Yesterday...

i tried to write a blog entry yesterday. i tried to write a blog entry, and my computer ate it. everything i try to do: eaten by the computer. not really. but every day, i want to cry. that one is probably true.

so i had this whole entry written yesterday, and i pressed the "publish" button, and *bwoop*... no more entry. of course, the "ebloggy" servers have been down for nigh on a week now, so all my friends can't even look at their blogs, much less update them. good stuff.

today, i've been being a math nerd. i'm still working on the wyoming project, and man, is their shit fucked up... i'm a friggin' editor; i don't have to know how to add two and two together to fulfill my job requirements and get hired. but luckily for them, i'm a friggin' genius, and can correct all the stupid errors the item developers (people who are supposed to know math) make. i correct flat out wrong questions, and research arcane terminology, and advise, and find definitions, and hammer out letters to dictionary sites because their definitions are circuitous and wrong, etc... so wyoming, i hope i get a thank you, because i'm busting my hump for you.

so after i finish this entry, which i fully expect to be eaten, i will make a few important phone calls. gotta set up doctor appointments, and other such stuff. being an adult sucks. i'd rather be a child. no. i'd rather be happy. i was too dysfunctional to even be happy as a kid. now i just wanna be happy.

i told mom this morning, the voices in my head are getting louder. she thinks i might be having "auditory hallucinations". i'm not sure what to call them. see, i don't have that one little voice at the back of your head that says stuff... i have a whole friggin' chorus. i have so many voices, each speaking for a certain aspect of my personality; mom and dad are there (the super-ego, as all you fans of freud will gleefully point out) along with tiff, the goofy voice, the innuendo voice, brother, the overweight woman of color i was in a former life voice, the flamboyantly gay man voice, the quiet reserved voice, etc. they usually don't all talk at once, but they all speak at various times, and right now, the pissed off racist voice, the pissed off misogynist voice, and the generally pissed off and defensive voice are all sounding off. they've been getting louder. they usually appear when i'm under large amounts of stress. its scary to have so little control over the various portions of your own head.

so that's that. i'm so tired i want to sleep forever. i keep trying to get more and more sleep, but its never enough. i've been getting close to eight hours a night recently, but it doesn't help. i'm constantly yawning. i empty so much soda and coffee down my gullet, and still i drowse in front of my computer at work. my eyelids droop, and i lose track of time. i have lost the ability to focus. i know i need a kind of rest that's more profound than normal sleep, and deeper and more healing. i don't know what it is. but i need it, nonetheless.

i am aware that overwhelming lethargy is a sign of depression. i'm not sure what i can do about that right now. mom and i hope that going back on my clonopin (anti-anxiety) will help me with the voices. my interior forum. but the depression... there's a limited amount i can do, really. i'm trying to be happier, etc. seeing movies, working harder to keep busy, no drugs or alcohol (even quitting the cancer sticks now), all that. i'm just trying to resign myself to a much less than ideal situation right now. i'm trying to be happy with the fact that i can't be happy right now, and doing the best i can to change my situation, but not expecting some magic sunburst to appear on the horizon and heal my ailments.

its so evil to try so hard to confront your demons... once you start, you can't turn it off. i was talking to chris about this not too long ago. once you start psychotherapy or something of the sort, once you start training your eye to look at yourself honestly, you can't really turn it off again. you can't stop sifting over your actions and analyzing yourself. once you gain the vision that allows you to see demons, they just start pouring from the woodwork in an unending stream; there are new ones, or at times they feel new, but as your vision grows more refined, you see that what looks like a new demon is only the nest evolutionary step of an old one. the weed demon, stripped of some of its garb, looks like the alcohol demon, which can be traced all the way back to the addiction demon, which in turn traces back to you.

trace those demons back far enough, and they become knowable. they are those parts of you that are sick, and hurting. they are energies you produce that are not able to find a suitable outlet, and so stagnate and ferment into the destructive behavior demons. they are the human drives and desires that are normal, but that have nowhere to go. they sit there, and build, and darken, and build until they explode. until you can't hold them back anymore. until they are unleashed.

its never about a cure. its about maintainence.

to seek a cure for those demons, a way of rooting them out, is one of the great fallacies of humankind. you cannot excise these parts of yourself, you can only hope to route their energy along its natural and productive paths. it all requires constant upkeep. it is a big, unwieldy, psychological, physical, spiritual, emotional, social machine, that you need to keep in good working order. you need to grease the rusty parts, keep it clean, make sure its all hanging together. and you know what, its a lot of work.

well i'm trying to keep my machine, myself, in good working order while i'm out here, but its not going as well as one might wish. and i'm trying to not be surprised by that anymore. i'm trying to not constantly feel it as a fresh and live cut, still running with blood and stinging like a bright flash across the brain and eyes. but if it doesn't heal, what happens? the image springing to mind these days, the days of no surprises, is of a crusted and pussy scab; a stiffly gooey, half-open, festering sore. i actually feel as if i at least have a poultice on it. its not actively spreading. but its not really healing either.

writing in this blog is really becoming a ritual cleansing of this wound. i don't know how long i can continue to let it harden and sit, waiting for the actual healing to begin. how long can it stay there? how long can i keep it without it becoming incorporated into me, a permanent part of me? or perhaps i shouldn't be so quick to speak ill of scars. but i don't want this scabbed rill forever embedded in my psychological landscape.

i'm not sure what to do. i don't know. and now, i should probably make some phonecalls. because apparently, there are some things in this world that are important.