“We’ll Just Laugh Along Because We Know None Of Them Have Felt This Way”

bubblesI have this horrible habit of only writing when things are really in the shitter. I mean, that’s the only time I seem to be able to step back and ponder the true questions of the universe: is there an afterlife? Does God exist? Will I ever get over this? Is world peace possible? What happened at the end of The Sopranos? When things are going well, the turquoise-tinted (my favorite color, and a beautiful stone. Rose is so over done!) glasses come on and there isn’t a single problem. Even things that would normally upset and cause an issue become nonchalant; tiny little molehills compared to the mountain of delight you’re feeling. On Easter, I got really sick. Hospital, surgery, the whole shebang! Afterwards, I felt much better. So much better in fact, that things seemed…good. I use that word so tentatively but that’s the best way to describe it. Things were good. I was in a good mood, the weather was nice (except for those horrible rainstorms), I was busy with appointments, friends and family. I was in a pleasant place. But it sort of happens like a bubble. You create this beautiful, color, vivid thing but it’s so fragile, so breakable that the slightest touch can pop it. This little bubble of suitability popped. I was doing fine when things got a little dicey. Because of my surgery (and even prior to it), I wasn’t eating well. But now? Well, now it’s a problem. I’ve become a little obsessive with it. I admitted it to Dr. Glover earlier and immediately regretted it. Now, I’m being roped into seeing a nutritionist. I haven’t seen/talked to Allister about all of this. I’m just freaking out. And of course, there was no way I was going to tell my parents. This is all happening so fast. My little bubble of contentment was so perfect and great. I was thriving and doing well. I was looking for volunteer positions, medical assistant jobs, hell, I got accepted to a school to finish my bachelor’s degree! (Okay, that process was started long before this little bubble was created but getting the news sure did help keep it afloat!) And now, it’s unraveling and it’s all my fault. I’ve always been tempted by loose threads. You have one on your shirt and, as you get older you know what’s going to happen, but you pull it anyway. You watch the hem come undone, then the first layer and so on and so forth, until you’re standing in a city square, topless, wondering who the hell stole your favorite sweater. Well, silly, it was you. You did it. A little while ago, as I was falling asleep, I got one of those Earth-shattering ideas. The kind that makes you wonder why you’re even bothering to fall asleep because you could so totally cure cancer right now. I was wondering why people get offended when they’re called “normal.” Everyone wants to fit in with the curve, be the same, swim up the same river, go with the flow but as soon as you suggest that they’ve succeeded in this attempt, they draw back and refute any evidence. They get upset and declare that they are the king of freaks, that there is no one who is further from normal than they are. But when that sort of thing happens, it changes the normal. “Everyone’s special…which is another way of saying no one is.” I’ve been searching for the “normal” in my life. A job, a degree, some semblance of what society deems acceptable so that I can continue in my life. But when I stop and think about it, all of those things aren’t going to change anything. People are so dependent on material to make them happy and I do not want to be that type of person. I think about death a lot. Just out of habit. And I often wonder what people will be remembered for. What will I be remembered for? Coloring in the lines and being so mainstream that I fade away without even a puff of smoke to celebrate my existence? Not cool. If this whole eating situation becomes something, it becomes something but I am not going to let it define me. I refuse to be my diagnosis. I refuse to identify as the person who’s always sick, the one who is teetering on the edge of hospitalization (no matter the kind). That won’t be me. I like Doctor Who and I want to be able to say that I could be his companion. Before I always denied it. I always said there was no way it would happen. There was no way I could leave this routine, leave my medication, leave my family but you know what? I need a dose of adventure. I need something in my life that is going to change me for the better, not add extra weight to the cinder blocks that are already on my feet. Sometimes, I feel bad for people that don’t experience emotions the way we do because it’s not as intense. It’s not as powerful and they can’t express it as…effectively. Alright, alright, the way I express my emotions isn’t necessarily effective but you get what I mean. They’re soda cans under pressure, waiting to explode and I’m sitting over here like a bottle of water that’s been spilled. Everything is out and flowing. And as of right now, that’s okay. That’s okay.

*quote paraphrased from The Incredibles…love this movie!

Advertisements

Nothing nice to say? Me neither! Say it anyway!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s