Jun. 15th, 2014

sathor: (Default)
This whole issue I've had for years has taught me a couple things, maybe.

One, when it flares up, my whole body starts to feel like shit. It seems like my face is much more likely to break out (and curb any treatment I'm attempting) once my scalp flares up, whatever the fuck that is. It actually takes a great deal of strength and energy to keep a positive routine going when this happens - the past week, I've fallen off the exercise bandwagon. It started mainly with feeling overly drained one night after doing some of these 4x20 workouts, and by the end of the week my scalp was going into the "painful" stage. Once that happens, I'm shot energetically.

It's so hard trying to live with this, but my last dermatologist saw me twice without any indication he knew what the hell it was. I've seen four other doctors prior to that. I gave up after the dermatologist. I just get thrown on medication immediately (seems like if they can't figure it out, they always try generalized drugs.) Back when they thought it was a fungal infection, I had to deal with the terrible side-effects of extreme lethargy, lack of appetite...basically, deep depression. I could argue that I've always been like this but it's really not the case. I was always up and down, with great extensive up periods.

If I think back, all of this downhill tumble began right about when Cookie left. The scalp issue started shortly after that. I wrecked my car once I was on anti-fungals for it (failed attempt at fixing it.) Fell asleep at the wheel. I had some drinks that night, but figured most of the effect had worn off by the time I was leaving where I was at...well, didn't matter, because mixing the two is a bad idea. I was stuck then, for about six months. No way to really get out of my house. Went to Alaska the spring following that, came back, started at United. All along I was dealing with my scalp.

To me, something about the ketaconazole and heavy antibiotics (the same kind they use for cancer patients) triggered some seriously deep emotional issues. It may have been the life circumstances, too. But now, at this point, having suffered with this for years, I guess it seems apparent the disease itself seems to have a kind of grip on my emotional and physical state. I simply can't function at the same level when it's active. It makes me lethargic, and I need lots of sleep. I lose my appetite.

Out of all of this, what have I learned?
That if I don't take care of me first, I can't do a damn thing.

Life sucks at the moment, I'm not going to lie. I actually have more fun at work than I do outside of it. The two friends I'd say I'm closest to (and really, besides co-workers I consider friends, are my only friends) excluded me from a get-together with some people that yes, I mutually know. So unless I was intentionally excluded by the host (whom I am an acquaintance with) my friends pretty much determined that I wasn't worth inviting. This actually hurts, quite a bit. They talked about it in front of me, and didn't bother even suggesting that I go. So it came and went. And all this week, they were wondering why I wasn't on RazorComms gaming with them - well, for one, because I've been meaning to kill that habit with fire for awhile, and two, because I feel like the only time you guys really want me around is when everything else going on for you falls through. That means weekdays, in the limited fashion of internet voice chat, because you work, just like I do, and have few hobbies. There's a lot of things I'd rather be doing, and I really don't want them to feel bad that I don't want to sit on internet voice chat for two hours a night with them, but this is reality. I want to spend that time reading books, and writing, and listening to music. I spend all day working with people. Maybe this will nudge them towards figuring out ways we can hang out on the weekends, but honestly, I doubt it. Rick has a lot of friends (and I mean a lot, seriously) and Rob has a kid on the way. Neither of us have many mutual interests anymore, not mutual friends. And when they hang out with their friends, apparently...they don't need me around.

I thought about reconnecting with Matt this weekend, and sent a text asking Jenn what was going on (they should be long broken up at this point) to find out they are both still together (and I'm sure totally miserable) and asking me to come out tonight. Well, I didn't. Primarily because I don't want to listen to how great Matt's life is in a veiled "you are a fucking loser" fashion. I'm so sick of people feeling more satisfied with their lives than me. But really, there are a lot of things I am satisfied with - it's just that most people can't connect to those things.

I spent a lot of time out in the garage with my father this week. That was a really big deal. I used one of the newer milling machines he had, and I'm learning some machining basics. I feel like most of this stuff comes pretty naturally to me...which shouldn't be surprising. It's all logic with some math. I've run lathes before, but he did let me use a milling machine a bit, which is new, and I was able to observe dial indicators used properly, which is also new. He really is a mechanical genius - his restored 1954 John Deere caterpillar is nearly complete. I have just as much adoration for old machines as he does, honestly. I've just never been able to really pursue that interest. Mostly because I've never been willing to go out and buy something worth taking apart and trying to fix.

So here I am now, another weekend blown hanging by my self. But you know what, who really cares anyway? Hopefully someday, I get through this.

I thought to my self the other night, that the absolute worst case scenario for me is this: being alone, and being miserable...or being alone, and being content and happy. It's my choice. Those are the worst things that can happen...and while at times I feel like I'd rather be dead than be alone...if I can find happiness in my life, even now, then maybe I will at least be prepared for the worst.

I really pray that I'm not as big of a fuck up as I have thought I may be...that all of this will pass as a temporary circumstance of a wonderful life. But I am not the fates, either. I may have some control, but I don't have all of it.

Peace and Love
sathor: (Default)
It comes to my attention that I actually have a great difficulty in forgiving my self for the mistakes that I've made. In truth it makes it easier to accept the destruction I faced at the hands of those I've loved - while I can't blame my self fully, I can see how hard it must have been for them.

My mind wandered to the past today, to a time when Cookie actually went out of her way more to try and "get involved' with some of my personal interests. I was playing a forum-based game for a short time - one set in China during the Han Dynasty period (yes, I've always loved role playing.) I remember she made a persona on there, and joined my kingdom - and didn't go much further with it. I think that's right about when things fell apart. Point is, thinking back on this, I feel a great sense of regret...a sense of terror, almost. Why exactly was I doing what I was doing then? I feel like, even though I was 20 or so, I was still just a child. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea how to really make a relationship work, and how ridiculous some of the things I did probably seemed. I'm not sure I do even now. I think, more than anything else, I felt entitled...like it was some sort of self-evident thing that she would always love me, regardless of what I was doing, whether I was attentive or not (and I did try to be, even if I failed miserably.) I feel like that same problem has hounded me in every case. I've never had this sort of revelation before - maybe small glimpses of it - but never so all-encompassing. While I don't like to be stepped on, don't like to be a pushover, and certainly don't like to give up all of my freedom and personal interests for someone else...I feel like I may have been lacking in the "meet them halfway" department. And fuck, what a terrible revelation that is. It cuts me right to the core. I know without a doubt that this is true, and that in many ways I projected this trait onto them. They may have, in fact, had the trait as well...but I still feel very sick about this realization, and I feel like it may be even harder to forgive myself for fucking it all up. Cookie really was something close to a soul-mate in the way it felt...and so too was Meghan, i hate to say...how many more opportunities will I have to have -that- feeling? There are still images of Cookie lodged in my head for all eternity...sometimes, I wish I could go back, just to experience being next to her again. If there really is only one life, I think I would be VERY upset...being that I may not even have that many more opportunities to feel that again...and certainly not with her.

This may seem like a -beating myself up- post, but I'm really trying not to do that. It's just amazing to me how much grief...or anxiety...I'm not sure what the exact word is...I feel when I look back on some of the things I did, the way I acted. I still can't really be sure I've improved whatsoever. I feel like my writing has actually worsened, my mental and emotional states may have as well...and certainly physically, while much stronger, I'm ill much more often.

On lighter notes, one thing I have noticed is that writing shortly before bed seems to result in dreams at a very high rate. And often, the dreams seem to involve whatever things I was writing down, symbols of the issues I was trying to work out in text. I haven't had a dream about Cookie in quite some time, but I had one about her last night - and I believe I mentioned her in my previous post, if I'm not mistaken. It was actually a really fucked up dream, with enough weird freudian symbolism that I wouldn't repeat it in here. Regardless, I would like to continue this experiment and see if writing before bed really does activate my dream centers more readily, as I certainly NEED to dream more often.

Today I really didn't do as much as I had wanted to. I broke down and had a couple cigarettes, although I'm confident I will go tomorrow without them. I thought I'd be a nice son and help with some of the yard work, but it turns out I couldn't keep the damn weed-eater running for longer than a couple minutes at time. I had to of pull-started it a hundred times by the time I finished around the house and half of the garage, when my dad finally told me, "there's probably something wrong with it, give it up before you get blisters" (too late.) In retrospect, I was just retarded - I figured the middle setting on the choke was halfway, when it was in fact (and illogically) FULLY OPEN. The thing was obviously getting too much fuel, I was just too stupid to recognize that the choke settings were not arranged logically. We used to have a number of these machines, but we're down to just one working model now. Nope, it's not brand new either - my dad likes fixing broken junk, and I applaud him for it, although it takes a great deal of practice to understand how to treat each one properly.

I ordered him a new 24" widescreen monitor for father's day, to replace the CRT him and my mother have been using for years. I'm not sure the tower will work with it, but if it doesn't, I intend on building them something a little more modern and low-budget. I also ordered two 16GB zip drives for my own use, as mine have disappeared mysteriously - one will be full of music for my car (apparently it has a built-in USB port that will read up to a thousand songs on a zip drive) and the other I may use as a secondary back up for all of my music files. I've been digging through old burned CDs and the external hard drive, finding a few gems I thought were lost. I'm not sure I'd ever put most of this out for public consumption, but anymore the sheer amount of music I have completed is overwhelming. I can't even fit it all on my soundcloud (which is http://www.soundcloud.com/unmanifest)...I may have to consider getting my own domain, just as a storage bin and maybe, just maybe, there'll be the off chance people might donate to aid in my artistic pursuit someday. I've made a grand total of $20 in the past ten years, so chances are slim.

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