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liv4games-blog · 6 years

Text

Eat

26 years I’ve been learning myself

26 years and I’m still an amorphous blob when I look inside try to define me

I forget what I look like if I don’t look in the mirror

Just a brain looking out the windows through my eyes

but my eyes seem to be lying to me... I hit my head all the time. Usually the top right side. I can’t seem to find it myself, but I feel I have some kind of blind spot there, exacerbated by a procrastinated haircut...

I once read that small concussion are the most insidious. Small, repetitive, concussions. Does every day count?

what about the days it

SLAMS

into the corner the shelf

the wall out here->

the days it brings me to tears it’s so hard

Or I see stars, falling stars of the vision I don’t know if I’m losing

I see shapes that aren’t there

....are they? They can’t be... and yet they’re there. are they real? The yellow rectangles on the wall? The thing flitting at the side of my vision (is it a bug? an animal? a bat? something falling?)

Fight or flight mode, Or sloth. There is no in between. On switch Off switch. Frozen, incapable of making moves, but primed for danger. My body responds in ways I despise to the overwhelming power of my damaged(?) brain. I am impulse. I am Id. I am... what am I??

WHICH PART IS ME????????? WHICH. PART. IS. ME?

who do you blame?

how do you have self-confidence if you can’t trust yourself?

how do you fix anything if you have to fix EVERYTHING?

if you can’t conceptualize time so... at all times... you are thinking of and seeing every single outcome of everything, every perspective, every possible way something could be taken in a social setting, every single scenario, everything that could ever happen, spreading out like an explosion from one single tiny moment in time. Everything. How, then, can you ever make a decision?

If everything is valid,

and you can see every single angle on every single thing as far as your education takes you and gives you perspective (A PERSPECTIVE THAT IS WIDENING ALL THE TIME)

then how

|can one possibly make a choice?|

and in a culture of overwhelming choice (freedom), I am paralyzed

not even figuratively. My traitorous body will forcibly tense every muscle and marinate it in cortisol all day long

creating hard, crunchy, ROPES

steel cables; frozen ice unable to thaw.

I grind my teeth at night

My teeth are destroyed

the dentist used to ask if I was bulimic

they asked so often I later tried it to see what it was like.

but it was the medications And the car sickness

I was only a child

and

a child with terrifying memory problems

that scared her and hurt her life so badly that she asked her doctor if anything at all could help

he was not the best doctor. He had a pill for everything. And he had a pill for her. Perhaps Alzheimer's medication could work?

She was only 13. She didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to throw up every morning and every day for a month from the medication and she didn’t know to ask for help. So she threw up every day for a month. And when she told her doctor at their appointment a month later, he scolded her for not telling him sooner. She was ashamed. And it had not worked.

~

They did experiments on her.

~

She started seeing the school counselor in first grade. She was made to hold an eraser so she wouldn’t hit the other students. She bit people.

more animal than child.

She would shriek a high pitched screech at random times, unable to contain herself

[She got scolded a lot.]

brimming, euphoric energy pouring out in sound and movement, unable to be repressed. Blissful expressions of life and existence, desperately needing to be validated by others to prove she existed

running, howling, screeching... animal impulses coming out every which way they could be expressed. Brain so limbic she hardly felt human.

only 6 years old.

she wasn’t normal, she figured out. they always told her she was special but... she never knew if they meant “special” or not. She still wonders.

she thrived in Montessori school, and until 5th grade, she did okay in school. She had few friends. She couldn’t sit still, always wanted to be somewhere else, would stay up late reading books; she would read during class, she would read at home, she’d try so hard in the car but she would throw up.

(so much throwing up)

She wanted to be a teacher. A writer. A novelist. Always better at expressing herself silently than out loud.

Because in reality maybe she is the brain only. She feels like the pilot of a clumsy, damaged body- but not hers. It isn’t hers. it’s not her.

she knows it is her but

she

can’t care about it

she can’t care for it

it serves a purpose but

it’s just a suit.

It feels so disconnected.

Eat. EAT. EAT!!!! the signals don’t connect. They don’t make sense! They are at war with each other and she can’t for the life of her figure out which one is real. Tangled impulses, knotted and disorganized, a collection of misguided signals from her brain

So. Much.

...

WHAT IS IT

is it the

medicine

is it the

PTSD

is it the

Depression

is it the

ADHD

is it the

Anxiety

is it the

Traumatic Brain Injuries

is it the

Lack of Sleep

is it the

Inability to eat food

is it the

Substance use

is it

Bad life choices

She can’t keep up

paralyzed

ineffective

overwhelmed

she has so many needs

and she can’t take care of them

can’t take care of herself

but

how

can she ask for help

when her family needs help even more.

When her struggle is NOTHING compared to what her parents are going through.

when it never has been.

fuck cancer.

fuck. cancer.

not again.

isn’t everything else enough

isn’t it?

please

please isn’t it enough?

isn’t it enough that her mother is extremely disabled from MS

isn’t it enough that she kept her sister from killing herself

isn’t it enough that her father almost died

isn’t it enough that somehow her mother already survived breast cancer?

... isn’t it enough that he has cancer already?

and now he has two.

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