid set of stupid stupidnesses, imported at a ludicrous price from Stupidville by an idiot.
It’ll be fine. It’s always fine. And I know life isn’t built to be fair. I’m not a child. But, you know what, in this moment, fuck it. This sucks.
Kenton Hall 