I’m in the public library. It’s been quite some time since I’ve done this. But I needed to be here. I spent all day in bed, watching NCIS and scrolling through Facebook. I needed a change of scenery, a change of pace. I was getting pretty restless. It’s sort of funny that you can get restless during a self-imprisonment. I’m supposed to be working on not one, but two papers. Instead, I’m listening to music and writing a journal entry. I just couldn’t help myself. I should probably also be outlining the next few chapters of my sociology textbook to make sure I friggin’ pass that class but again, not doing it. At least, not yet. It may happen after this post. Mostly because I won’t have anything to preoccupy myself with once this is finished. I’m feeling….God, even after all that therapy and junk, I still hate saying statements like that. “Use ‘I am’ statements.” Um, no. I don’t wish to be possessive of most things, let alone my emotions. That’s too much liability. My legal representation (my brother, Thomas) wouldn’t not approve of such admittance at this time. Let’s say, instead, that this sort of knot is building up in my guts. It’s twisting them and tying them and I’m not really sure what to make of it. I’m having spontaneous urges to throw things, punch things and any other manner of destruction. I also desperately wish to take drugs until I’m pooping blood but that’s mostly out of pain. My hip has been hurting so badly lately that I can’t walk, I rarely leave my bed (not like I was doing much of that before this became a problem) and Brendan has been driving me around as of late. I have an ultrasound scheduled with my gynecologist on Wednesday but I’m not holding my breath. Usually, when I am in pain, there is no cause and I’m left to splutter through the endless days and weeks until a doctor decrees they will take sympathy on me and prescribe a temporary sedative or opioid. It doesn’t last long and once a doctor has admitted to such weakness, it isn’t long until I’m stonewalled into finding other help. It makes me look like a drug-seeker but I’m being framed by the system, I swear! That could be part of the problem. Right now, I’m shaking from the pain being so intense in my hip but I can’t express it. I can’t explain anything to anyone or convince them that I’m in horrible, agonizing pain. It just doesn’t work. I’m too tough for them. My mother shows pain like a normal person. I mean, she isn’t a sucker, but she will concede to her limit. My father is the opposite and never admits defeat. He would saw off his own foot and walk 20 miles before he even considered saying something about being in pain. Me? I’m sort of the neutral party. I will concede that I’m in pain, I will admit that my body has reached its limits but like my father, I can’t express it. It stays cramped and bottled up inside until someone shuts the door in my face and I’m out on the streets again, looking, begging for help. Wow, I didn’t know this post was going to twist into a pity party about pain. My apologies. Really, I should have been talking about the knot that’s twisting my intestines (and probably contributing to the pain I’m already in). It’s leaving me feeling both uplifted and elated, like I’ve got the energy to bang out both of these papers and complete my sociology class by tomorrow. It’s also got me feeling like I need to destroy, to self-destruct, to do whatever it is that the villains of Gotham did to piss off both Superman and Batman. It’s confusing and I feel trapped, like that poor elephant at the National Zoo. Mother, TomTom and I took a trip to the National Zoo over our mutual spring breaks. It was a grueling walk that left me out of commission for days but it was enjoyable to spend time with them. And I’d never been to the National Zoo so I got to see pandas! Anyway, off topic. The point is, while we were there, one of the Asian elephants, housed across from the pandas, was throwing its front legs out in front of it while standing in place. It sort of looked like the potty dance on four legs. Except, elephants can pee wherever they want so I attributed it to nervousness. Like, he was anxious, all cooped up in his pen with the others. It was sad. That’s how I feel though. I’m not a tiger pacing in its cage. The danger in that would be too obvious. People know to fear tigers. They aren’t as wary of elephants, creatures that have been used by mankind for centuries. We sort of treat them like passive horses or something, but really, elephants kill a lot of people every year. They’re destructive and docile at the same time. That is how this knot in my stomach is making me feel. It’s making me feel like a time bomb that could go off at any second, that only needs a bit more pressure before the bough breaks and everything falls apart. If I ever wrote an autobiography, that is a title I would seriously consider: When The Bough Breaks or Everything Falls Apart or Why Elephants and Invalids Are Alike. Ooh, I just thought of that last one and I like it! Alright, focus, time to actually write something. Or sit on Facebook for the remainder of my time here. Who knows what could happen? I certainly–oh! And to top off this growing knot in the pit of my stomach, I’m doing two things. One: I’m binge-watching NCIS to the point that every sentence that comes out of my mouth usually makes some connection back to the show. Not a good thing. Whenever I get this binge-y, it takes a while for me to snap out of it. It also makes me really depressed when I reach the end and can’t continue at the current trajectory. Two: I’m not seeing Craig this week. He cancelled early this morning, which means this blog will most likely be the last confession I will make this week. I realized when I was driving here that even Craig, the person I’ve spent two years with, doesn’t know me. I can divulge lots about my illnesses or my past but it’s much, much harder to say anything definitive about myself. My dad asked me once why Craig accused sabotage as being my saboteur in my “recovery” (*gag*). I told him I didn’t know, that I couldn’t know because I was ultimately doomed to spin on this hamster wheel until I died. Like, if I’m subconsciously sabotaging myself, it would theoretically never end. Well, at least not until I died. I need to get out of this headspace. I’m going to actually go work on my paper because it’s both boring and horrible, two things I excel at.