Sunday, February 19, 2006

So, the flu started last Thursday and at first seemed to not get worse and slowly get better. Until Wednesday this week kicked in. Mom and dad were out of town when I noticed there were some groceries missing for my dinner. Seeing how the flu was calm at the moment I went for it. On my way to the store it kinda hit home how sick I really was. When the bag of groceries fell apart - not even halfway home - and I had to carry them in my arms, it hit me even harder. The soreness it gave me didn't subside until today, if that's any indication of how bad things are. Still, that stupid move could only be blamed on me since I could've waited for the parents to come home. When they did, mom said they'd take care of everything from now on. I wouldn't have to do a thing. (Going through papers that dealt with almost getting raped a couple of years back didn't help matters, I suppose.) Because of my current unemployment status, there's a lot of paperwork that needs to be taken care of. This was very much the case on the Thursday. An old employer needed some papers to sign, another needed to correct the dates he'd put me down for working with him, some of my medicine was out so a trip to the pharmacy was neccessary and there were papers that had to be sent off in the mail. With the flu really knocking me over, and mom's promise of them taking care of me, I thought they'd deal with the stuff that I told them had to be done. But dad was busy painting most of the morning, then he was off to somewhere for hours, and there was no use in asking him to run 5 errands for me. As if it wasn't bad enough I had to depend on someone else to help me out, I didn't want their foul mood spewed all over me for needing help. There was no point in asking mom either, because she was not feeling well and her arm still isn't 100% better after her fall. So despite having ZERO energy left in me, I had to trudge out in terrible weather and take care of business. Weakened to the max, plus some additional weakening (even though that's not possible if you're already weakened as much as you can be). Despite being hammered into the ground by utter powerlessness, I still tried to keep my spirits up. The damage had been done anyway, right? Well, it didn't feel like my parents got it through their head just how bad of a state I was in and when they got into some inane argument while I was trying to eat.... it just snapped me in half. I'm highly sensitive to how my surrounding is when I eat. If it's tense or pressured, then I simply can't eat. All apetite was lost, and to best sum up how things were I will recount a dream I had afterwards: Two of my sisters, mum and I were back at the house. They were building something, completely ignoring me while I tried to tell them that I wasn't feeling well. In a desperate attempt to make them see, I smashed their creation and pointed to it while screaming: "LOOK! See that? That's me, I'm broken, shattered into a million pieces and I can't be fixed!" Whatever remained of the day was spent cooped up in my room, slowly fading into a minimum state of existance, trying to save whatever was left of me. The following day mom and dad had to be off again. I opted to stay home, figuring it'd give me the space needed to pull myself together. And it worked. By the time they got home I felt well enough to try and calmly explain just how bad things had gotten. That I was at an end. Unfortunately, it went right over their heads. It was just like in my dream where I was screaming for dear life, only to be met with "Oh, well that's not good" and the two of them not giving it any more thought than that. I went back to my room hating myself for wanting to communicate, hating how that tiny part of my brain going "nyah, told you so" was right once more. Most of all it destroyed me how I [for once] so desperately wanted them to see, understand and help me. First I was really upset and crying. Then it turned into rage, mostly geared towards myself for constantly being proven right regarding things that I am so vulnerable about. Feeling the fury build up inside me was terrifying because I knew it had to come out but at the same time had no idea how to go about releasing it without harming myself or destroying whatever was in my reach. Slapping myself real hard about the face didn't help me snap out of it, neither did throwing a few soft objects, so I crawled into bed and lay there in a cramped up fetal position trying to weather it out. At this point mom came in, telling me how she'd thought about what I'd said, up until retreating into my room, and finally understood. She wanted to apologize, help me. Every fiber in my body yelled at me not to budge, throwing in my face how it had only made things worse whenever I tried to correct a situation. "Hold on to that fury. Don't give them another chance to hurt you." But for some reason I can't ignore wanting to clear things up, even if they start off horrible, get a whole lot worse, and maybe appear like they'll never be resolved. It tires me to live and approach life like I used to. And so I pushed myself to go that extra length. Slowly we got a grip of the situation and dealt with it. Since then I've rested, accepting that right now I am on standby. Comfortably numb makes sense. At least until I have a reason to push the on button again. Usually I add a bit of drama to heighten emotions, but this time I actually toned it down. How about that, heh. You guys don't need to worry about me. I'm not suicidal or giving up on life. My emotions are simply out of color and are sent off to regain their shine. I've gotten through worse times. And so have others.

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