I went to the meeting tonight with the full intention of dropping out of the conference. I have been dropping out of everything the past few days. My rooms are almost bare, all the shit I have thrown away. Just kind of like, what the hell do I need this for anymore, anyway? It just sits here, serving no purpose, so out it goes. A liberating feeling, getting rid of everything.
The past few days my head has been in the clouds of unreality. I cannot seem to focus on anything that might possibly be feasible. I may as well be living in a fantasy world. As good as, at least. I have been talking to thin air, and thin air has other names and personalities and carries on conversations with me, because there is no one else to talk to.
After my phone rang off the hook (well, a cell phone does not really have a hook to ring off of) Friday night, everything went silent. All those \”call me if you need to talk\” people and all those \”I\’ll call you right back\” people never called back. I turned my phones off after a while just to keep myself from wondering. Fuck it, fuck them all.
Lost interest in everything. Stopped taking my medication. Stopped eating. Stopped doing anything except throwing material items away and listening to music. Who knew I had an Au Pairs record, or the original X Ray Spex \”Identity\” on 45? I had totally forgotten. Oh yeah, and remember that Kraftwerk still holds up, and that I find it impossible to listen to Tom Waits at the moment without bursting into tears. And that Fred Schneider is god. And that is all I have been able to do, is twirl around, stare at the ceiling and listen to the notes as the bass vibrates the room. Day in and day out.
Nothing seemed possible anymore. When will I learn that something always kicks my ass? I just have to wait for it. Stop giving in to my own head.
The god damn meeting got me sparked again. I faked my way through it for two years and loved it, so why not another year? There is, after all, the radical sex workshop to think about. It has to be done, and no one else is going to do it. Not to mention the other four workshops I want to do. The conference has got to have more diversity than it has the past two years, and that includes at the art show. So here I am, all sparked again. Not quitting.
Something feasible to live for.
Then, wonder of wonders, I find myself pouring my heart out to Katy and Jessica, and I never thought I would say this, but talking to them made me feel better. Not talking to Mark, or MW, or my therapist, or anybody else (though talking to Don made me happy), talking to the girls made me feel better. It gave me my fucking hope back.
Jessica gave me the phone number for her physician, who is excellent, and I am going to see about making an appointment with him soon. Katy and I are going to start exercising together and researching FMS (she also has it, and does not know anyone else who is young that has it), and the three of us are going to start cooking vegan dinners together once a week. They both said I could call them at any time, day or night, and gave me long hugs and made me feel so much better.
And for the first time, it was not a man making me feel better, and it was not sex.
And due to a lot about what we talked about tonight, I am going back on my medication, starting tonight. Just not the SSRI.
I never thought I would see the day when two women would make me feel better about myself and my life. Where I would be so happy to have these two wonderful women as friends. It delights me to no end.
Now if I can just hold on to this mood before I cycle again, before my train of thought pulls me back down. Unfortunately, I know it will not be long.
