The bed feels lumpy, unusually so, and I toss and turn. I toss on my left side, and I feel the burn shoot through my esophagus, damned acid reflux that never plays nice. I have to, somehow, find a way to straighten my arms, uncurl the wrists, unclutch the comforter. I never liked my thoughts, much, at this hour... Much like the acid reflux, they just never play nice. Irrational foreign invaders, like quixotic windmills, in my mind. I am scared, I admit. I am tired, and I'm scared.
I haven't exactly been taking the greatest care of myself, over the last month or so. Why can't I just find the will, the strength, and just keep going? Be perfect all the time? Why can't I just pick up, and do what mostly no other person (without a chronic illness) really does (but claims they do), and save my life? I see them eating crap all the time -- those skinny goody two shoes... I see them there. Living the chronic free life. Chronic. You'd think I was talking about pot. Save my life. I shouldn't have eaten so many carbs. I think of my dad. I think of kidneys. Gosh, I think I can feel my kidneys. Proteins, flushing, overpowering, disempowering. Would I even be able to know if there was something wrong with my kidneys? No. Not really. Not without insurance... though perhaps, though, through the Free Clinic.
But not my ovaries. No one cares about my ovaries. Ovaries are "luxuries." I think about what state mine must be in. My thoughts race, and travel, and warp, and twist... Planned Parenthood can't do anything about my ovaries... I think about women losing ovaries to cysts. Why the hell me? What the hell was so special about ME, in my family, that I had to be the one born with the woman-changing-into-a-man-disease. THIS IS SHIT. I think about that stupid woman from an old job... that woman who must've weighed about 400 lbs, yet she had no disease. No disease, but the obesity, of course. I don't blame her, one bit... I am jealous, I have to admit... But she'd sit there, and ask me dumb things. She'd ask me "Why is your scalp all shiny under the lights? It's so shiny!," and she'd giggle... Sigh... how the hell do you tell someone "Bitch, I am losing my hair, can't you get some manners, tact, and a sense of self??" I don't want to lose my hair... I don't. I am NOT my hair. Hair. I have waaaaaay too much facial hair. Goddamned PCOS. I am tired of plucking away the hair... I can't handle waxing, can't afford electrolysis, much less laser hair removal... So pluck, pluck, I must... What to do about all this crappy hair??? Every day... I am more and more a shadow of who I used to be... a woman with no hair on her head, and all the hair on her face. I constantly forget to take my medicine. Stupid Hypothyroidism, stupid PCOS. I. should. not. have. eaten. so. many. carbs.
I must toss onto my right side. I wonder if I'm losing my mind; a person without a proper job... ends up losing their mind. My back hurts, my breathing is hard. Anxiety builds, and I think about my current job. One to two days a week... Unloading trucks. I start to cry. I don't want a job, I tell myself. Employers are mean people, they persecute you, people want to run you over for their own fortune. Still, I must get a better job, another job, some kind of job... I wonder if I can have a job just ranting and raving craziness, like I do now... I think not. Those are reserved for people with more glamorous, yet crappier diseases. Diseases where people aren't to blame for their crap. There are crappier diseases? I don't know... I think about the new yogurt place, downtown. All the same yogurt, all a different flavor, all the same stuff. All the same crap.
Stuff. Too much overwhelming stuff. If I fall asleep, for just long enough, I can forget about some of this stuff. I can put depression back inside that box, and busy myself with life... but just for long enough.
I should not. have eaten. SO MANY CARBS.
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| Carbs, by basalt |
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