October 29, 2015

One of my favorite Kids In The Hall sketches is called “Test Tube Baby.” It’s about a man going into various stores and buying air fresheners, candles, and incense, and he goes into a detailed description of his life whenever asked by the cashier ringing him up, much to the chagrin of the employee who was just being polite and doing their job.

“How are you today, sir?”

“Not so good. And it’s because I’m a test tube baby.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Couldn’t tell from looking at me, could ya?”

“Hmmm…..No…”

“No. No, it’s odd. I mean, here I am, a freak, and nobody knows it. And I am a freak. I mean, how could I not be? My life started out in a test tube. It’s funny… well, more sad than really… but everyday I talk I just…. never feel like I fit in…so when people like yourself ask me, ‘How are you today?’ I have to honestly reply, ‘Not Very Good.’ My life is SHIT because I’m a test tube baby!”

The last lines resonate with me: “so when people ask me ‘how are you today?’ I have to honestly reply, ‘not very good.'”

Same here, Test Tube Baby Guy. Same here.

I’m sure I’ll catch shit for writing this instead of seeking anyone out to talk to, but oh well. It’s as the kids these days say, how I roll.

Being here in a small town recovering from my surgery is rough. I’m with my dad which is nice and also really goddamn stressful. He’s dying, you know.

Chemo has been…I don’t know what it’s been on him. Seeing my dad like this is heartbreaking and it makes me angry. He has numbness in his hands and feet, so he kind of shuffles and stumbles along. His posture is a bit slumped over. He says the chemo causes drainage in the back of his throat, so he tries to clear it out by hacking it up which causes him to gag and spit. He tires easily. His memory is shit, too. “Chemo brain,” as he calls it.

I’ve been sleeping on the recliner in the living room for over two weeks. He keeps saying I should sleep in his bed because I need a decent night’s sleep, too, but I refuse, even though I’d kill to be able to sprawl out in a bed and not have my feet hanging over the edge of a footrest. I lie and say “I’m fine, I promise.” My lower back begs to differ, but he needs to sleep in his own bed.

Yes, I feel like shit for complaining about this, but in the same breath, I want to complain. So when someone asks me how I’m going, I can honestly say, “not very good.”

Back to the small town part.

I spent 20 years of my life in this place, but I don’t like being here. I miss people in Lincoln. The thing about me is I won’t tell them this and then get passive aggressive towards them in an effort to make me not miss them so much. Fucked, no? Yes. Or, I’ll ignore them, or just become self-absorbed in my own life and not give a shit about them (e.g. this post).

When I get like this, the moody, brooding asshole who convinces herself no one cares is when I can’t handle my emotions well…not that I do well to begin with, but I digress…when I get like this, my depression kicks in overtime, too, which is just lovely. I always kind of scoffed at having been diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2 a few years ago, but times like these make me rethink this.

I’ll be fine and dandy for a few hours, then the boredom and reading Facebook posts and seeing that instead of everyone sitting at home being so despondent I’m gone that they can’t live their lives, they’re actually doing the opposite and that compounds my feelings of being left out. You know what I think then? Well, if they can live without me now, they can live without me forever.

Side note: I won’t do anything stupid, I’m not suicidal, this is how depression works its magic in my brain. End note.

I have about three weeks and a few days left here, or that’s the plan, anyway. I go see my doctor again on November 9 and based on how slowly I’m getting over this, it might end up being 8 weeks of recovery. And yes, this is adding to my moodiness. I want to walk without my walker and not have to take pain medication and be able to bend my goddamn knee. I went grocery shopping this afternoon and walked around the store for two hours and now my knee is like, “oh, sweetie. I don’t think so.”

There I go complaining again.

On the bright side, I’m getting my hair done and eyebrows waxed tomorrow afternoon, so that’s fun. I might as well look decent and have two eyebrows while feeling emotionally drained, right? Presentable on the outside, falling apart on the inside.

Before I go, I just want to say how much I appreciate you people. Despite my earlier claim of feeling alone and isolated, I know you’re here for me. I’m sorry I lack the skills to voice this to the ones who need to hear it. I keep saying I’ll work on that, the talking thing, but I haven’t yet. Maybe some day.

As usual, thanks for reading.
E

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