I’m sitting in my office watching the rain. Watching the white fluffy clouds move past to expose patches of clear, blue sky. The Sky has been crying off and on for the past few days. We call it our summer storm track. Heat from the valley rises against the mountains, only to cry oceans of tears.
I’m crying. I have been for three days. It’s something I rarely do. I don’t know. Maybe I need to do that more. It’s not that I’m stoic by any means, just prefer to try to turn it around and not wallow in the shit (despite my ability to be plenty cantankerous, lol).
I found out Saturday that former HS classmate suicided about 2 weeks ago. I’m shocked.Saddened. Talked to him just a few months ago about another friend’s passing, life, family, travel, jobs. Happy. He sounded happy. No, he wasn’t undiagnosed with some horrible, fatal disease. Love and Light, Andrew. You were always one of the good guys.
Shootings, Death, Hatred. Orlando, Trump. If it wasn’t that FB was a big income source for me right now, I would delete my account.
Moved in early March. Couldn’t take the crazy anymore. Love my roommates but with 3-4 Bipolar, and all of us somewhere between clinically and occasionally depressed; it was just too much. Too much crazy, too much drama, too many people coming and going.
I have a nice 2 bedroom apartment on the ground floor in a 1950’s neighborhood instead of the brand new subdivision. The housing was originally for the old Ent Air Force when it was active here. It’s not large by any means. But it’s mine. All 800 sqft and 2 bedrooms, is mine. I have a large office with enough room to throw the air mattress on the floor when my daughter comes to visit. Killer western view of Pikes Peak from both the back bedrooms. It’s wonderfully quiet. The 3 other neighbors in the building are nice.
I’ve been tired. Doing too much out of frustration. I feel like a caged tiger. Pacing in my apartment. Limited. Limited activity, limited distance. Limited in what I can support right now emotionally.
It’s been learning to live with a 50′ hose connected to a machine that makes oxygen out the air and force feeds it to me through my nose. It’s learning to live dragging a 4′ high cylinder in a cart anywhere I go. Everywhere. Doctors appointments, shopping. I am limited by the 2 hours of air in each tank. It’s learning to use the back burners on the stove so I don’t set myself on fire, and how to walk and shit and shower, and get dressed without getting tangled in the 50′ of plastic tubing that provides my breath.
It’s wondering who would want to date someone who is now classified as disabled. Who wants to spend time investing in a relationship where sex is limited at the least. I have no breath, no stamina, and massive headaches with arousal and orgasms. It’s frightening.
Can’t do many of the things that bring me joy. A walk in the park is a chore and swinging on a swing is out until I teach Charlie (my o2 tank and chaperone) to dance with me.I’m reluctant to tell anyone. Is this life?
I met his partner almost three weeks ago. Accidently. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.This weekend she’s friended me on FB and I am honestly trying not to freak. I’m trying to shrug off how it’s always worked (badly) and just go with whatever happens.
I’m hearing signs of not wanting to be in the relationship. Of looking for its end. I’m sad for that for the both of them. She doesn’t understand his language. And what she wants she presumes everyone else wants. Observation, not judgement. We all do it.
I apologised to him, crying. For not trusting him. He didn’t know. Well, he knew I was in the hospital. He didn’t know I was on O2. I just couldn’t trust he wouldn’t reject me and stare in horror, or look away like most folks do.
It’s interesting, you would think it makes it easier being friends with his girlfriends or partners. It’s not because none have been poly. There’s this girl dance I don’t do very well. But I can see it unfold in body language, posturing, intonation, the deliberateness of words chosen…..It’s not pretty and I don’t play well with others this way.
At least I’m sleeping better than I have in months. Maybe even years. Small blessings….