Me before: Gosh it’s a holiday weekend I should be at an outdoor barbecue somewhere with an SO or fiancé on my arm talking about the family we’re going to start after the wedding and I’ll be funny and charming and also 100 lbs lighter in a drop-dead sundress. But I’m not and therefore I have failed at everything ever, have zero worth as a person and will die alone.
Me: *goes through some weird-ass mental health shit, gets some perspective*
Me now: *sitting on the couch in my underwear, happily stoned, browsing the web and pondering what kind of take-out to get after having some kind of kinky, transgressive sex with my best friend* I don’t now about “happiness” but boy wow, intense contentment can be a thing and I have found it.
I’ve had a recurring nightmare for the last 20-ish years that always boils down to the same thing: I forgot to take a class in high school and if I don’t re-enroll immediately and take a remedial class or courseload my diploma will be invalidated, which will invalidate my college work and I’ll be unemployable. Inevitably in all iterations of this dream, it’s the end of the year and I have attended no classes and have taken no exams and I’m frantically rushing around trying to figure out how to fix it.
Until last night.
Last night, I marched up to the office and told them I’d had enough of this bullshit jerking me around, I am a 36 year old adult with a full time job, paying her own way and they would be giving me the diploma I had properly earned years ago and not bothering me any more. I hung it on the wall of my office in my mind, and with that symbolic gesture I hope to close the two-decade chapter of “I’m secretly a fake and not very smart,” imposter syndrome that has been dogging me.
Good night, gods bless.
I’ve been lounging around in my underpants, stoned, for two days solid, babying my tattoo and being expected to be available only for meals and sex.
Why can’t this be my forever life?
When your pharmacist cannot keep up with your demands for your criminalized medication (literally the only thing that makes you not want to shake apart and vomit on a daily basis but can be discontinued indefinitely at the drop of a hat with no physical withdrawal symptoms) and feels really badly about it sometimes you end up with a jar of homemade cannabutter in your fridge as a free “I’m sorry and value your business” gift and this is how you find yourself googling “easy cannabutter recipes” at 9 o’clock Monday morning because this is how you’ve chosen to live your life.
And when I say “you” I mean “me.” But if you have any easy to make recipes that use cannabutter hit me up.
Not sure if the introduction of psych meds has stolen my ability to enjoy anything at all, if it’s the lack of THC (which I honestly didn’t realize was so useful in keeping my anxiety at a 2 instead of a constant 8) or if my brain has just gone KERPLUNK again.
Whatever the reason, it sucks not being able to do anything without a) panicking about it to the point of not being able to do it/being severely impaired in the doing due to panic or b) having to be so shitfaced drunk to do it I’m a danger to myself (and others).
Nothing about any of this is remotely OK.
And that’s been the story of the last month. Hurrah.
So like. After a year-18 months of radio silence, The Medic (he’s a cardiac cath lab RN now, but he will always be The Medic here for me) contacted me today. We had a FB video chat while he took a shower and bummed around and I drank wine and got increasingly warm and shed my clothes. And while doing that we also had a reasonably deep heart-to-heart about our frustrations with hookups and the dating scene and living alone and trying to carry our own shit. We did a little mutual showing off, but no orgasms were had during the call.
I just. I mean, it was nice and no-pressure and good to talk to a kindred spirit but like, WTF? I mean, he never flat-out ignored or cold-shouldered me but he really hasn’t been forthcoming since he moved across the state (which I now know was for a job and a girl; only one of which worked out – and I leave you to guess which one) so I’m just like, WTF? I mean, if you want an agony aunt that’s also gonna show off for you that’s cool, ‘cause you were a good fuck and always gave at least as good as you got, but this “out of the woodwork” shit is kinda shifty.
What even is my life?
In other “I can’t believe this is actually happening to me” news, I can’t tell if I’m short of breath because this is an anxiety thing, or if my sinuses and lungs are so junked up that I simply can’t process air.
Lux: The human, the myth, the legend.