kicking and screaming means having a voice

They say the two things people fear most are death and public speaking, but I’ll bet that’s not true.

I, for one, don’t have any fear of public speaking.  I do want to do my best when I give a reading.  Most of the pressure I feel is due to the time constraints the organizers box us writers into following.  Unless I know my piece falls well below the time limit, I know I’ve got to be very careful to avoid dilly-dallying.  As far as the “audience” part goes, I’m totally cool.

With humans in general, I’m not scared to converse or ad lib or perform or joke around.  So what’s this “public speaking” deal?  I’m not agoraphobic or shy.  Anyone who thinks I am doesn’t know me.

Here’s a myth about shyness: People assume that a person who doesn’t speak much is shy.  The person is quiet. Big diff.  Or soft-spoken. Big diff.  Sometimes, a person is just pausing, waiting, momentarily holding back.  We as a society need to be patient to listen far better than we do now.

Which gets me to this: What my REAL fear is.  Being misunderstood.  Misinterpreted.  Misread.  Stepped on.  Walked all over.  Forgotten about.

Imagine (as I often do):

“What a sick fuck she was.”

“I’m glad I always kept her at arms’ length.  I was afraid to get to know her, especially after I learned she had anorexia.”

“She deserved what she got.”

“Sad.  They should have institutionalized her.”

“Why didn’t they force her?  Isn’t that what they do?  Tie them down and shove things into them?”

“Good thing she didn’t take anyone down with her.  This could have been a worse tragedy.”

“She only complained. She was ungrateful anyway.”

We don’t know if the dead hear what we say about them after they are gone, do we?  Can we say for sure?  Honestly, the one thing I dreaded most was to be misread or to have those that outlived me totally miss the boat.

That’s not what’s going to happen.  I won’t let that happen.  It’s my wish that no one on earth to be misread or misunderstood ever, not only after they die, but even more important, while still alive.

Yet everywhere I turn, I hear of folks with eating disorders denied care or being mistreated.  That, friends, is an example of society not listening.  And you hear about people still dying.

I titled this entry “kicking and screaming….” for a reason.  You notice I haven’t shut up yet.  I don’t plan to.

I believe that these days, you really have to kick very very hard, and scream at the top of your voice.  It takes persistence to get your words out there.  The world is a noisy place, and the background hiss gets louder as the years pass.

Please, keep kicking, as I have.  It takes time and patience.   Even if you are convinced you are gasping your last breath.

We will not be forgotten.  We will not be overlooked.  Someday, that small flicker of light will grow into a deep, blazing torch for all to see.

Bad luck

So in the past week or so, I have sat on a pair of glasses and broken them.  Luckily, I anticipated someday having this sort of bad luck, so I do have a spare pair of glasses.  I advise anyone with poor vision (mine is around  -12) to have spare glasses.  You never know when idiots such as careless nurses or EMT’s might accidentally lose them if you are hospitalized or whatever.  And you’ll never get them back, trust me.  I’m sure they have a back room full of glasses belonging to dead people somewhere in some back room in every hospital, and when people come into the hospital and they can’t see, some nurse goes into that room full of spectacles, grabs one pair, goes to the person, and says, “Try these on, honey, do they help?”  And if they do, voila!  That’s recycling for you.

Anyway, I’m wearing my spares.  They are not so great, but they work.  Same prescription, I just don’t like them as much.

So another bad luck thing that happened was having my credit card number stolen.  I’m pretty sure who stole it.

And another bad luck thing that happened was that I bought a new cell phone and it is defective.  So I have to send it back.  It is activated and I have put money on it and that totally sucks.  I have contacted the company and I guess they will send a replacement…or they better.  And then I’m going to have to put more money on the new one just to activate it.

Meanwhile, I have to see a doctor.  Like right away. The human being I trust says I have medical issues that are important and I need medical tests done.  And every time I get on the phone, people complain that they hear beeping.   So thankfully, I have a spare phone.   The phone will run out of minutes…oh geez.

I don’t even want to leave the house.  I don’t want to wear clothes, only pajamas.

I don’t want to see a doctor.  I don’t want to see any humans.  I don’t want any humans to see me this fat.  I want to cut the fat off my body.  I don’t want to leave the house or have any humans see me until I lose this horrible weight.

I went to bed and woke up three pounds heavier.  That’s the other bad luck thing.  I don’t see how that can be possible.

I wish I had woken up dead instead.

What I really wanted to say to the CVS guy, but didn’t

Actually, I was just about to leave, putting my prescription into my knapsack, and I was about to add one more thing to the litany of rude remarks I’d already said, but canned it before I said it. This is the remark I was about to make:

“I hope I am murdered on my way home.”

As you can see, I made it home fine, and was not murdered.

Appointment today

Yes, on Memorial Day.  There are two people on the planet I trust.  This was with one of the people.  She is going to talk to my primary care physician and she has also talked to the head of  CBFS.  She said I needed medical attention RIGHT AWAY (meaning today) and that I should see someone today, but I guess that didn’t happen.

I told this person that I trust I may have developed refeeding syndrome a while back and that I told my shrink and my shrink ignored what I was saying.  This person said I need to have a full workup right away.  But I never got a call about an appointment so I guess maybe tomorrow.

I took a lot of drugs last night.  A lot.  Just to keep myself from binge eating.  I wanted to knock myself out totally so that I would be incapable of going to a store and buying binge food.

You know how when you go to drugs dot com, and when you look up two drugs, you get a “high risk” warning about mixing two drugs?  I mixed two drugs you are not supposed to mix.  I figured that way, I would definitely be really out of it and incapable of doing anything.

No, these were not illegal substances. These were over-the-counter stuff plus the meds I am supposed to take daily.

So I took my usual pills I take every night, and I took this over-the-counter drug.  The usual dose is one pill.  You are not supposed to take more than one in 24 hours.  I took one, and nothing happened.  I think eventually I took seven.  These are sleeping pills and the damn things did not knock me out.  This did nothing to stop me from binge eating.

All I could think about was that nobody gives a damn about me anyway.  I walked in front of cars.  Of course, I knew they would stop.  I wasn’t trying to get hit.  I just didn’t care.

Nobody gives a shit.  Of course, people say they love me, but it’s lip service.  Ask someone for real help, and they back off and lie and make excuses.

That’s when you get dumped. They start lying, then after a while, they just dump you.  Or they lie and lie and lie and you get tired of hanging out with chronic, pathological liars.

Today I slept all day.  My CBFS worker, who obviously doesn’t give a shit, called and I said I was very busy sleeping.  We made an appointment for tomorrow, that is, she said she’d call tomorrow.  I really think she cares more about her phone than she does about me, and I can’t understand her on the phone cuz she  mumbles.

Sleeping all day was truly a blessing.  It’s better than eating. Anything’s better than eating.  I’m afraid to put even one bite of food into my mouth.  I think I might go back to bed soon.  I hope I die in my sleep.

Mantra, again and again

Nothing better to do than sleep the day away tomorrow.

It’s not like the phone’s actually gonna ring and wake me up or anything.  Cuz like I said, nobody gives a shit about me.

No sense in going to church because a certain mean, insulting, demeaning person who has nothing better to do than put other people down shows up all the time.

So I might as well sleep.

I can’t even call 1-800-suicide anymore. They no longer accept skype calls.  If I call with my cell phone, I get some local place that puts some ten minute limit on calls.

And get this.  You get to around eight minutes, and just to show you how bored they are, they give you a “one minute warning.”

At this point, when I heard that, I was so disgusted I hung up and have not called since.

3am, what the heck do you do when you are lonely  out of your mind?

I have a handful of friends that are chronic, pathological liars that I try to avoid.  No offense to them, but I learned my lesson.  I try to be nice, but I got my limits, see?  When 80% of what comes out of their mouth is bullshit, I am not going to spend much time talking to them.

Hospitals are useless.  You do not get care there, unless they are the kind for the very, very rich.  All you can expect is to be kept alive for three days and then sent along your way, and told how badly you have wasted their time.  Once you are out, you have no therapist because you are on public insurance.

People do not listen to me.  My degree means nothing because I live in poverty and because I live in subsidized housing.  Nobody respects me as a writer anymore and I feel worthless.