It’s back again. THe spiraling thoughts. I don’t know what it is about this time of night and my routine and the whole thing I guess is driving me mad. How do I keep doing this same thing over and over again and then to what get another cancer and have the doctors fuck it all up and end up back in a hospital gown and try to fight it all again. What is the point even why do I even make plans for my business or anything else when it all feels so pointless and so many people are so uncaring about others and the planet and the world and I keep caring and trying and crying and then nothing seems to change around me. Or maybe they are but they don’t tell me. I can’t tell where any of it matters - and I do mean where, not what - because where does any of this go? My passion, my heart, my tears, my frustration, flying out of the ends of my fingertips while I cry and try to walk so that I can poop out three little eggs and if I eat one more avocado, I sometimes wonder if I will projectile vomit green across the room like in Stand by Me which is the one of the greatest 80s films ever and I’m reminded of river phoenix and his talent and my crush on him and how weird it is that he was such a young guy when he died. I’ve lived my whole life like my plans will work, that I know what to do next, and if I don’t, i start making a list and then the plan starts to form itself and I find old lists and I’m so pleased that I’ve done so many of the tasks on them. But how do I keep making lists and lists and plans if my dad is taken down in a matter of months and yes, everyone keeps telling me he is older. But they also need to factor in that i’ve had health issues my entire life, an auto immune disease at 17 and first cancer at 39. He’s had literally no health problems until his 60s and built his body up so strong during that an entire time. I know it was the greed and corrupt medical companies not doing the right job of hiring and managing and now it’s all trickling down from seemingly tiny paperwork errors on someone’s desk until they turn into ice picks that fall through the hospital ceiling and stab the patients to death while the bureaucrats shake hands in a conference room deciding our fate, with the click of a power point and bottom lines, profit more important than people, except of course the ones that get to keep the profit. They are obviously the most important people in the world, and so many people don’t feel that way, but somehow are still scared to speak up and say No this isn’t right, why aren’t you taking better care of our disabled, our sick, our elderly? I don’t need this tax break let me donate it to the local school system. I don’t need to take a vacation (or 10) this year, I want to take that money and time and devote it to a cause near and dear to my heart, because that will bring more joy to my heart than any cocktail on a beach ever would. Is Generation X broken did we not have enough war or pain or struggle to understand what’s happening now because it really scares me what people can not see and it’s right in front of them. I’ve been near sighted since I was 9 years old, and I can’t believe that I’m standing and looking at the same exact vista and seeing completely different things. This was a good exercise. I don’t know what to do with all these thoughts that come out at rapid fire. I forgot to mention in my post where I talked about how I do so many things fast, I also think fast, my brain spits out so many words, I can’t handle it some days, the walking can be helpful when I need to get into more of a trance state to work out a problem or think about my medical case from a different perspective, or think of what kind of podcast I want to make, I was on the treadmill when the title and concept came to me. But some nights, the words are spinning out of control through my mind and I can’t handle the stress of each sentence heavier than the one before, and as the words start to spin around my mind, the anxiety and worry attached to each other start to spit out of each sentence like a fire hose, until all I am seeing and feeling and hearing is the anxiety and fear attached to those words and those worries and there doesn’t seem to be an end, the sentence is a never ending train of one problem one after the other. And I can see some able bodied around me back away, I guess I’m finally letting the world see what I tried to hard for so many years, that my mind, it makes me feel like a freak, I don’t know how to explain what it’s been like trying to hide what it can do and what it can not do. it’s why i don’t really feel like i have a choice other than to create all these different buckets for content.
If I don’t, I think my mind would break for good. If I don’t get it all out, or part of it, or some of it, geezus, any god damn words that I can get out of my head and on paper, or on podcast, or on a blog post, no longer spins out of control in my mind, so I can rest, which I can’t really, not these days. The words, the topics, the posts, the articles, the ideas, the episodes, the videos, the comics, too many things coming through, I didn’t even know I could do something like what I’m doing now but I’d love to do spoken word and have felt that way for a long time though I’m sure I’d be an embarrassing white girl with the jewish nose, trying to do spoken word on the west coast when it really belongs on the east coast in a bar that’s underground in the east village and smells of incense and falafel and a microphone that’s stuck at only one height because nobody will get a new one so whoever is at open mike has to either sit or adjust themselves in order to do their gig, and people complain but they notice that they get so distracted by playing with the microphone that they loosen up for their set, so it ends up working out, the little microphone trick. Where does this shit come from in my brain. I had a really good movie idea today and I think I already forgot it. I texted it to someone. It was a script I think I could maybe pull except dialogue, I don’t know if I could dialogue but who the fuck knows what will come out now that the rest of my mind has apparently broken.
I think young people wouldn’t mind this inside peek at a mind during an anxiety spiral. I need to walk fuck it’s so late already but I had too much pain today and last night, no break for me, never a break, except to sleep, and only then am I free to eat what I want but still in my dreams, I’m scared and if I take a bite of bread or cake, I spit it out, my spirit self can’t even enjoy baked goods. I need to walk.
((Bad Auntie, that was movie idea I could write that drunk with one hand tied behind my back))