I don't even know how I am doing this right now. And if I look back only a short ways, I wonder… what the hell is going on in my world? I can barely comprehend all of everything that is happening.
The Past 26 Days
I voluntarily temporarily moved into a nursing home (in order to utilize this as a home base for medical treatment) to get my teeth pulled and gain access to a neurologist… so I could possibly get a diagnosis, and maybe even ..get better, so my wife would love me once again.
And what happens instead is that my wife dumps me (I am now homeless) and the psychiatrists here want to commit me to a psychiatric ward because I am delusional, have something called a conversion disorder, and somatic disorder… which by their definition means I am imagining this illness (and on the whole, this reality).
I wish instead I was vividly imagining the past 26 days, rather than experiencing them horribly. It was all a dream, right? Is that what they say.. ? Or perhaps I can utilize the temporary amnesia trope, a technique that's often practiced in the Korean dramas series I frequently watch.
So now what the fuck do I do?
I don't mean to offend anybody with high flying f-bombs, but it's the only bomb I've got left in my arsenal. That, and a whole lotta verve. In real life, f-bombs and verve wouldn't even get me in through the out door. How about some dystopian mind crimes instead? I wonder how those would go over. Well, probably like a lead balloon.
I best stop writing like this or they'll pin me down with another outta-sight outta-my-mind disorder. Stream of Consciousness Syndrome. And when you think about the word "disorder" it means something akin to… lacking order, right? Order unattainable? Asynchronous order?
Am I disjointed right now?
Are you ever?
How do we get ourselves back up and running?
No, not running in the literal sense. Your P.E.M.'d to death corpse won't be held over my head (unless you've got a handy dandy levitation feature built in). But sure thing, I'll eventually come about.. someplace, somehow. I can live or exist just about anywhere, as time passes. Give me a mattress and allow me to mainline some feeding formula at regular intervals… and I'm good to go, ready to travel.
Just imagine the crazy-ass headlines I could generate. Something like - We've got another "Howard on the Mattress" sighting reported.. looks like he's on the tarmac at DFW. Or is it SEATAC.
So yeah, I am no longer affiliated with anybody. I'm free to move about the universe, as long as somebody else is willing to do the moving. And who the heck wouldn't want what I've got to offer?
I really should join a dating site just for kicks, to see what turns up. In the least, I'd make a fantastic long distance romance partner (sight unseen, preferably). From short distance, there'd be problems. Possibly vague forms of revulsion. Eventual apathy. So maybe I need a stuffed animal. Or a stuffed human could suffice.
So where we at?
They just did my feeding formula bag at 110am and now I cannot go back to sleep because I am tripping out. Not a super bad wanting to die kind of thing, but .. far too much unpleasantness. I feel soooooo alone (mind you, I feel the support here, online). But what I'm talking about is ...alone in a physical sense. Like those fail-to-thrive babies.
My last hug was experienced on January 16th, 2019.. from my original caregiver. It was her birthday. She was the last human to touch me with intent, besides those poke-poking phlebotomists, a handsy nurse in the E.R. back in June, the dental assistant who squeezed my hand back in February, and various paramedics pulling me onto and off of the carrying-down-the-difficult-stairs burrito tarp.
At least I'll never have to negotiate those twists and turns ever again. Nor shall I ever see my cat again, Samara. That's a double bummer. She loved me. I think. I mean she seemed to.
Anyway, I'll have to reach out to that one mobile phlebotomist, so I can hold her hand again. Heck, since I've showered, she may let me hold both hands simultaneously. Think of all the limitless hand holding positions! Someone should write a book "The Joys of Hand-holding" - with graphic illustrations!
Gosh, I miss human contact. Which may sound peculiar. Unless you are in the same boat, with similarly defective oars, while lacking any natural propulsion options.
But wait, I'm this super masculine testosterone fueled guy .. why can't I touch myself?
Am I sleepy yet? Is there a point to this?
Temporary Advocate Woman was hyper-wound and super-saturated like me. Or maybe we were simply glad to share with like-situated others. And I also talked long and strong with an online friend. Then later on, my sisters joined the fray via text. One asking if I was watching the ballgame, the other suggesting I take the drugs.
My mom called. She was crushed (on my behalf, of course). Apparently my former wife called these people in my family, letting them know she was no longer affiliated with me. Hmmm… I also humored and amused tonight's CNA. She has just now returned from her Covid bout. And then also, my roommate was very kind, understanding, and supportive (if not occasionally loud) all day long.
Ok. Tired and wired now. Aching burning muscles. Be mindful. Breathe. Post this stupid blog entry. Let the world come unto you (me).
These past 24-hours have been super double difficult hell.
These past 26 days have been plain hellish
These past 6 years of my life stuck in bed without much support and little caring have been, at times, gruelling.
2008 was pretty good. I think.
And really, to some extent, I am relieved that I am no longer in limbo. Really, I am. Now I can deal with life as it comes at me sideways and unexpectedly.
Thank you for participating in my life -