What. A. Fucking. Life.

I’m laughing, God.. I’m fucking laughing.

I’m still blessed though, nonetheless.

It’s time for me to start putting in some effort instead of just the bare minimum. Over the last year I’ve been pretty hypocritical. I’ve been a listening ear to so many, and I’ve offered words of encouragement, continuously, and I’ve checked up on people and maintained that level of support. I’ve reminded them to be grateful, find things they could be grateful for, think positively, don’t be so hard on themselves, stand up for themselves… and reach out to chat if they ever need someone. And they have. And I love that so much, it brings me happiness to know that someone feels comfortable enough to come to me. BUT… I am a hypocrite because when the doors close and I’m in my own world, or when I confide in people close to me… I’ve got gripes, I sink into a world of doubt and judgement and fear about myself and my life… and I wallow in those and don’t even stop to think of the 3 things I’m grateful for… I just pray for a way out.

I’m not ALWAYS like this though.. I have many days where I’m in my bright world, happy and excited and well put together, I just wish there were more of those days. Yesterday I have an IV in my arm and sat alone in a hospital room for what felt like hours… first it was used to take blood samples, then it was used to give me saline solution… then the saline was taken out and I just had this little tube dangling on my arm like a makeshift vein outside of my body… it was disgusting. I stared at this damn tube for a couple minutes and drifted off into thought… there was a clamp on the end to stop the flow of anything into or out of the tube. Just the day prior and for many days prior, I was experiencing my highest high… I was on top of the world.. and I wasn’t on drugs and I wasn’t experiencing mania… I was genuinely and indescribably happy.. my head AND my heart were in sync, that was new. Now I sat there with this clamped vein and I thought how absolutely irresponsible it was of staff to leave me there alone for so long, in an emotional and vulnerable state, and the ability to unclasp that tube at any moment. Seriously. What a fucked up thought. But I thought it… and I REALLY thought it. It wasn’t quick and in passing.. it was a scene in my mind. I imagined a puddle of blood on the floor and maybe it would seep under the door, but that someone would walk in and eventually someone would have to clean that shit up.

But then I snapped out of it and just sat there like “what an experience right now.” I looked around the empty room.. I surely wasn’t thinking of 3 things I was grateful for… I was imagining my ideal scenario. I wanted support. I imagined my man sitting in the chair and his presence making me feel secure and loved… I imagined all the times my mom took me to the doctors growing up, how she made me feel like it was all ok… and I wished I could have here there now… I imagined my best friend with me.. I was imagining support. I’ve BEEN imagining support, for years. It’s literally saved my life, I’d like to think it’s a pretty bad ass survival method instead of on the brink of insanity.

Not that the reason I was there wasn’t bad enough, but medical providers really get into your shit, they rehash so many vulnerable things, and you have to answer. It’s like.. don’t YOU have my entire medical record on file, read the shit. But.. privacy and shit. “Do you have any rapes that you want to report?” ‘that I want to report? no.’ “Have you ever been abused” LOL ::crying::.. yea.. there’s a FAP case on file and I’ve gone to counseling… “ok.”… “Are you suicidal today?” ‘no’.. “How many living children do you have” ‘none.’ (living children? Jesus). I get it, they’re just doing their script… but why aren’t there any female medical staff? Why do I have to tell these men what “cramps” feel like and explain the amount of blood I’m experiencing “how do I quantify that??”.. the guy even misspelled the word pregnancy. Holy fuck. Why was the kid who gave me an IV so nervous? He dropped the cap the my external vein and my blood was dripping out onto my arm and onto the floor, it felt like a shit show. I had this man finessing a fucking probe into my body for AN HOUR, he never even told me what he saw, he just moved it around in silence and I could not help but wonder if he was doing his job because he actually CARES or because he has some other agenda or some fantasy.. and I hate that my mind questioned that. 5 hours in a hospital and nobody really told me shit… and I didn’t ask enough questions. I wish my support was there, someone whos brain ‘could compute’ and ask the questions.. I just wanted to go home. I was strong enough not to burden the hospital staff with emotions, but as soon as I stepped out of the building, I broke. And I broke hard. I broke even harder at the thought that I couldn’t be there for my man. He’s strong, but he has feelings too and has he ever felt this? I don’t know and I felt selfish for some reason. But I pulled it together and I tried to rationalize what was happening… and now I’m here and it’s just another Sunday and I feel annoyed about that a little bit cuz of how vividly I was imagining my future a couple days ago. Time to regroup, again.

That’s why I’m laughing, God.. because these curve balls get thrown at me and I know they’re not life or death anymore.. well….well. These curve balls are just another way for me to put my well garnered strength into action… so I can reflect on it the next day/week/month and write shit like this.

I keep experiencing things that hurt… but I also keep drawing this line after I survive it and wanting to keep moving on. And I don’t see anything wrong with that at all. So, maybe I’m not a hypocrite… maybe I’m just dealing with shit.