Actually, I'm not about to have a nervous breakdown, I actual did have one Saturday morning. It wasn't pretty. While I am pretty candid about what I share here, the gory details are going to be omitted because well, it was awful and not everything is for the prying eyes of the more than likely, uninterested public. The short version is that I received the results of my colonoscopy from November 23rd on Friday afternoon, and what shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone, there was nothing abnormal afoot in my anal area. This news itself wasn't so frustrating, but when I was told that I wouldn't be able to get a follow up appointment with the doctor regarding any of his findings until early February, that was enough to make the Corvair that is my heart, brain, and/or soul to become even more unsafe at any speed.
Let me say this though, I made a real effort to keep it together that day once I got off the phone with his receptionist, who's incredibly friendly voice and helpful demeanor only made the perceived reality of my situation at that time sting even more. Every cell in my body ached to be whisked away on a recreational/self-medication vacation from reality with a side of bodily harm that, as grim as this may be to read, could have resulted in me shedding this mortal coil sans regrets. But, I didn't go off the deep end like that. I got stoned off of a pre-rolled joint from a dispensary off Divisadero in the City, and ended up killing a few hours in various record stores and donut shops waiting for a friend to be free of obligations before shooting back to Oakland to be in the presence of another source of strength for me in the face of all this anguish, and tried to ride out the wave of hopelessness and do as little damage as possible. As time is want to do, it slipped away, and I didn't find myself returning home from this adventure in positive coping until 7:00 AM Saturday morning. This act of coping didn't sit well with some of my biggest supports, which lead to a meltdown from the constantly oppressive pressure and tension that ebbs and flows throughout this apartment I'm staying in like the dull, achy pain a deep, vividly discolored bruise. The ensuing outburst switched participants while never faltering in intensity or insanity, so it was decided that it was in my best interest to get out of town and off of the radar for a couple of days.
So I left the mean streets of Oakland to the rural roadways of Carmel Valley, where I spent most of the part of my childhood that any adult actually remembers. While I struggled with the notion of moving myself from self-imposed isolation to real deal, friendless void part of the state isolation, I was too emotionally drained to board another train of thought, and surrendered myself to the control of my parents. There were many moments of my time away that were incredibly refreshing and much needed for my brain, which is now in officially as bad of shape as my digestive tract, but there were also cold, lonely moments that were glaring reminders that my life has gotten seriously fucked up by the events of the last six months, and the idea of climbing out of this hole only continues to get larger and more daunting as days go by. My mother unleashed her keen ability to wheel and deal upon the receptionists in my doctor's office and somehow, by the grace of God, Jesus, Alllah, Krsna, Shiva, Buddha, Lemmy, and John Smith (in no particular order, so I don't need any boo fucking hoo comments out of you religious types), totally weaseled an appointment with the doc himself on Thursday, December 9th, which if you can't do math very well, was yesterday. Much faster than waiting until February 2011, right?
Yesterday's visit was my first with the doctor himself since consulting with him way back in September, and we discussed some things that are going good about my disorder, things that aren't going so good about my disorder, and how to sustain the good while improving the not so good. Another CT scan was booked, this time of my small bowel, and I was told to work on getting my sleep schedule back to that of a normal human, and not someone with severe, multi-continental jet lag. While it isn't really treading new ground, and remain skeptical of this being an area in which the key to this identifying and remedying this fucking Pandora's Box of of grim Life felt it needed to unleash on me. I have a lot ahead of me to fix, but things look lighter today than they did Friday afternoon of last week.
Over the last two weeks, I have began to write down some of the better fucked up stories I've lived through for a sort of anthology or memoir I intend on publishing. Between that and the often overwhelming anxiety and uneasiness of feeling shitty all the time, sometimes writing in here is stretching me very thin. I am, however, always the asshole fucking with his iphone. I downloaded a few of the camera apps, which have direct connections to Tumblr, so I have created caffeineorme.tumbr.com. It is more or less the visual accompaniment to this blog. Sometimes pics will correspond with blog entries, other times they will be they're own entities.
caffeineorme.tumbler.com
I could get into why this took so long, but its weird, so I wont.
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