It's Never What You Think It Will Be

(be warned.  this is not a happy place.  there is broken glass on the ground here.  if you are looking for safety, sun, or sugar, go play somewhere else, child.)

As I type this, I am so tired.  I'd really just like to climb into my bed, pull the covers around me, curl into a ball, and let the grey half-light of this long afternoon fade away, be in a warm and still and quiet place where nothing is or was for an unspecified length of time.

But as I've already told one person today on another topic, that's too much like a defeat for me, and I don't do those so much.  I just keep getting up off the damn floor and fighting, even when I should lay down.

It all went quickly.  Once I got there, all my fear dropped away despite the gown and the table. The appointment as a whole really didn't go down the paths I expected, but that shouldn't really be a surprise, I guess.  Nothing ever does....  I expected to hear that tests were coming and procedures were urgently needed.  I expected him to talk about time limits and endings.  That came up, but very gently and briefly only.  The physical situation stays hanging in its ridiculous knife-edge balance, apparently.  One more year of grace has been, quite pointlessly considering my life and my situation, given.

I also talked to him about the hellish mood swings I've been having lately though, and things went crazy from there.  It might be the Topamax.  It might be more of the fun my body likes to dish out in little doses for me.  I have to call my neurologist and talk to him about the Topamax now since it's gotten scary-ish.  I have to have some relief from the roller coaster.  This conversation, the one I'm glossing so lightly, that I'm touching with such dainty fingers here, was excruciating.  It involved being told that perhaps I was trying to do too much, take too many problems on myself.  At one point, I was told that what I was trying to do was like trying to right a wrecked bus all by myself.

This isn't the first time I've been told this.  This isn't the second, the third.  Hell, I don't even know anymore how many times or how many people now have told me, doctors, coworkers, friends....  What I don't know is what to do about it.  That's the part that keeps getting left out.  That's the part I need somebody to help me with.  That's the part nobody seems to know.  There is only the "not this,"  never the "this instead."  (Although if I am fair, he did have a "this might help while you're looking for the this instead.")

And maybe others can't help find the "this instead."  Maybe that's asking too much.  Maybe I just am so totally screwed up that I don't have any idea about what I want for myself.  Maybe it all sounds equally good or equally dull.  Or maybe....maybe...

Maybe I do know what I really want and know that I cannot get it, not even in my wildest daydreams, so this is just as good as any other pointless substitute.

I'm so tired.  So very, very tired.  I warned you about the broken glass when you showed up.  If you got cut, well, I love you, and I'm sorry, but it's nobody's fault but your own.  I think I'm going to get in that bed now.