"Some people sabotage their happiness because they don't believe they deserve any," I say to the imaginary female therapist, no doubt quoting another therapist or some psychology book I read at some point.
"Do you look back at your life, and see you doing that to yourself?" She's scribbling on her pad.
I can't tell if she's writing or doodling. "When it comes to romantic relationships, I just don't think there was that much happiness to be had. I remember spending three days with [Mr. FS], who had asked me to marry him, three days, mind you, and after that, I was like, 'I have to get away from this man.' I hated being with him that long. He was a mean person....I could just go down the list..."
"Do you ever remember a time you were happy with someone?"
"Yeah, every time I stepped through that door at [Morpheus]'s house. Even if I'm mad at him, I'm still happy to be with him. I mean, if you could bottle that shit, I'd be IV'ing it all day long."
"Is this getting in the way of your studies? Your thoughts about him?"
"I don't know. I got my score back for my microbiology midterm. I got a 66%. That's the lowest grade, by far, that I've received in the past two years at [community college]. So, who knows?"
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
The Wonders of We
"The field of forces in the case of human behavior is the role of the situation, especially the social situation, in guiding behavior. The main situational influences on our behavior, influences that we often misjudge or fail to see altogether, are the actions--and sometimes just the mere presence--of other people. Friends, romantic partners, even total strangers can cause us to be kinder or meaner, smarter or dumber, lazier or more hardworking, bolder or more cautious. They can produce drastic changes in our beliefs and behavior not only by what they tell us explicitly, but also by modeling through their actions what we should think and do, by subtly implying that our acceptability as a friend or group member depends on adopting their views or behaving as they do."
--Social Psychology, pg. 9, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett
--Social Psychology, pg. 9, by Gilovich, Keltner, Chen, and Nisbett
The Questionable Conclusion Part V
"You're not going to find anyone unless you go out and are interacting with new people, like taking up a new hobby or joining a book club. How does that sound?" The imaginary female therapist looks at me earnestly, like she has the whole world figured out.
"Number one, I don't want to find anyone new. Okay? I realize that maybe it seems very odd or even abnormal, but I don't want to be in a relationship, and number two--number two, I don't have time for a book club. I have plenty of books to read just with my four classes."
"You want to be in a relationship with [Morpheus], but you don't want to be in a relationship?" She asks, thinking she has me trapped in some uncomfortable place.
"I never said I wanted to be in a relationship with [Morpheus]. I mean, yeah, if things were different--sometimes I imagine coming home to him like a normal individual, but--"
"It's okay to have needs and wants. To want to be close to someone. And it's okay to believe you'll find it."
"Really? I told my mother the other day that the only reason why I'd ever marry would be for money. My opinion on that hasn't changed. My friend [Rosa] once said that I acted like long term relationships were cancer." I smile slightly.
"Why for money?"
"The oldest reason ever. Financial stability. I remember a life when I didn't have to worry about where money came from. I wouldn't mind returning to that life...What if that's the last conversation we ever have?" I say, changing the subject, and suddenly frightened.
"What if it is?"
"Whenever I think about it, it just stops me in my tracks. Like it's impossible to digest."
"Number one, I don't want to find anyone new. Okay? I realize that maybe it seems very odd or even abnormal, but I don't want to be in a relationship, and number two--number two, I don't have time for a book club. I have plenty of books to read just with my four classes."
"You want to be in a relationship with [Morpheus], but you don't want to be in a relationship?" She asks, thinking she has me trapped in some uncomfortable place.
"I never said I wanted to be in a relationship with [Morpheus]. I mean, yeah, if things were different--sometimes I imagine coming home to him like a normal individual, but--"
"It's okay to have needs and wants. To want to be close to someone. And it's okay to believe you'll find it."
"Really? I told my mother the other day that the only reason why I'd ever marry would be for money. My opinion on that hasn't changed. My friend [Rosa] once said that I acted like long term relationships were cancer." I smile slightly.
"Why for money?"
"The oldest reason ever. Financial stability. I remember a life when I didn't have to worry about where money came from. I wouldn't mind returning to that life...What if that's the last conversation we ever have?" I say, changing the subject, and suddenly frightened.
"What if it is?"
"Whenever I think about it, it just stops me in my tracks. Like it's impossible to digest."
Sunday, January 28, 2018
Racism is Okay if You Keep It In Your Own House
My parents and I and my uncle are all in the den. I'm working on my microbiology midterm. My mother brings up the idea of Oprah running for president.
"That's just what we need, another nigger in the White House," my uncle says.
I am leaning over the bottom freezer, grabbing a Coke Zero, when I say, "Hey, easy with the racial slurs."
My mother defends her brother, "This is a private residence."
"That's just what we need, another nigger in the White House," my uncle says.
I am leaning over the bottom freezer, grabbing a Coke Zero, when I say, "Hey, easy with the racial slurs."
My mother defends her brother, "This is a private residence."
"Secrets From the Eating Lab," And Why You Should Avoid That Book Like Ben&Jerry's
According to the author of Secrets From the Eating Lab, our weight is largely genetically determined (I spoke about this earlier), and that we have a range of what is normal for us to weigh, and that without dieting, we can weigh on the low end of this range. Normally, during the course of my adulthood, I would gain and lose about thirty pounds, all within the normal weight range for my height, anywhere from the verge of being underweight to being about five pounds from being overweight--until recently anyway. Again, as the author said, it's hard for people to gain weight out of this range, and keep the weight on (she cited some studies), just as it is hard for people to diet out of their livable weight by being too light. If you try to mess with this range, you suffer some fairly drastic consequences.
There's a big problem with this argument, of course, and that's the fact that 2/3rds of the American population is either overweight or obese and that number has increased dramatically, just in my lifetime. It can't be due to genetic variability because there haven't been enough generations to naturally select for fat people, and therefore produce more of them, and therefore change the population. I've heard this argument before, I didn't come up with it, but I believe it to be fairly sound reasoning, even if it is evolutionary (which I'm personally not fond of for reasons I won't go into here).
So, are overweight and obese people just living in their genetically predetermined weight range?
I say no on that one. I read Fat Chance by Robert Lustig, brilliant researcher and doctor, who cited some possible environmental toxins as explanations for the increase in everyone's weight. There's this theory going around that the reason why people gain weight on Seroquel is because the drug changes the microbes in the gut (which is why I'm researching this very topic right now). I asked my doctors at Stanford as to how Topamax (which I'm currently on) works to help people to lose weight, and they didn't know.
Unfortunately, Dr. Mann doesn't offer much in the way of solutions. Her non-dieting dieting advice were things I had heard before. Like don't keep tempting things in the house because you will have a weak moment and eat them. Like eat a salad before your main course. Like don't eat to receive an emotional boost because it won't work. Etc. Honestly, if you want really good, non-extremist dieting advice, read the O Magazine. There are always helpful tips in there. Plus, Oprah, no matter how successful she is, she constantly struggles with her self-image and her weight, something that a lot of us average people can connect with.
Dr. Mann writes a full chapter on weight-based discrimination, but then later writes another chapter where she talks about being "okay" with your overweight body. She says we have better things to do with our time and energy than build the perfect body (even if we could), and therefore we should stride forward with other goals.
But if she's right, then someone's weight, and physical appearance, affects everything, including the job this person could potentially get or not get. I can understand that some people don't want to conform to society's standards and norms because they want to accept themselves as they are, and want other people to do the same. When I think of this, I think of trans and gender nonconforming.
But isn't it just all a hopeless message for those of us who are overweight or even slightly obese?
Do we buy into the stigma?
Yes.
Does that make us part of the problem, especially if we pass that message on down to our daughters (like my mother did to me)?
Yes.
But what do we do?
There's a big problem with this argument, of course, and that's the fact that 2/3rds of the American population is either overweight or obese and that number has increased dramatically, just in my lifetime. It can't be due to genetic variability because there haven't been enough generations to naturally select for fat people, and therefore produce more of them, and therefore change the population. I've heard this argument before, I didn't come up with it, but I believe it to be fairly sound reasoning, even if it is evolutionary (which I'm personally not fond of for reasons I won't go into here).
So, are overweight and obese people just living in their genetically predetermined weight range?
I say no on that one. I read Fat Chance by Robert Lustig, brilliant researcher and doctor, who cited some possible environmental toxins as explanations for the increase in everyone's weight. There's this theory going around that the reason why people gain weight on Seroquel is because the drug changes the microbes in the gut (which is why I'm researching this very topic right now). I asked my doctors at Stanford as to how Topamax (which I'm currently on) works to help people to lose weight, and they didn't know.
Unfortunately, Dr. Mann doesn't offer much in the way of solutions. Her non-dieting dieting advice were things I had heard before. Like don't keep tempting things in the house because you will have a weak moment and eat them. Like eat a salad before your main course. Like don't eat to receive an emotional boost because it won't work. Etc. Honestly, if you want really good, non-extremist dieting advice, read the O Magazine. There are always helpful tips in there. Plus, Oprah, no matter how successful she is, she constantly struggles with her self-image and her weight, something that a lot of us average people can connect with.
Dr. Mann writes a full chapter on weight-based discrimination, but then later writes another chapter where she talks about being "okay" with your overweight body. She says we have better things to do with our time and energy than build the perfect body (even if we could), and therefore we should stride forward with other goals.
But if she's right, then someone's weight, and physical appearance, affects everything, including the job this person could potentially get or not get. I can understand that some people don't want to conform to society's standards and norms because they want to accept themselves as they are, and want other people to do the same. When I think of this, I think of trans and gender nonconforming.
But isn't it just all a hopeless message for those of us who are overweight or even slightly obese?
Do we buy into the stigma?
Yes.
Does that make us part of the problem, especially if we pass that message on down to our daughters (like my mother did to me)?
Yes.
But what do we do?
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Being Fat is Fair Game, Part VII
I don't suggest reading Secrets From the Eating Lab (I'm almost finished). But if you're overweight or even obese, here's what you're in for:
1. Here's a real documented case for weight-based discrimination and stigma. Congrats. People judge you just because you weigh a little more, and think you are less intelligent and less hard working, and doctors are less likely to treat you properly, and on and on.
2. The odds are incredibly stacked against you if you ever want to lose enough weight to be within the BMI's idea of normal weight. According to one doctor, you have better odds of beating rare forms of cancer.
3. Weight loss companies build their business models on the idea that people will regain their weight that they loose, and therefore be repeat customers.
4. Most of us know most of the reasons why people can't lose weight to begin with. One of the additional reasons that I learned that I didn't know was that being on a diet actually causes stress, and as most of us know, stress causes weight gain. Perfect! Dieting also causes loss in executive function, you know, that part of the brain that helps you to stop yourself before you reach for that cookie at nine pm. Decreases. Why? According to the author, no one is quite sure. Oh! And yes! Dieting makes you temporarily less smart! Who knew?
5. Obesity won't kill you. Actually, people who are overweight live longer than people who are normal weight, and people who are underweight, well, it's suggested that they could live shorter lives. But does obesity give you disease? Maybe. What we know for sure is that inactivity gives you disease, and people with obesity are less active. But who cares, right? If the world looks down on you if you're fat, do you really care that you live another five, six years from the skinny sister you have?
6. Theoretically, it's impossible that I'm overweight. My parents, both biological and adoptive, are thin. Weight is 70% inherited. I'm a bit of a fat miracle. It was also said that the people around you influence your eating habits. My mother barely eats. What's wrong with me?
7. One good bit of information that men don't want you to know, they watch a lot of porn with fat women in it. True story. The experts at Google figured this out.
8. Reducing your caloric intake to 1,500 calories per day makes you obsess about food to the exclusion of all other things or needs, including sex. If you want to be thin, and you're not genetic predisposed, it will have to be your life's focus.
9. Anorexics have enormous amounts of focus and self-control, which most of us don't. But never mind.
1. Here's a real documented case for weight-based discrimination and stigma. Congrats. People judge you just because you weigh a little more, and think you are less intelligent and less hard working, and doctors are less likely to treat you properly, and on and on.
2. The odds are incredibly stacked against you if you ever want to lose enough weight to be within the BMI's idea of normal weight. According to one doctor, you have better odds of beating rare forms of cancer.
3. Weight loss companies build their business models on the idea that people will regain their weight that they loose, and therefore be repeat customers.
4. Most of us know most of the reasons why people can't lose weight to begin with. One of the additional reasons that I learned that I didn't know was that being on a diet actually causes stress, and as most of us know, stress causes weight gain. Perfect! Dieting also causes loss in executive function, you know, that part of the brain that helps you to stop yourself before you reach for that cookie at nine pm. Decreases. Why? According to the author, no one is quite sure. Oh! And yes! Dieting makes you temporarily less smart! Who knew?
5. Obesity won't kill you. Actually, people who are overweight live longer than people who are normal weight, and people who are underweight, well, it's suggested that they could live shorter lives. But does obesity give you disease? Maybe. What we know for sure is that inactivity gives you disease, and people with obesity are less active. But who cares, right? If the world looks down on you if you're fat, do you really care that you live another five, six years from the skinny sister you have?
6. Theoretically, it's impossible that I'm overweight. My parents, both biological and adoptive, are thin. Weight is 70% inherited. I'm a bit of a fat miracle. It was also said that the people around you influence your eating habits. My mother barely eats. What's wrong with me?
7. One good bit of information that men don't want you to know, they watch a lot of porn with fat women in it. True story. The experts at Google figured this out.
8. Reducing your caloric intake to 1,500 calories per day makes you obsess about food to the exclusion of all other things or needs, including sex. If you want to be thin, and you're not genetic predisposed, it will have to be your life's focus.
9. Anorexics have enormous amounts of focus and self-control, which most of us don't. But never mind.
Friday, January 26, 2018
Lessons in Microbiology, Part III
It's the end of microbiology lab, and my professor is turned away from me, sitting on a chair in front of a computer. He's looking through scientific research articles for something on the link between intestinal microbes and obesity.
"So, you understand Italian and Portuguese?" I ask.
He turns around. "Yes."
I'm a little impressed. He does have near-perfect English. Sometimes he switches his "this" and "these" and simple errors like that. I'm always amazed when people can speak multiple languages because I can barely deal with English.
"So, you understand Italian and Portuguese?" I ask.
He turns around. "Yes."
I'm a little impressed. He does have near-perfect English. Sometimes he switches his "this" and "these" and simple errors like that. I'm always amazed when people can speak multiple languages because I can barely deal with English.
Lessons in Microbiology, Part II
"How many nursing students are here?" My microbiology professor asks in our first lab section. Almost everyone raises their hands, except for me and a couple of other people.
A few labs later, yesterday, I come up to him at the end, and ask, "Any parting words of wisdom?" We have a midterm on the 30th, or on Tuesday.
He is about to say "study," but then stops himself. A few other students circle around him as well, ready to listen. "Microbiology is not a complex subject, you just have to put your time in. You need to be in the 92nd percentile if you want to be a nursing student."
Damn, I thought. Good thing I don't want to be a nursing student. I just want a Ph.D.!
"I know!" One of the women says. "I'm right there! I can't afford to let this class drag me down!" She's always very nervous. We took chemistry together. She was nervous then too.
A few labs later, yesterday, I come up to him at the end, and ask, "Any parting words of wisdom?" We have a midterm on the 30th, or on Tuesday.
He is about to say "study," but then stops himself. A few other students circle around him as well, ready to listen. "Microbiology is not a complex subject, you just have to put your time in. You need to be in the 92nd percentile if you want to be a nursing student."
Damn, I thought. Good thing I don't want to be a nursing student. I just want a Ph.D.!
"I know!" One of the women says. "I'm right there! I can't afford to let this class drag me down!" She's always very nervous. We took chemistry together. She was nervous then too.
Lessons in Microbiology
The very first lecture, my microbiology professor pointed to a skinny, red-haired student in the front row, and said that the young man had taken the class in the past, and was willing to tutor anyone, and was "brilliant."
I thought to myself, "That's the man to beat."
I thought to myself, "That's the man to beat."
Thursday, January 25, 2018
The Questionable Conclusion IV
"[The Poetry Professor] asked me today if I had been writing. I didn't want to tell him it was all about my ex," I tell the imaginary female therapist.
She tilts her head to the side. "Who's [The Poetry Professor]?"
"Just this handsome English professor I had. Boyish charm. He has this classic bipolar II personality. Up all the time." I put my hands on my lips. "His girlfriend is probably younger than me by a few years. Very thin, and very blonde." She had that I stole an English professor look about her. "I have a bad record with trying to seduce English professors."
"What do you mean?"
"We'll skip that story. Or stories, as it happens to be."
"Do you idolize women who are 'very thin and very blonde,' as you put it?"
"Of course because they represent my mother, and all the qualities I don't have, although not completely unattainable. I can buy blonde by the bottle, and theoretically I could wear a size four again, but it would require sacrifices. However, I'll never be my mother."
"Did you try to seduce [The Poetry Professor]?"
"No, don't mix up the English professors, okay? They were a lot of them. I never slept with any of them, much less while they were my teachers. [The Poetry Professor] is handsome, but he's not my type. First of all, he's single." I laugh a little at this, not without bitterness. "Funny, right?"
"Why didn't you call this Lindsay back?" The imaginary female therapist says, changing the subject.
"I was afraid I was actually right, and that she was his girlfriend, and I really, really didn't want to have some awkward conversation with her. Of course, I'm totally twisting this whole scenario into another woman being jealous of me, which is great really. It's happened in the past, of course, but not recently. I can make anything be about me. I had one woman call me, threaten to kill me because her husband sent me a dick pic, which I never solicited. I never touched the man. Who fucking knows, right? People are fucking crazy. I'm crazy, but at least I know it, and I try to keep it inside."
"Are you hoping [Morpheus] will contact you? Do you find yourself checking your phone all the time?"
"My phone is on vibrate. Most of the time, I ignore it. It's in my bag, put away, during the day. I have no idea if I want to talk to [Morpheus]. If he called, and he was genuine, and he apologized, and said he loved me, and on and on, maybe I would forgive him, but I'm not sure we would accomplish anything. [Morpheus] has always be ashamed of me. I don't know why. Was it my job? Was it the way I dressed? Was it my family? How did I just not measure up in his eyes? Well, I doubt that will ever change. I doubt I will ever be good enough for him. I don't know what it is that I lack. Why he doesn't take me seriously. I would like to say that someday he'll regret that decision, but everyone says that about at least one of their ex's, so that's pretty typical. I don't regret breaking up with any of my ex's, so why should he?"
"Maybe this is more about how you feel about yourself, rather than how [Morpheus] feels about you, or how you think he feels about you."
"I don't know. If I could drag him into therapy, I would. I would have his brain picked by a hundred psychologists...A real monster can tap into a victim's own insecurities and hurts and vulnerabilities and use them against her."
"Do you think he's a monster?"
"Well, I don't think he's a saint. Last time we were together, I told him I thought he might be a psychopath. He didn't really seem to understand what that meant."
She tilts her head to the side. "Who's [The Poetry Professor]?"
"Just this handsome English professor I had. Boyish charm. He has this classic bipolar II personality. Up all the time." I put my hands on my lips. "His girlfriend is probably younger than me by a few years. Very thin, and very blonde." She had that I stole an English professor look about her. "I have a bad record with trying to seduce English professors."
"What do you mean?"
"We'll skip that story. Or stories, as it happens to be."
"Do you idolize women who are 'very thin and very blonde,' as you put it?"
"Of course because they represent my mother, and all the qualities I don't have, although not completely unattainable. I can buy blonde by the bottle, and theoretically I could wear a size four again, but it would require sacrifices. However, I'll never be my mother."
"Did you try to seduce [The Poetry Professor]?"
"No, don't mix up the English professors, okay? They were a lot of them. I never slept with any of them, much less while they were my teachers. [The Poetry Professor] is handsome, but he's not my type. First of all, he's single." I laugh a little at this, not without bitterness. "Funny, right?"
"Why didn't you call this Lindsay back?" The imaginary female therapist says, changing the subject.
"I was afraid I was actually right, and that she was his girlfriend, and I really, really didn't want to have some awkward conversation with her. Of course, I'm totally twisting this whole scenario into another woman being jealous of me, which is great really. It's happened in the past, of course, but not recently. I can make anything be about me. I had one woman call me, threaten to kill me because her husband sent me a dick pic, which I never solicited. I never touched the man. Who fucking knows, right? People are fucking crazy. I'm crazy, but at least I know it, and I try to keep it inside."
"Are you hoping [Morpheus] will contact you? Do you find yourself checking your phone all the time?"
"My phone is on vibrate. Most of the time, I ignore it. It's in my bag, put away, during the day. I have no idea if I want to talk to [Morpheus]. If he called, and he was genuine, and he apologized, and said he loved me, and on and on, maybe I would forgive him, but I'm not sure we would accomplish anything. [Morpheus] has always be ashamed of me. I don't know why. Was it my job? Was it the way I dressed? Was it my family? How did I just not measure up in his eyes? Well, I doubt that will ever change. I doubt I will ever be good enough for him. I don't know what it is that I lack. Why he doesn't take me seriously. I would like to say that someday he'll regret that decision, but everyone says that about at least one of their ex's, so that's pretty typical. I don't regret breaking up with any of my ex's, so why should he?"
"Maybe this is more about how you feel about yourself, rather than how [Morpheus] feels about you, or how you think he feels about you."
"I don't know. If I could drag him into therapy, I would. I would have his brain picked by a hundred psychologists...A real monster can tap into a victim's own insecurities and hurts and vulnerabilities and use them against her."
"Do you think he's a monster?"
"Well, I don't think he's a saint. Last time we were together, I told him I thought he might be a psychopath. He didn't really seem to understand what that meant."
Being Fat is Fair Game, Part VI
For my social psychology class, I have to read Secrets From the Eating Lab for my reading report that's due sometime at the end of the semester. I've been trying to figure out who or what I should blame for being overweight--the drugs? The doctors? My parents? Myself? Society? Ben&Jerry's? Time? Stress? Other unknown circumstances?
Somebody should be to blame, right?
Somebody should be to blame, right?
The Questionable Conclusion, Part III
"I've been doing horrible since [Morpheus] and I had that conversation," I tell my imaginary female therapist. "I've been so fatigued, feeling like there's lead in my limbs. I talked to my doctors at Stanford, and they don't know what's going on. They don't know if it's the fibromyalgia or depression coming back. I missed a week of my morning's English classes. I've just been completely unmotivated to do anything...I've just been so stressed out about this microbiology class because I want an A in it. I need an A. I've never been able to manage an A in a college-level biology course, and I'm trying to decide if I want to get a medical research degree or if I just want to study English and then teach...I have my locket, I've been wearing it, but there are no pictures inside...I've been in a lot of pain, and some days, there are just not enough pills in the world to get rid of it. At least not the kind of pills I can get my hands on. And the pain isn't at that point yet where I can go to the ER. Somedays I just want to go back to dancing, and spinning on a pole, and getting naked for money, although I'm not sure that would make me happy either...I sent a TXT-message to [the English instructor] because I realized after surfing through the English classes this semester that he's not teaching. I don't know where he went. I probably should have just left him alone." I pause and come back to the subject of Morpheus. "Maybe I just missed some really big hints that [Morpheus] gave me. Maybe I got it all wrong. He wrote in one of those emails, 'you know I'm in a relationship.' He never said that. He said he was having casual relations with some girls, but that none of it was serious. He even went as far to say that he wasn't interested in getting to know any of them. He was numb to them. It was like he was talking to someone else. I just had this weird feeling that he wasn't even talking to me. I think all I'm trying to do is figure out why he was being so mean, find a reason for his behavior. It's more about that than it's about keeping a relationship with him."
The Questionable Conclusion, Part II
The imaginary female therapist is tapping her pen on her pad like a drummer in a band. "So, how did you come up with this idea? Instead of maybe just facing the fact that he wants to end your relationship with him."
"First of all, [Morpheus] is a lot of things, including an entitled prick, but he's not stupid, and the biggest mystery of him is that he bends the truth to whatever motive suits him at the time, he just uses lies at his discretion the way some people order sex toys or porn over the internet. It's always through an anon email account, and then they tell their wives they're shopping for shoes. He just lives this life that only he knows the whole truth about it. I can't figure out if he's lying because he's ashamed of who he is, if he's trying to protect people or if he's just manipulating people as it's convenient for him. But he's definitely lying in those emails. He's got some kind of game going on, okay? Have you read The Girl on the Train or watch the movie?"
"No. What does that have to do with anything?"
"At least watch the movie, but realize that in the book, Rachel, the main character, was fat, and her ex-husband and his new wife both made fun of her for being fat, which changes the whole story. It's about the things we do to other people when we want to avoid the truth about ourselves, and how other people abuse us with lies."
"But what evidence do you have about [Morpheus]?"
"Fine, first, while I was having this ridiculous conversation with him over email, this woman called my phone twice, the caller ID came up as being from 'Lindsay [last name].' She left a voicemail message, said her name was Lindsay, and wanted me to call her back. She's obviously not a telemarketer, she's not from one of my doctors' offices, so who is she? I guess a couple weeks ago that she was his new girlfriend, but I don't have any proof. Number two, years ago, sometime during '08 or '09, [Morpheus] calls me in the middle of the afternoon, probably drunk, and tells me that his mother went through his TXT-messages, and found a message I left him saying that I loved him. He denied the entire thing to his mother, but he was so upset that it could have, and probably did, expose him as a liar and a cheater to his family. What kind of fucked up Mom searches her son's phone? Isn't that extraordinarily controlling? Why didn't he just say to his Mom, 'Hey, I'm in love with this woman named [Jae], and I want to be with her. I'm getting a divorce.' But [Morpheus] never told anyone about me. His best friend to this day doesn't even know I exist. So, he lies. What makes you think he wouldn't lie about this?"
"But that doesn't exactly prove that his new girlfriend went through his email account, and saw past emails from you, and he found out about it because she complained, and therefore he planted those new emails all as a ruse. Doesn't that seem like a bit of a stretch?"
"People are complicated, and if you read any psychology book, you learn one thing: there's always more going on than what is on the surface."
"First of all, [Morpheus] is a lot of things, including an entitled prick, but he's not stupid, and the biggest mystery of him is that he bends the truth to whatever motive suits him at the time, he just uses lies at his discretion the way some people order sex toys or porn over the internet. It's always through an anon email account, and then they tell their wives they're shopping for shoes. He just lives this life that only he knows the whole truth about it. I can't figure out if he's lying because he's ashamed of who he is, if he's trying to protect people or if he's just manipulating people as it's convenient for him. But he's definitely lying in those emails. He's got some kind of game going on, okay? Have you read The Girl on the Train or watch the movie?"
"No. What does that have to do with anything?"
"At least watch the movie, but realize that in the book, Rachel, the main character, was fat, and her ex-husband and his new wife both made fun of her for being fat, which changes the whole story. It's about the things we do to other people when we want to avoid the truth about ourselves, and how other people abuse us with lies."
"But what evidence do you have about [Morpheus]?"
"Fine, first, while I was having this ridiculous conversation with him over email, this woman called my phone twice, the caller ID came up as being from 'Lindsay [last name].' She left a voicemail message, said her name was Lindsay, and wanted me to call her back. She's obviously not a telemarketer, she's not from one of my doctors' offices, so who is she? I guess a couple weeks ago that she was his new girlfriend, but I don't have any proof. Number two, years ago, sometime during '08 or '09, [Morpheus] calls me in the middle of the afternoon, probably drunk, and tells me that his mother went through his TXT-messages, and found a message I left him saying that I loved him. He denied the entire thing to his mother, but he was so upset that it could have, and probably did, expose him as a liar and a cheater to his family. What kind of fucked up Mom searches her son's phone? Isn't that extraordinarily controlling? Why didn't he just say to his Mom, 'Hey, I'm in love with this woman named [Jae], and I want to be with her. I'm getting a divorce.' But [Morpheus] never told anyone about me. His best friend to this day doesn't even know I exist. So, he lies. What makes you think he wouldn't lie about this?"
"But that doesn't exactly prove that his new girlfriend went through his email account, and saw past emails from you, and he found out about it because she complained, and therefore he planted those new emails all as a ruse. Doesn't that seem like a bit of a stretch?"
"People are complicated, and if you read any psychology book, you learn one thing: there's always more going on than what is on the surface."
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Final Nail, Part XXXI (The Questionable Conclusion)
"I figured it out, figured it completely out," I say as I get up off the imaginary couch, and start to pace the room. "The whole email thing with [Morpheus]."
"What did you figure out?" The imaginary female therapist asks.
"Okay, did I ever tell you about my ex-boyfriend [Dirk]?"
"No."
"Well, I gave up everything for him. I move to New Jersey to be with him. I left my job, I sold my horse, I gave my dog to my mother. I mean, everything, and after we broke up, a year later, we were best friends. He was a way better friend than [the LSU Professor] could ever be. I mean, I could call [Dirk], night or day, drunk or sober, and he would talk to me. But when he got his new girlfriend, he said that she was jealous, and that he couldn't talk to me. This happened years later, so I stopped talking to him. He said that she was the one, so I respected that, and let go of him. Today, he's gone. I called his cell phone, his parent's house, his Facebook account is closed, no trace of him, nothing, I can't even get in touch with his parents. I think he might be dead because he had heart failure even when we were together. So, anyway, the guy just disappeared from my life because of this controlling bitch of a girlfriend, not that I ever told him that to his face, mind you. I miss my friend, every day."
"What does this have to do with [Morpheus]?"
"Okay, remember how the conversation started with 'how do I contact you'? I mean, wasn't that odd?" I pause. "Here's the thing, this new woman, she has access to his email account because it's on his phone, and she's snooped through it. He wrote those subsequent emails so she would believe that he doesn't want anything to do with me. The end. And the first email, the 'how do I contact you' was genuine, he was asking in case he wants to call me at some later point."
"So, why hasn't he called you then?"
"Why hasn't [Dirk] called me at some point in the past seven years? I don't know. Dirk isn't an asshole. He's the truest friend I've ever had. Maybe he just figured it was easiest not to call. I think that's why I'm blocked on [Morpheus]'s phone even though he never said to stop calling him, even though I never called him with any frequency because on the iPhone, if you block someone, there's no record of a blocked person ever making a call, unlike my Galaxy where it says on the home screen, 'blocked caller so-n-so.' Obviously, I've done research on this. I think she saw some woman calling him, and got curious. I don't think he would admit to knowing me voluntarily because then he would have to explain how we met, and when....I think this might also explain why when I called him the last couple of times from my parents' home phone he pretended not to know who I was, because maybe she was standing right there. Of course, that doesn't quite answer why he didn't just ignore the call--"
"Maybe you need to take a break from this, step back--"
"You know, I've been thinking about this. We're learning in social psychology class about how much other people affect us in our lifetimes, and I've realized that other people in everyone's lives affect them as much as they affect me in mine, it's just that I'm more aware of it. I don't needlessly obsess over an ex-boyfriend or if you want to call him an ex-lover, I just understand better the ways in which he's influenced me and my psyche. The way [Dirk] has or even break up with [The LSU Professor]. That has its advantages and its disadvantages, right? Does that make me crippled? Ill?" I sit back down on the couch again, and put my head in my hands. "I know [Dirk] loves me, but I also know that he was never in love with me, and I was okay with that because I was never in love with him. That was partially why I was willing to let go of him, and wanted him to be with someone who could make him happy. I also know that the most likely scenario is that [Morpheus] doesn't give a flying fuck about me, that he never thinks about me, and that he flipped his fucking switch writing that email, and wanted to hurt me, and push me away because he no longer feels entertained by me. And that I am coming up with these crazy theories so I don't have to face the fact that the love of my life doesn't love me back. I can accept that. But, maybe, I'm just human--and I don't want to believe the whispers in my head--at least not today--"
"What did you figure out?" The imaginary female therapist asks.
"Okay, did I ever tell you about my ex-boyfriend [Dirk]?"
"No."
"Well, I gave up everything for him. I move to New Jersey to be with him. I left my job, I sold my horse, I gave my dog to my mother. I mean, everything, and after we broke up, a year later, we were best friends. He was a way better friend than [the LSU Professor] could ever be. I mean, I could call [Dirk], night or day, drunk or sober, and he would talk to me. But when he got his new girlfriend, he said that she was jealous, and that he couldn't talk to me. This happened years later, so I stopped talking to him. He said that she was the one, so I respected that, and let go of him. Today, he's gone. I called his cell phone, his parent's house, his Facebook account is closed, no trace of him, nothing, I can't even get in touch with his parents. I think he might be dead because he had heart failure even when we were together. So, anyway, the guy just disappeared from my life because of this controlling bitch of a girlfriend, not that I ever told him that to his face, mind you. I miss my friend, every day."
"What does this have to do with [Morpheus]?"
"Okay, remember how the conversation started with 'how do I contact you'? I mean, wasn't that odd?" I pause. "Here's the thing, this new woman, she has access to his email account because it's on his phone, and she's snooped through it. He wrote those subsequent emails so she would believe that he doesn't want anything to do with me. The end. And the first email, the 'how do I contact you' was genuine, he was asking in case he wants to call me at some later point."
"So, why hasn't he called you then?"
"Why hasn't [Dirk] called me at some point in the past seven years? I don't know. Dirk isn't an asshole. He's the truest friend I've ever had. Maybe he just figured it was easiest not to call. I think that's why I'm blocked on [Morpheus]'s phone even though he never said to stop calling him, even though I never called him with any frequency because on the iPhone, if you block someone, there's no record of a blocked person ever making a call, unlike my Galaxy where it says on the home screen, 'blocked caller so-n-so.' Obviously, I've done research on this. I think she saw some woman calling him, and got curious. I don't think he would admit to knowing me voluntarily because then he would have to explain how we met, and when....I think this might also explain why when I called him the last couple of times from my parents' home phone he pretended not to know who I was, because maybe she was standing right there. Of course, that doesn't quite answer why he didn't just ignore the call--"
"Maybe you need to take a break from this, step back--"
"You know, I've been thinking about this. We're learning in social psychology class about how much other people affect us in our lifetimes, and I've realized that other people in everyone's lives affect them as much as they affect me in mine, it's just that I'm more aware of it. I don't needlessly obsess over an ex-boyfriend or if you want to call him an ex-lover, I just understand better the ways in which he's influenced me and my psyche. The way [Dirk] has or even break up with [The LSU Professor]. That has its advantages and its disadvantages, right? Does that make me crippled? Ill?" I sit back down on the couch again, and put my head in my hands. "I know [Dirk] loves me, but I also know that he was never in love with me, and I was okay with that because I was never in love with him. That was partially why I was willing to let go of him, and wanted him to be with someone who could make him happy. I also know that the most likely scenario is that [Morpheus] doesn't give a flying fuck about me, that he never thinks about me, and that he flipped his fucking switch writing that email, and wanted to hurt me, and push me away because he no longer feels entertained by me. And that I am coming up with these crazy theories so I don't have to face the fact that the love of my life doesn't love me back. I can accept that. But, maybe, I'm just human--and I don't want to believe the whispers in my head--at least not today--"
Monday, January 22, 2018
Final Nail, Part XXX
"Maybe he feels guilty," I tell my imaginary female therapist during one of our imaginary sessions.
She straightens herself a little, and readies her pen. "What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe he's lying. Like--he feels guilty that he's still in love with me, and he wants to give this new relationship a start, so he has to push me away because my presence in his life puts all of that at risk. And, he doesn't want to run the risk of what happened last time, happening again."
"What happened last time?" In the imaginary world, the imaginary therapist always asks the right questions, and seems genuinely interested.
"You know, when I lost my shit, and contacted the wife about the relationship between [Morpheus] and me."
"Would you do something like that again?"
"No, of course not. I feel horribly guilty about doing it the first time, but he might never trust me again--but--he tells me to go away because that's easier than to say that he still has feelings for me."
She straightens herself a little, and readies her pen. "What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe he's lying. Like--he feels guilty that he's still in love with me, and he wants to give this new relationship a start, so he has to push me away because my presence in his life puts all of that at risk. And, he doesn't want to run the risk of what happened last time, happening again."
"What happened last time?" In the imaginary world, the imaginary therapist always asks the right questions, and seems genuinely interested.
"You know, when I lost my shit, and contacted the wife about the relationship between [Morpheus] and me."
"Would you do something like that again?"
"No, of course not. I feel horribly guilty about doing it the first time, but he might never trust me again--but--he tells me to go away because that's easier than to say that he still has feelings for me."
Friday, January 19, 2018
Final Nail, Part XXVIV
Recently, like in the past two years, since his separation, whenever I've asked Morpheus what he wants from me, he's given me this bullshit answer, "I just want you to be happy." I mean, if he really wanted to be friends, why not just say, "Let's be friends"?
Being Fat is Fair Game, Part V
"Some women who are overweight are very beautiful, and some women who are skinny are ugly," my mother tells me.
Yes, but isn't it better to be skinny and beautiful? And if you are ugly, let's just say, to be skinny? What if you're fat and ugly?
Yes, but isn't it better to be skinny and beautiful? And if you are ugly, let's just say, to be skinny? What if you're fat and ugly?
Being Fat is Fair Game, Part IV
If I lose four pounds every week this semester, I will have lost the weight by my birthday on May 28, 2018. You can do the math if you want to figure out how much.
I mock people in those commercials, who get excited about losing 22 pounds on Weight Watchers. That's a pant size. That's like a mere drop in the bucket. I want to lose seventy-two pounds!
And then, as everyone knows, most people don't lose weight at all, and the people who do lose weight, gain most, if not all, of it back within a year. Why? No one really knows. No one can explain childhood obesity. Why are some babies born so hungry? Mothers writing to doctors, who write for the New York Times. Am I supposed to feed my baby every time she's hungry? She's hungry all the time! And the doctor writes back that we can't do for ourselves what we're supposed to be doing for our children.
Last weekend, I went on a pro-ana messageboard, because if you want real dieting advice, tried-and-true, you have to listen and read about anorexics. They are accomplishing great mental and physical feats. They had one board dedicated just to fasts. Some girls were going as long as 100 hours without food. Just water and coffee (they claimed that coffee was key). They also were reluctantly admitting to feeling like passing out, messing up their electrolyte levels and just coming back from rehab.
My Microbiology professor correctly commented that part of the puzzle is that microbes living in our guts regulate our cravings for sweets. I recently read another article in the New York Times talking about the link between inflammation of the intestine, even of the joints, and of our intestinal microbes, and how that is helped by injesting more fiber.
So, I've been eating more fiber. And I lost four pounds this week (the real trick is to make it through the weekend without gaining it all back). I also ate a sticky roll today, but don't judge.
I mock people in those commercials, who get excited about losing 22 pounds on Weight Watchers. That's a pant size. That's like a mere drop in the bucket. I want to lose seventy-two pounds!
And then, as everyone knows, most people don't lose weight at all, and the people who do lose weight, gain most, if not all, of it back within a year. Why? No one really knows. No one can explain childhood obesity. Why are some babies born so hungry? Mothers writing to doctors, who write for the New York Times. Am I supposed to feed my baby every time she's hungry? She's hungry all the time! And the doctor writes back that we can't do for ourselves what we're supposed to be doing for our children.
Last weekend, I went on a pro-ana messageboard, because if you want real dieting advice, tried-and-true, you have to listen and read about anorexics. They are accomplishing great mental and physical feats. They had one board dedicated just to fasts. Some girls were going as long as 100 hours without food. Just water and coffee (they claimed that coffee was key). They also were reluctantly admitting to feeling like passing out, messing up their electrolyte levels and just coming back from rehab.
My Microbiology professor correctly commented that part of the puzzle is that microbes living in our guts regulate our cravings for sweets. I recently read another article in the New York Times talking about the link between inflammation of the intestine, even of the joints, and of our intestinal microbes, and how that is helped by injesting more fiber.
So, I've been eating more fiber. And I lost four pounds this week (the real trick is to make it through the weekend without gaining it all back). I also ate a sticky roll today, but don't judge.
Being Fat is Fair Game, Part III
When was the last time you were at the gym?
If you go to the gym I go to, you will notice that there are no overweight women there. They're all young, very thin, and very elegant, like deers who became classy part-time strippers. Last time I was there, one girl was on a machine directly in front of me, and took her long, beautiful dark hair out of her ponytail, and swayed her hair gently, left to right, like she was waving her locks, trying to get my attention. She had it.
If you go to the gym I go to, you will notice that there are no overweight women there. They're all young, very thin, and very elegant, like deers who became classy part-time strippers. Last time I was there, one girl was on a machine directly in front of me, and took her long, beautiful dark hair out of her ponytail, and swayed her hair gently, left to right, like she was waving her locks, trying to get my attention. She had it.
Being Fat is Fair Game, Part II
My mother ordered me three pairs of leather English riding boots (but no one actually rides in them, it's just the style). When they arrived, she wanted me to try them on.
I put the tan pair on, and tried to zip them up my calf. I couldn't--my calf was too fat. "Send them back," I say saltedly. I went into my bedroom, and shut the door.
"You need a wide calf," was her only reply.
I put the tan pair on, and tried to zip them up my calf. I couldn't--my calf was too fat. "Send them back," I say saltedly. I went into my bedroom, and shut the door.
"You need a wide calf," was her only reply.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Final Nail, Part XXVIII
"I'm going to get a tattoo down my arm that says, 'Please move on,' so that every time I roll up my sleeve or take a shower, I see it," I say to my imaginary female therapist.
She doesn't know how to react. Is she kidding?
She doesn't know how to react. Is she kidding?
Monday, January 15, 2018
Being Fat is Fair Game
My mother kept telling me it wasn't about my weight and looks, because it was about my weight and my health. My father was just worried about my health.
But I don't buy that. I don't even buy that the Neurologist is worried about my health. I mean, the woman is thin, probably a size two or four, at the most. A woman who would never understand about wearing the fat suit.
Or what it's like to be in the fat suit, and have people casually comment that you're--well--overweight.
But I don't buy that. I don't even buy that the Neurologist is worried about my health. I mean, the woman is thin, probably a size two or four, at the most. A woman who would never understand about wearing the fat suit.
Or what it's like to be in the fat suit, and have people casually comment that you're--well--overweight.
Creative Writing Class, Fall Semester 2017
My creative writing class grade was sitting at an unfortunate B+, bordering on an A-, until I turned in my poem, "Paresthesia"--which allowed me to obtain my A in the class.
It was the only piece of mine that my professor had anything good to say.
It was the only piece of mine that my professor had anything good to say.
Final Nail, Part XXVII
"No one ever wants to be 'the other woman,' " I tell the imaginary female psychotherapist in some imaginary office somewhere downtown Yuppieville.
She doesn't understand, though, she's never been "the other woman." She couldn't understand how you fall in love or maybe just love the sex, and then you make all sorts of excuses for yourself, for him.
Rationalization. Justification.
Looking back was it wrong? Maybe. But I don't believe in morals. I believe in social and personal costs and benefits--consequences. As human beings, we have to look at ourselves to see what kind of effect we're having on our psyche (some people call it a "soul"), and then on our community. Is lying a step towards our mental health? Depends on the lying. Sometimes lies protect us, from ourselves, from others. Sometimes we rely on lies, to guide us, to give us purpose, and even to give us meaning.
Lying makes the ends meet up, the road to smooth out, the smile to bend.
She doesn't understand, though, she's never been "the other woman." She couldn't understand how you fall in love or maybe just love the sex, and then you make all sorts of excuses for yourself, for him.
Rationalization. Justification.
Looking back was it wrong? Maybe. But I don't believe in morals. I believe in social and personal costs and benefits--consequences. As human beings, we have to look at ourselves to see what kind of effect we're having on our psyche (some people call it a "soul"), and then on our community. Is lying a step towards our mental health? Depends on the lying. Sometimes lies protect us, from ourselves, from others. Sometimes we rely on lies, to guide us, to give us purpose, and even to give us meaning.
Lying makes the ends meet up, the road to smooth out, the smile to bend.
Why is Everyone So Angry? Part II
My mother just yelled "Jesus Christ!" to no one in particular in the kitchen.
She gets her habit of constantly complaining from her dead mother.
But don't tell her that.
She gets her habit of constantly complaining from her dead mother.
But don't tell her that.
Why is Everyone So Angry?
If you ever at all wonder what my relationship is like with my mother, then watch "Unforgettable (2017)," and watch how Tessa interacts with her daughter and with her mother. And, of course, Tessa goes psycho because her ex-husband gets a new girlfriend and then gets engaged.
My parents are two very angry people, or they're not that angry, but they express their anger frequently so it appears that they're angry all the time (while some people might just brood in silence). My father will often bang around in the kitchen and cuss, which doesn't seem like it would be too disturbing, except it's really loud, and sounds like the world is coming to an end in the kitchen.
My mother got pissed at me today because when I opened the door, Beck ran out, and down the driveway without being on a leash. The manager of the ranch has said in the past that if he catches Beck off-leash one more time, then my parents will receive a 30-day notice. Mom yelled, "Do you really think that Dad will give up where we live just because of your dog?!?"
I guess I would then return to a life of whoring and living in hotels.
My parents believe that they have righteous claim to their anger, which I suppose is a privilege a person might have if living or being raised in a household that allows for the emotion to begin with.
My parents often perceive slights in life that I believe are just normal human occurances, that we can't really get angry over something that happens to virtually everyone through no one's particular fault. I mean by this, the most recent example, my mother's insurance company (through her state employer, which covers both her and her husband) requires a "Prior Authorization" for her opioid prescription. I'm not exactly sure what that is, other than an obstacle so the insurance can refuse to initially fill a prescription, but I know it happens to me multiple times per month. When my mother came home, she was filled with indignation, and my father quickly joined her, saying he was going to go down to the pharmacy and yell obscenities. I'm not sure he would actually do it, but he might throw a fit in the store anyway. First of all, it's not the pharmacy's fault, although it does suck to go through withdrawals because you can't get your opioid prescription filled. My mother then quickly proclaimed that it was "Obamacare's fault."
So, why don't I start screaming every time I have to wait for a prescription because the doctor's office is filling out a "Prior-Author"? Because you can't control it, and you really can't do anything about it.
If I could afford it, I definitely wouldn't be on Medicare, but that's not likely to change soon.
My father also annoyingly calls people he does deals with as being "stupid." And then he gets angry about them being "stupid."
My mother just yelled at me because while I was spooning out some mocha mix for my coffee a few minutes ago, I spilled some and left it on the counter. She claims that I need to wipe it up, and that it will attract ants. I commented that I do more wiping in that kitchen than anyone, and that only pissed her off more.
I don't cook, but I do 80% of the cleaning inside the house (I refuse to do any yardwork, although I do pick up the dog poop on occasion). I do all of this even though my hours either in the classroom or doing homework add up to a lot more than my mother's palty 40-hour work week, and my father works even less than that. I try to argue this, and it just makes them even more pissed off, so that hasn't work out well for me in the past.
My parents are two very angry people, or they're not that angry, but they express their anger frequently so it appears that they're angry all the time (while some people might just brood in silence). My father will often bang around in the kitchen and cuss, which doesn't seem like it would be too disturbing, except it's really loud, and sounds like the world is coming to an end in the kitchen.
My mother got pissed at me today because when I opened the door, Beck ran out, and down the driveway without being on a leash. The manager of the ranch has said in the past that if he catches Beck off-leash one more time, then my parents will receive a 30-day notice. Mom yelled, "Do you really think that Dad will give up where we live just because of your dog?!?"
I guess I would then return to a life of whoring and living in hotels.
My parents believe that they have righteous claim to their anger, which I suppose is a privilege a person might have if living or being raised in a household that allows for the emotion to begin with.
My parents often perceive slights in life that I believe are just normal human occurances, that we can't really get angry over something that happens to virtually everyone through no one's particular fault. I mean by this, the most recent example, my mother's insurance company (through her state employer, which covers both her and her husband) requires a "Prior Authorization" for her opioid prescription. I'm not exactly sure what that is, other than an obstacle so the insurance can refuse to initially fill a prescription, but I know it happens to me multiple times per month. When my mother came home, she was filled with indignation, and my father quickly joined her, saying he was going to go down to the pharmacy and yell obscenities. I'm not sure he would actually do it, but he might throw a fit in the store anyway. First of all, it's not the pharmacy's fault, although it does suck to go through withdrawals because you can't get your opioid prescription filled. My mother then quickly proclaimed that it was "Obamacare's fault."
So, why don't I start screaming every time I have to wait for a prescription because the doctor's office is filling out a "Prior-Author"? Because you can't control it, and you really can't do anything about it.
If I could afford it, I definitely wouldn't be on Medicare, but that's not likely to change soon.
My father also annoyingly calls people he does deals with as being "stupid." And then he gets angry about them being "stupid."
My mother just yelled at me because while I was spooning out some mocha mix for my coffee a few minutes ago, I spilled some and left it on the counter. She claims that I need to wipe it up, and that it will attract ants. I commented that I do more wiping in that kitchen than anyone, and that only pissed her off more.
I don't cook, but I do 80% of the cleaning inside the house (I refuse to do any yardwork, although I do pick up the dog poop on occasion). I do all of this even though my hours either in the classroom or doing homework add up to a lot more than my mother's palty 40-hour work week, and my father works even less than that. I try to argue this, and it just makes them even more pissed off, so that hasn't work out well for me in the past.
Final Nail, Part XXVI
Imaginary conversation with an imaginary female psychotherapist:
"Maybe you're in denial," the therapist starts. She holds her pen by balancing it between two fingers. "It's very hard to face relationship loss."
"Well, you could say I was in denial from the beginning. It would have been obvious to most people in the beginning that he wasn't filing for divorce, that he wasn't doing the things he said he was going to do, and that I just ignored it because I didn't want to face the truth. We didn't go anywhere, we didn't do anything. I mean, that would have been an indication that he was hiding me from his life, but nope, I didn't want to deal with that...People told me I was being stupid, to believe him, but nope, I didn't listen to them either...I was in love."
"So, what can we take away from this? What have you learned?"
"I don't think I've learned anything. People don't learn when it comes to interpersonal relationships. They just make the same fucking mistakes, over and over again."
"Well, I'm not sure that's true. That's why you're in therapy, right? To gain perspective, and hopefully make different choices in the future?"
"You obviously didn't read the 'Dirty John' Series in the Los Angeles Times. I mean, that lady--"
"Huh?"
"She found the most fucked up men, and got involved with them, married them, and repeatedly put her life and her daughter's life at risk...."
"Well, maybe you will excel where she failed."
"Doubtful. Really, really doubtful."
"Maybe you're in denial," the therapist starts. She holds her pen by balancing it between two fingers. "It's very hard to face relationship loss."
"Well, you could say I was in denial from the beginning. It would have been obvious to most people in the beginning that he wasn't filing for divorce, that he wasn't doing the things he said he was going to do, and that I just ignored it because I didn't want to face the truth. We didn't go anywhere, we didn't do anything. I mean, that would have been an indication that he was hiding me from his life, but nope, I didn't want to deal with that...People told me I was being stupid, to believe him, but nope, I didn't listen to them either...I was in love."
"So, what can we take away from this? What have you learned?"
"I don't think I've learned anything. People don't learn when it comes to interpersonal relationships. They just make the same fucking mistakes, over and over again."
"Well, I'm not sure that's true. That's why you're in therapy, right? To gain perspective, and hopefully make different choices in the future?"
"You obviously didn't read the 'Dirty John' Series in the Los Angeles Times. I mean, that lady--"
"Huh?"
"She found the most fucked up men, and got involved with them, married them, and repeatedly put her life and her daughter's life at risk...."
"Well, maybe you will excel where she failed."
"Doubtful. Really, really doubtful."
The Heartbeat...Is Denial
"When our reality is too ugly, we deny reality. It is too painful to look at. Reality is too hard to accept.
Mental
health experts routinely say that denial is among the most common
defense mechanisms. Denial is how the person defends his superior sense
of self..."
--by Ibram X. Kendi, The New York Times, "The Heartbeat of Racism is Denial"
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Final Nail, Part XXV
I only have one picture of Morpheus that doesn't come from his ex-wife's Facebook page.
Today, I bought a $316 locket necklace, and used the company's website to minimize a picture of Morpheus to put inside (also made one of my dog, and have considered just using Beck's photo with the other side just saying, "Forever Beck" instead of holding onto an ex and his likeness). The picture of him isn't very good, it's from May of 2016, and it's dark and he's wearing a hat. While we were seeing each other, I never thought to take pictures.
I don't wear jewelry either, and I don't know what I'm going to do if random strangers (and/or family members) ask to see inside the locket. How do you explain that you're wearing around your neck some ghost of Christmas past? Or that you're so lonely, the most important person in your life, who you want to remember literally everytime you touch your neck--happens to be a dog?
Today, I bought a $316 locket necklace, and used the company's website to minimize a picture of Morpheus to put inside (also made one of my dog, and have considered just using Beck's photo with the other side just saying, "Forever Beck" instead of holding onto an ex and his likeness). The picture of him isn't very good, it's from May of 2016, and it's dark and he's wearing a hat. While we were seeing each other, I never thought to take pictures.
I don't wear jewelry either, and I don't know what I'm going to do if random strangers (and/or family members) ask to see inside the locket. How do you explain that you're wearing around your neck some ghost of Christmas past? Or that you're so lonely, the most important person in your life, who you want to remember literally everytime you touch your neck--happens to be a dog?
More of the Same: Pain
"I almost left my wife for you," Morpheus told me one of the last times we saw each other.
We're always standing in the kitchen, even though there is a large couch a few feet away. Maybe because we're less likely to have sex in the kitchen.
I don't remember this. I don't remember him ever saying, "I want to leave [The Ex-Wife] for you," but then again, I've lost most of my memories of us due to the ECT. I do recall sitting in his truck, probably the Denali, and he's holding my hand. They had gotten into a fight, and he found me. Something happened, we exchanged words, and I stomped off. How was I supposed to know that we'd never have the conversation again? I don't remember the words, just the feelings. If he was going to leave the Wife, then what stopped him? Over time, I've simply assumed that it was the uncertainty of the future with me. How could we possibly know that we would be a successful couple considering the circumstances? He could leave one woman, only to hate the next even more.
But if I had known that day--how important that conversation was--I would have stayed in the truck, and talked to him. I would have figured something out. I would have been more reasonable (although I don't have any proof that I wasn't being reasonable to begin with). Of course, common sense says that even if he separated from his wife on that very day, and somehow we moved in together, then it is at all possible we would have grown to hate each other or he would have resented me for ending his marriage. Unforunately for me and most of the known world, in romantic relationships, we take those kind of chances all the time. Except, well, I never have (Okay, I moved to New Jersey to be with my first boyfriend, but after that, I really haven't gone to great lengths to maintain any romantic relationship).
I really only have two regrets when it comes to Morpheus: that day in the truck, and then the day I lost my mind (blooming into a psychotic episode), and told the Wife about my affair with her husband. Besides that, I did what was in my power to do, and I couldn't expect myself to pull all the weight of the relationship. Morpheus had to give a little. He would have to sacrifice. Therapists over the years have forgiven me for telling the then-Wife, saying that I did both of them a favor (something I've never agreed with).
The bad overwhelmed the good, as I tried explaining to Morpheus during our last email exchange. As much as I loved (love) him, and as happy as I was just to be with him or to hear his voice, it never made up for the icy months of disconnect, worry and pain. It never made up for the fact that daily, he chose to be with another woman. The LSU Professor will say that about the love of his life, Greta, he will tell you that there was a lot of bad mixed in there too, not even counting the break up. But he's never found anyone to replace her.
We're always standing in the kitchen, even though there is a large couch a few feet away. Maybe because we're less likely to have sex in the kitchen.
I don't remember this. I don't remember him ever saying, "I want to leave [The Ex-Wife] for you," but then again, I've lost most of my memories of us due to the ECT. I do recall sitting in his truck, probably the Denali, and he's holding my hand. They had gotten into a fight, and he found me. Something happened, we exchanged words, and I stomped off. How was I supposed to know that we'd never have the conversation again? I don't remember the words, just the feelings. If he was going to leave the Wife, then what stopped him? Over time, I've simply assumed that it was the uncertainty of the future with me. How could we possibly know that we would be a successful couple considering the circumstances? He could leave one woman, only to hate the next even more.
But if I had known that day--how important that conversation was--I would have stayed in the truck, and talked to him. I would have figured something out. I would have been more reasonable (although I don't have any proof that I wasn't being reasonable to begin with). Of course, common sense says that even if he separated from his wife on that very day, and somehow we moved in together, then it is at all possible we would have grown to hate each other or he would have resented me for ending his marriage. Unforunately for me and most of the known world, in romantic relationships, we take those kind of chances all the time. Except, well, I never have (Okay, I moved to New Jersey to be with my first boyfriend, but after that, I really haven't gone to great lengths to maintain any romantic relationship).
I really only have two regrets when it comes to Morpheus: that day in the truck, and then the day I lost my mind (blooming into a psychotic episode), and told the Wife about my affair with her husband. Besides that, I did what was in my power to do, and I couldn't expect myself to pull all the weight of the relationship. Morpheus had to give a little. He would have to sacrifice. Therapists over the years have forgiven me for telling the then-Wife, saying that I did both of them a favor (something I've never agreed with).
The bad overwhelmed the good, as I tried explaining to Morpheus during our last email exchange. As much as I loved (love) him, and as happy as I was just to be with him or to hear his voice, it never made up for the icy months of disconnect, worry and pain. It never made up for the fact that daily, he chose to be with another woman. The LSU Professor will say that about the love of his life, Greta, he will tell you that there was a lot of bad mixed in there too, not even counting the break up. But he's never found anyone to replace her.
Final Nail, Part XXIV
Do you think this is appropriate?
[Morpheus, second email from Jan 10]
I thought he was flirting with me, like saying, "Are you wearing any panties?"
[Morpheus, second email from Jan 10]
I thought he was flirting with me, like saying, "Are you wearing any panties?"
The Results Are In
Last semester, I received four A's. In World Literature, in Government, in US History, and in Creative Writing. My GPA at the community college is now over a 3.4.
Final Nail, Part XXIII
Another imaginary session with the imaginary female psychotherapist. She taps her pen on her notepad.
"Maybe he made up this woman to make me feel small and jealous."
She leans back in her chair slightly. "Even if he did, he said that he didn't want you to contact him anymore."
"But what if, he made her up so I would continue chasing him, and that way he's in control. He's always in control if he dictating when we speak to each other."
She crosses her legs, and swivels a little in the chair. "Maybe you should take a surface level reading on this. You can cause yourself great anxiety trying to read between the lines."
"Why else would he describe his sex life that he had with his ex-wife? How many times per week they did it? Why else would he tell me about these women who will come over at a moment's notice? That they tell him how handsome he is?"
"Maybe it's just hard for you to accept that this is officially over. That he wants to continue his life with this woman, and leave you behind."She reaches up and smoothes over her hair. "I really think you should respect his wishes."
"Oh, I will. Definitely. I won't contact him, but--"
"Maybe he made up this woman to make me feel small and jealous."
She leans back in her chair slightly. "Even if he did, he said that he didn't want you to contact him anymore."
"But what if, he made her up so I would continue chasing him, and that way he's in control. He's always in control if he dictating when we speak to each other."
She crosses her legs, and swivels a little in the chair. "Maybe you should take a surface level reading on this. You can cause yourself great anxiety trying to read between the lines."
"Why else would he describe his sex life that he had with his ex-wife? How many times per week they did it? Why else would he tell me about these women who will come over at a moment's notice? That they tell him how handsome he is?"
"Maybe it's just hard for you to accept that this is officially over. That he wants to continue his life with this woman, and leave you behind."She reaches up and smoothes over her hair. "I really think you should respect his wishes."
"Oh, I will. Definitely. I won't contact him, but--"
Final Nail, Part XXII
"Are you sure this new woman exists?"
--Harry, via TXT-message, yesterday
I read that, and laughed.
--Harry, via TXT-message, yesterday
I read that, and laughed.
Final Nail, Part XXI
Last night, as I was struggling to get to sleep (I didn't sleep well), I thought about this:
Imagining a female therapist with glasses and a bun of hair, and a pen in her hand and a notepad on her lap. She says, "You don't think he means it when he says, 'Please move on.' "
"No. Why would he mean it this time, and not the other times?"
She raises her eyebrow, and then quickly writes down notes. "Patient is in denial, possibly psychotic, need further inquiry," her handwriting says.
Imagining a female therapist with glasses and a bun of hair, and a pen in her hand and a notepad on her lap. She says, "You don't think he means it when he says, 'Please move on.' "
"No. Why would he mean it this time, and not the other times?"
She raises her eyebrow, and then quickly writes down notes. "Patient is in denial, possibly psychotic, need further inquiry," her handwriting says.
Final Nail, Part XX
[imaginary conversation between Morpheus and I]
You don't want to see me because I'm fat. :::cries:::
No, not because you're fat.
:::cries harder::::
You don't want to see me because I'm fat. :::cries:::
No, not because you're fat.
:::cries harder::::
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Final Nail, Part XVIV
I mean, if this isn't closure, I don't know what closure looks like.
It's so peaceful to be so strongly rejected, like life suddenly makes sense, the birds, the bees, the ocean tides, and the changing of the seasons, the movement of the planets. The scheme of the universe has been revealed to me.
Or maybe I'm just high.
Final Nail, XVIII
"I'm thinking the same thing you are, Jane. You and Ray are gonna' live
happily ever after with matching volvos and chocolate labs. See you
Monday."
--Eddie, played by Hugh Jackman, in "Someone Like You"
--Eddie, played by Hugh Jackman, in "Someone Like You"
Final Nail, Part XVII
Sometimes I think that if we had gotten married, then I would have finally proved to myself that I was someone special, and someone worthy of love. Like he could give me what I could never give myself.
That's stupid logic, by the way, but it still exists in my stupid, little brain. Matter of fact, I wanted to call myself "stupid" in the last email I sent him, but erased it and added "naive."
That's stupid logic, by the way, but it still exists in my stupid, little brain. Matter of fact, I wanted to call myself "stupid" in the last email I sent him, but erased it and added "naive."
Final Nail, Part XVI
I guess this is the part in the story where one of my well meaning friends tells me that if I don't let this go, then I will never find another man, ever, much less be happy.
But I know my friends won't say that because most of them have a Morpheus who runs around in the back of their mind, and they have never been able to move on either. They are just getting better at hiding it.
I swing from wanting him to find happiness (and if this woman makes him happy, I can't judge) to wanting him to only desire me (in whatever way that looks like). Like he'll wake up one morning, look around at his bedroom, and say to himself that he loves me the most, despite all these years, and that he has to be with me forever.
And then, I swing over to angry mode. Like I could never forgive him for the times he cancelled at the last minute, and we didn't get to see each other. Like the months he just ignored me. Like all the pain he's caused me. How could I love such a person when virtually everyone in my life has told me the exact same thing: he's using you. Even the LSU Professor said it finally just before we stopped talking to each other.
This last exchange that Morpheus and I had, I felt like he was squashing a bug under his heel. And that I had to stand up for myself, if the only way to do that was to lash out back. We're not supposed to want to hurt people, especially people we love, but sometimes we do it anyway. I could have quietly submitted to whatever he had to say, but I wanted to fight back. No, I'm not a bug, no, you can't push me around, I always knew what you were, I always knew what our relationship was, I never lied to myself and thought it was more than it was, no, you are not the center of happiness for me, no, you are the chasm of ugly feelings and insecurities, you made me feel like I wasn't good enough, like I was a piece of shit, and for whatever reason, I always agreed with you. I was a piece of shit, which is why when you treated me like dirt, I always allowed it. You just snuck into my feelings of worthlessness, and exploited it. You could smell my weakness like a lion can smell the wound of prey. And you got what you wanted, until you didn't want it anymore.
But I know my friends won't say that because most of them have a Morpheus who runs around in the back of their mind, and they have never been able to move on either. They are just getting better at hiding it.
I swing from wanting him to find happiness (and if this woman makes him happy, I can't judge) to wanting him to only desire me (in whatever way that looks like). Like he'll wake up one morning, look around at his bedroom, and say to himself that he loves me the most, despite all these years, and that he has to be with me forever.
And then, I swing over to angry mode. Like I could never forgive him for the times he cancelled at the last minute, and we didn't get to see each other. Like the months he just ignored me. Like all the pain he's caused me. How could I love such a person when virtually everyone in my life has told me the exact same thing: he's using you. Even the LSU Professor said it finally just before we stopped talking to each other.
This last exchange that Morpheus and I had, I felt like he was squashing a bug under his heel. And that I had to stand up for myself, if the only way to do that was to lash out back. We're not supposed to want to hurt people, especially people we love, but sometimes we do it anyway. I could have quietly submitted to whatever he had to say, but I wanted to fight back. No, I'm not a bug, no, you can't push me around, I always knew what you were, I always knew what our relationship was, I never lied to myself and thought it was more than it was, no, you are not the center of happiness for me, no, you are the chasm of ugly feelings and insecurities, you made me feel like I wasn't good enough, like I was a piece of shit, and for whatever reason, I always agreed with you. I was a piece of shit, which is why when you treated me like dirt, I always allowed it. You just snuck into my feelings of worthlessness, and exploited it. You could smell my weakness like a lion can smell the wound of prey. And you got what you wanted, until you didn't want it anymore.
Final Nail, Part XV [REVISED]
Last night, as I was waiting for my meds to kick in so I could go to sleep, I just kept thinking about it, over and over again.
I picture this:
They met at an agrientertainment event, and she was a friend of a friend. Rumors were that she was dating a rich real estate developer, and that her family owned vines in Monterey. Her parents knew people. She was classy in her tight, black dress with heels not too high. She had the unusual habit of putting her hand on every man's arm when they were talking. She liked to lean in just enough, but didn't come across as being slutty. He saw this, and immediately felt jealous.
Some nondescript woman with a big ring (it has to be bigger than the engagement ring he gave his first wife because he doesn't want his second fiancee to feel like she's second place) kissing him in front of his friends. They go wine tasting together (don't all rich people go wine tasting in this area?). She's met all his friends, and his mother likes her so much that her future mother-in-law asks her out to coffee, just to chit-chat. They bond at the local Starbucks while Mom tells stories of Morpheus when he was just a child.
They've already discussed having children, and can't decide on one or two. They want to get a dog, to start out with. They're arguing playfully over what breed. She says Welsh Corgi, but he wants something bigger.
They're planning a wedding, but it has to be bigger than his first, so they're struggling to find people to invite (his first wedding had about 500 people). During the toast, his best man will look over at Morpheus and his new wife, and say, "The first time I saw those two together I knew they were soulmates." Because that's what you say at wedding, number two. His friends have come up to her, and said how happy she makes him. He just isn't the same person without you, they explain. He's so much happier now than he was. He's never been happier.
They'll have all these pictures of the wedding, and they will line the hallway with them, saying to themselves and to each other that this is only the beginning. There's so much more to experience, and so many more pictures to take over the next forty years. They'll have baby pictures and graduation pictures and pictures taken during their vacations to France and Malibu and pictures when they're old and wrinkly, and when they need to lean against each other just to stand up. There'll be grandbaby pictures--just you wait and see.
Wife Number Two doesn't take any drugs, but she drinks freely, and the best sex they have is when they're buzzed-bordering-on-drunk. He makes her cum multiple times per night, and then he cums after he's serviced her properly. Like a truck with one of those big transmissions, maybe even an Allison, where you feel the shifts underneath your feet. Jerk, jerk, jerk.
Thrust, thrust, thrust.
He runs every morning in the hills behind his house, and she goes to an expensive gym where she works on her thighs, and that thigh gap that she cherishes. She doesn't mind that the weight lifters have a direct view of her ass as she's on the stairmaster. She thinks about it every time she gets on and off. In the locker room, she twists around in the mirror so she can check her ass out to make sure it looks peppy today. It always does.
She notices that he notices so she has her hair and nails done regularly. She's not a natural blonde, but she's not sure he could even tell if she was. She pays to have her legs and bikini waxed so she's clean and smooth when he goes down on her--and he goes down on her a lot.
She pouted enough that he took the cutting board that celebrated his last marriage by having a carving of the wedding date, and he finally threw it away, instead of handing her the excuse that he was just using it to chop strawberries.
He paid off her student debt as an early wedding present from her Bachelor's in Business that she knew she would never use but was forced to attending college anyway by her insistent parents, who explained that she would never find a proper husband working at Popeye's or Walmart. She maintained a 3.0GPA without trying because she was too busy to really study hard.
They're so happy to have found each other that they don't even think about the outside world, and stay in on Sundays to have sex in the morning after eating a late breakfast. She cooks because a woman should cook for her man. Hell, sometimes they don't leave the bed at all. He knows how to make her coffee, and she complains mildly that she prefers to only drink Peet's.
They institute "date night" so they will never forget how much they mean to each other. Mostly they go to an expensive, vogue little restuarant next to the creek in downtown Yuppieville. He orders what he likes, and she always orders a salad, and eats slowly, chewing softly, like her mother showed her when she was young. "You won't catch a man if you chew like an ol' dairy heifer," her mother used to say. She only eats half, and then complains that she's so full that she couldn't eat another bite. He drinks too much during dinner, and tells her about the business deals he's working on, and all this money he's making. She nods her head in the right places, and sometimes helps him, as if he needed help, with certain business terminology. She did take economics--twice. Sometimes they finish each other sentences, and then laugh when they do. Rich, attractive people can laugh loudly and drunkenly in a restaurant, and no one complains. People only want to be them, carefree and driving a $150,000 Mercedes to go to the grocery store with.
But rich is owning a private jet, and they're not that rich. They're merely on the upper end of middle class. He tells her stories of fishing on a ditch bank in Midland, Texas, where he grew up. She thinks to herself, he's so down-to-earth.
Every time he grabs her hand in public, she feels like she's good enough, and every time he lets go, she worries about how she can command his attention again. She wants him to be completely absorbed by her, and sometimes when they're sitting at a table in public, she grabs his hand and slides it up her leg to her panties. She just reminds him of the goods there.
He kisses her on the street, and twirls her around like she's a little dancer, and in the dizziness they both experience, like being short on oxygen or up somewhere way up high, they kiss more.
He asked her to marry him in the middle of the night, as they were cuddling, it was dark and off-the-cuff and she couldn't see his face but imagined his special smile, so you know he really meant it. She squeals like a beauty pageant contestant, and says "yes" over and over again.
I picture this:
They met at an agrientertainment event, and she was a friend of a friend. Rumors were that she was dating a rich real estate developer, and that her family owned vines in Monterey. Her parents knew people. She was classy in her tight, black dress with heels not too high. She had the unusual habit of putting her hand on every man's arm when they were talking. She liked to lean in just enough, but didn't come across as being slutty. He saw this, and immediately felt jealous.
Some nondescript woman with a big ring (it has to be bigger than the engagement ring he gave his first wife because he doesn't want his second fiancee to feel like she's second place) kissing him in front of his friends. They go wine tasting together (don't all rich people go wine tasting in this area?). She's met all his friends, and his mother likes her so much that her future mother-in-law asks her out to coffee, just to chit-chat. They bond at the local Starbucks while Mom tells stories of Morpheus when he was just a child.
They've already discussed having children, and can't decide on one or two. They want to get a dog, to start out with. They're arguing playfully over what breed. She says Welsh Corgi, but he wants something bigger.
They're planning a wedding, but it has to be bigger than his first, so they're struggling to find people to invite (his first wedding had about 500 people). During the toast, his best man will look over at Morpheus and his new wife, and say, "The first time I saw those two together I knew they were soulmates." Because that's what you say at wedding, number two. His friends have come up to her, and said how happy she makes him. He just isn't the same person without you, they explain. He's so much happier now than he was. He's never been happier.
They'll have all these pictures of the wedding, and they will line the hallway with them, saying to themselves and to each other that this is only the beginning. There's so much more to experience, and so many more pictures to take over the next forty years. They'll have baby pictures and graduation pictures and pictures taken during their vacations to France and Malibu and pictures when they're old and wrinkly, and when they need to lean against each other just to stand up. There'll be grandbaby pictures--just you wait and see.
Wife Number Two doesn't take any drugs, but she drinks freely, and the best sex they have is when they're buzzed-bordering-on-drunk. He makes her cum multiple times per night, and then he cums after he's serviced her properly. Like a truck with one of those big transmissions, maybe even an Allison, where you feel the shifts underneath your feet. Jerk, jerk, jerk.
Thrust, thrust, thrust.
He runs every morning in the hills behind his house, and she goes to an expensive gym where she works on her thighs, and that thigh gap that she cherishes. She doesn't mind that the weight lifters have a direct view of her ass as she's on the stairmaster. She thinks about it every time she gets on and off. In the locker room, she twists around in the mirror so she can check her ass out to make sure it looks peppy today. It always does.
She notices that he notices so she has her hair and nails done regularly. She's not a natural blonde, but she's not sure he could even tell if she was. She pays to have her legs and bikini waxed so she's clean and smooth when he goes down on her--and he goes down on her a lot.
She pouted enough that he took the cutting board that celebrated his last marriage by having a carving of the wedding date, and he finally threw it away, instead of handing her the excuse that he was just using it to chop strawberries.
He paid off her student debt as an early wedding present from her Bachelor's in Business that she knew she would never use but was forced to attending college anyway by her insistent parents, who explained that she would never find a proper husband working at Popeye's or Walmart. She maintained a 3.0GPA without trying because she was too busy to really study hard.
They're so happy to have found each other that they don't even think about the outside world, and stay in on Sundays to have sex in the morning after eating a late breakfast. She cooks because a woman should cook for her man. Hell, sometimes they don't leave the bed at all. He knows how to make her coffee, and she complains mildly that she prefers to only drink Peet's.
They institute "date night" so they will never forget how much they mean to each other. Mostly they go to an expensive, vogue little restuarant next to the creek in downtown Yuppieville. He orders what he likes, and she always orders a salad, and eats slowly, chewing softly, like her mother showed her when she was young. "You won't catch a man if you chew like an ol' dairy heifer," her mother used to say. She only eats half, and then complains that she's so full that she couldn't eat another bite. He drinks too much during dinner, and tells her about the business deals he's working on, and all this money he's making. She nods her head in the right places, and sometimes helps him, as if he needed help, with certain business terminology. She did take economics--twice. Sometimes they finish each other sentences, and then laugh when they do. Rich, attractive people can laugh loudly and drunkenly in a restaurant, and no one complains. People only want to be them, carefree and driving a $150,000 Mercedes to go to the grocery store with.
But rich is owning a private jet, and they're not that rich. They're merely on the upper end of middle class. He tells her stories of fishing on a ditch bank in Midland, Texas, where he grew up. She thinks to herself, he's so down-to-earth.
Every time he grabs her hand in public, she feels like she's good enough, and every time he lets go, she worries about how she can command his attention again. She wants him to be completely absorbed by her, and sometimes when they're sitting at a table in public, she grabs his hand and slides it up her leg to her panties. She just reminds him of the goods there.
He kisses her on the street, and twirls her around like she's a little dancer, and in the dizziness they both experience, like being short on oxygen or up somewhere way up high, they kiss more.
He asked her to marry him in the middle of the night, as they were cuddling, it was dark and off-the-cuff and she couldn't see his face but imagined his special smile, so you know he really meant it. She squeals like a beauty pageant contestant, and says "yes" over and over again.
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Final Nail, Part XIV
It doesn't seem like you are looking for a friendship from me and I know I made it clear that I was looking for nothing more than that from you.
[Morpheus]
A friendship is more than I expect from you.
[me]
Actually, he didn't make it clear. Last time I asked him to define what we were to each other, we were on the couch in his house, and he said, "Why does it have to be one way or the other?" Leading me to believe that he was ambivalent or at least he was talking ambiguously in order to not rule out the possibility of us fucking in the future. As far as I remember, and my memory does suck, I was the one who wanted us to not fuck each other, not him.
But whatever.
[Morpheus]
A friendship is more than I expect from you.
[me]
Actually, he didn't make it clear. Last time I asked him to define what we were to each other, we were on the couch in his house, and he said, "Why does it have to be one way or the other?" Leading me to believe that he was ambivalent or at least he was talking ambiguously in order to not rule out the possibility of us fucking in the future. As far as I remember, and my memory does suck, I was the one who wanted us to not fuck each other, not him.
But whatever.
Other Ex's
Most of you know that I keep in contact with more ex's than just Morpheus. There's Lucky, and then there's Joseph. I have been searching frantically trying to find a current phone number for Dirk, and have been unsucessful. Dirk was my best friend, someone whom I still love a lot, until he got a new girlfriend.
Joseph spent Christmas with me and my family. For the most part, he didn't embarrass me. In fact, he was rather pleasant, and got along with everyone very well. He literally cleaned his plate spotless with a piece of bread at the end of his fork, and then he ate the bread. I wondered when was the last time he ate since he's far from impoverished. I just sent him a TXT-message, asking if he wanted to get together this weekend.
Joseph spent Christmas with me and my family. For the most part, he didn't embarrass me. In fact, he was rather pleasant, and got along with everyone very well. He literally cleaned his plate spotless with a piece of bread at the end of his fork, and then he ate the bread. I wondered when was the last time he ate since he's far from impoverished. I just sent him a TXT-message, asking if he wanted to get together this weekend.
A Disgrace to Bulimics Everywhere
"So, tell me what the doctors said," my father asks me as I'm reading the New York Times.
"Uh, they want to put me on Topamax again," I say. I went to Stanford Outpatient Psychiatric Clinic yesterday, and almost crashed the Tahoe while emailing Morpheus.
"Why?"
"It is supposed to help with my weight and with the pain."
He leans slightly in. "Everyone has been worried about you."
I let that sink in, and later I ask, "What did you mean by 'everyone is worried about me'?"
He walks in from the other room. "Being overwieght is really hard on your body. You have no idea how hard, and then it's very hard to get it off...So, I'm glad the doctors are concerned."
"Well, I'm losing weight."
He nods.
"It's just that I'm not losing it very fast." Why is my weight suddenly a community topic?
"Uh, they want to put me on Topamax again," I say. I went to Stanford Outpatient Psychiatric Clinic yesterday, and almost crashed the Tahoe while emailing Morpheus.
"Why?"
"It is supposed to help with my weight and with the pain."
He leans slightly in. "Everyone has been worried about you."
I let that sink in, and later I ask, "What did you mean by 'everyone is worried about me'?"
He walks in from the other room. "Being overwieght is really hard on your body. You have no idea how hard, and then it's very hard to get it off...So, I'm glad the doctors are concerned."
"Well, I'm losing weight."
He nods.
"It's just that I'm not losing it very fast." Why is my weight suddenly a community topic?
Final Nail, Part XVIII
What I find curious is how did we go from "how do I contact you?" (a repetitive, unnecessary question) to "I never want to hear from you again" in the space of an hour?
Final Nail, Part XVII
Whenever someone holds a mirror to our faces, we often don't like what we see. I mean, I am crazy, and it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that I'm obsessed since I think about this man every day. I wanted to add in my last email, that I could have any man I wanted, and that I didn't need him (I tried this ploy with Hades, and he still dumped me anyway). Except I really don't believe that. The English instructor did reject me, and he ignored the last email I sent him (not that I really blame him there, but whatever). So, now there are two men on the planet who don't want me.
Final Nail, Part XVI
I like the fact that he put concerned in quotation marks like he really wanted to say crazily obsessed, but even he couldn't be that cruel. Instead, he just intuitively figured I would get the message. A little "wink-wink, nodd-nodd" to the insane bitch, who obviously has nothing better to do with her time than write stupid emails, and chase men who don't want her.
Final Nail, Part XV
I just don't really understand why you're holding onto this so tightly. When was the last time we even saw each other or talked? Why are you so "concerned" about me
[from Morpheus]
I guess if you don't know the answers to those questions then you haven't been listening to the past ten years.
[from me]
[from Morpheus]
I guess if you don't know the answers to those questions then you haven't been listening to the past ten years.
[from me]
Final Nail, XIV
Please don't contact me anymore. This has been over for a long time and you know that. Please move on.
[Morpheus]
[Morpheus]
Final Nail, Part XIII
Whenever you get rejected, you always want the other person to see the error of his/her ways, even if you don't want to be involved with him/her anymore anyway.
I read a passage in a book a long time ago, something that stuck with me throughout the years, that anger at the end of a relationship was a good thing--it helped people move on.
I realized writing that last email to Morpheus that I was much more angry with him than I was in love with him, although the "love" part was easier to deal with. What to do about anger? It just sits there in the middle of your chest, and you can't do anything about it. All of these grievances have piled up, and he's completely unaware. How could he never know that what happened to us scarred me? That every romantic and sexual relationship I've had since I've met him has been tainted by him in some way?
Of course, a sane person would never want his/her ex-boyfriend to have such knowledge. We can't bear the idea that someone else knows how much they hurt us. How much they affected us. Because if we admitted to that, we would be vulnerable. We would admit to being small in the ocean tides of love and relationships.
Final email from me:
"You never, ever gave a shit about what I wanted. Not once. I was always a second-class citizen to you. Just there to boost your ego, and make you feel better about yourself when [ex-wife] or someone else insulted you or put you down.
You used me, and I allowed it because I was naive.
You are one selfish, self-centered bastard.
Goodbye."
I read a passage in a book a long time ago, something that stuck with me throughout the years, that anger at the end of a relationship was a good thing--it helped people move on.
I realized writing that last email to Morpheus that I was much more angry with him than I was in love with him, although the "love" part was easier to deal with. What to do about anger? It just sits there in the middle of your chest, and you can't do anything about it. All of these grievances have piled up, and he's completely unaware. How could he never know that what happened to us scarred me? That every romantic and sexual relationship I've had since I've met him has been tainted by him in some way?
Of course, a sane person would never want his/her ex-boyfriend to have such knowledge. We can't bear the idea that someone else knows how much they hurt us. How much they affected us. Because if we admitted to that, we would be vulnerable. We would admit to being small in the ocean tides of love and relationships.
Final email from me:
"You never, ever gave a shit about what I wanted. Not once. I was always a second-class citizen to you. Just there to boost your ego, and make you feel better about yourself when [ex-wife] or someone else insulted you or put you down.
You used me, and I allowed it because I was naive.
You are one selfish, self-centered bastard.
Goodbye."
Final Nail, Part XII
You need to find happiness somewhere else...
[from Morpheus]
By the way, I was miserable while we were seeing each other. Most of the time. Except for a few fleeting moments so don't tell me about happiness...
[my response]
Could it really be considered that? "Seeing each other"?
[Morpheus]
Fucking each other occasionally? Is that more accurate?
[my response]
[from Morpheus]
By the way, I was miserable while we were seeing each other. Most of the time. Except for a few fleeting moments so don't tell me about happiness...
[my response]
Could it really be considered that? "Seeing each other"?
[Morpheus]
Fucking each other occasionally? Is that more accurate?
[my response]
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Final Nail, Part X
"I just don't really understand why you're holding onto this so tightly," Morpheus writes.
What does he want me to say? That I love him? That I'm still in love with him after 10 1/2 years? I mean, he doesn't want to know why.
"This has been over for a long time and you know it..." He says later.
What does he want me to say? That I love him? That I'm still in love with him after 10 1/2 years? I mean, he doesn't want to know why.
"This has been over for a long time and you know it..." He says later.
Final Nail, Part IX
[Jae], you know I'm in a relationship...
So, I ask him, Is it serious?
It is serious.
Are you in love?
I'm in love...
So, I ask him, Is it serious?
It is serious.
Are you in love?
I'm in love...
Final Nail, Part VIII
Morpheus just kept sending these emails.
I'm thinking, why? Why does he want to know now?
I'm thinking, why? Why does he want to know now?
Final Nail, Part VII
"This isn't healthy."
--Morpheus' email from today
Really? This from a man who got drunk, lost his car, and then insisted on driving home (after he found his car) even though I said I would take him back to his house. I mean, that's healthy, right? I might be an obsessive stalker, but I didn't put anyone's life at risk.
--Morpheus' email from today
Really? This from a man who got drunk, lost his car, and then insisted on driving home (after he found his car) even though I said I would take him back to his house. I mean, that's healthy, right? I might be an obsessive stalker, but I didn't put anyone's life at risk.
Final Nail, Part VI
Morpheus obviously holds these misconceptions about how I feel about our past relationship, but he is right about one thing:
The main, compelling reason why I keep in contact with him is because I'm still in love with him. I mean, I couldn't lie about that, could I?
The main, compelling reason why I keep in contact with him is because I'm still in love with him. I mean, I couldn't lie about that, could I?
Final Nail, Part V
Once every few years, Morpheus tells me that he wants no contact. I can't remember the first time he came up with this idea, but record shows (on this blog) that he continuously uses this ploy, with varying degrees of seriousness. After a few months, maybe six, maybe ten, we end up communicating again.
I could tell you that he doesn't mean it this time (maybe he doesn't?), but that would seem deluted on my part (no crazy person likes to be called crazy). I mean, the definition of hubris is to believe that when an ex tells you to "Please move on" that he/she is using reverse psychology or otherwise trying to encourage you. Only crazy people believe that. Right? That's how a good restraining order gets started.
Last time I saw him, we were standing in the kitchen, and I told him that he was going to fall in love with someone else. The last email I sent him (the one a few months ago), I told him that I didn't want to be around when he did fall in love or decided to get re-married. While we were leaning over the island in his kitchen, he told me briskly that he wasn't going to fall in love, and that showed how little I knew him.
I might not know Morpheus very well, but I do know people. They say they're heartbroke, but most recover and fall in love again, despite their best efforts to avoid it.
It's just the circle of life.
I could tell you that he doesn't mean it this time (maybe he doesn't?), but that would seem deluted on my part (no crazy person likes to be called crazy). I mean, the definition of hubris is to believe that when an ex tells you to "Please move on" that he/she is using reverse psychology or otherwise trying to encourage you. Only crazy people believe that. Right? That's how a good restraining order gets started.
Last time I saw him, we were standing in the kitchen, and I told him that he was going to fall in love with someone else. The last email I sent him (the one a few months ago), I told him that I didn't want to be around when he did fall in love or decided to get re-married. While we were leaning over the island in his kitchen, he told me briskly that he wasn't going to fall in love, and that showed how little I knew him.
I might not know Morpheus very well, but I do know people. They say they're heartbroke, but most recover and fall in love again, despite their best efforts to avoid it.
It's just the circle of life.
Final Nail, Part IV
Morpheus was asking me a bunch of questions that I had long ago asked myself, only to come up with no answers despite even spending months in therapy. My ex-therapist use to equal sobriety with not-contacting-Morpheus, like love was as hard to give up as alcohol.
I gave up alcohol (to a large extent, once every couple of weeks, I have a craft beer or a glass of wine).
In my private, paper journal I filled pages, talking about how Morpheus is "not a nice person" (well, he's not; he's not the type of guy to give up his seat on the bus for an elderly woman). After a while, I wondered why I ever loved him at all, and then, I wondered why I still loved him even though I felt--in general--he was a bit of an asshole. Was it his dick? (maybe) Was it his money and his big house? (Probably not) Was it just his smile or his laugh or the way he looked at me, all soft-eyed and sweet? (Probably)
If you really think someone is a horrible person (that is bit of an exaggeration), not trustworthy, a consistent liar, etc, then why on god's green earth do you love him?
Because of hormones.
Probably.
I gave up alcohol (to a large extent, once every couple of weeks, I have a craft beer or a glass of wine).
In my private, paper journal I filled pages, talking about how Morpheus is "not a nice person" (well, he's not; he's not the type of guy to give up his seat on the bus for an elderly woman). After a while, I wondered why I ever loved him at all, and then, I wondered why I still loved him even though I felt--in general--he was a bit of an asshole. Was it his dick? (maybe) Was it his money and his big house? (Probably not) Was it just his smile or his laugh or the way he looked at me, all soft-eyed and sweet? (Probably)
If you really think someone is a horrible person (that is bit of an exaggeration), not trustworthy, a consistent liar, etc, then why on god's green earth do you love him?
Because of hormones.
Probably.
Revenge of the Ex's
"Sorry you couldn't handle me."
--Lucky, via Facebook message
:::rolls her eyes and punches her cellphone screen:::
--Lucky, via Facebook message
:::rolls her eyes and punches her cellphone screen:::
Final Nail
It had been almost two months since I contacted Morpheus, so I sent him a generic "Hi, how are you?" Email. Yes, his email account is working now.
He responded a couple days later with "How do I contact you" (no question mark).
So, I wrote a clumsy email with all my contact information while driving up 101 to Palo Alto. I assumed he would call me. I thought we might even see each other .
Why would he ask for my contact information if he didn't want to talk to me?
Riddle me this--and that.
Monday, January 8, 2018
"You Know Me..."
"I miss your skin," Lucky tells me as we're walking down the main street in town.
"Huh?" I reply.
"It's so soft." He kisses my hand.
I only remember having sex with him twice. The first time, hours after we met. I'm not even sure what we did would be considered "sex" by the usual, standard definition. In other words, I don't remember if he put it in. I do recall making sure he wore a condom.
The second time, I gracefully threw up in the dorm's toilet while he held my hair, and then I insisted rather forcefully that we fuck. Again, I don't remember if we ever actually did.
"You know me, I haven't changed," Lucky tells me after we have a minor argument over whether or not we should make out.
"Huh?" I reply.
"It's so soft." He kisses my hand.
I only remember having sex with him twice. The first time, hours after we met. I'm not even sure what we did would be considered "sex" by the usual, standard definition. In other words, I don't remember if he put it in. I do recall making sure he wore a condom.
The second time, I gracefully threw up in the dorm's toilet while he held my hair, and then I insisted rather forcefully that we fuck. Again, I don't remember if we ever actually did.
"You know me, I haven't changed," Lucky tells me after we have a minor argument over whether or not we should make out.
The Art Form That We Love
"But it’s heartbreaking that this pleasure was ever derived at the
expense of someone else’s humanity. The art form that we love should not
carry such a ghastly price. So hope is good."
--by: Dargis, The New York Times, "Hollywood on the Brink"
--by: Dargis, The New York Times, "Hollywood on the Brink"
Saturday, January 6, 2018
And Speaking of "Mean"
Sometimes I think of myself as a lesbian who occasionally likes dick (which, technically, would still make me bisexual). The LSU Professor always thought this was incorrect on my part because of how much sex I've had with the opposite sex versus how much I've had with the same sex.
But tell that to the millions of men and women out there who are married, and either are not attracted to their partner (because he or she is the wrong gender) or who loved their spouse, but crave pussy (or if a man, lust after dicks).
But I haven't quite tested this theory, so I'm wondering if maybe I should.
But tell that to the millions of men and women out there who are married, and either are not attracted to their partner (because he or she is the wrong gender) or who loved their spouse, but crave pussy (or if a man, lust after dicks).
But I haven't quite tested this theory, so I'm wondering if maybe I should.
On Being Mean
"It isn't just greed that's good. Mean is good too. Being mean makes us feel alive. It's fun and exciting. Sometimes, it keeps us alive. W. H. Auden wrote that evil is unspectacular. I totally disagreee. Evil is dazzling. If it's done right, mean can be dazzling too...Being mean to boys is fun and a second-wave feminist duty. Being rude to men who deserve it is a holy mission. Sisterhood is powerful, but being a bitch is more exhilarating. Being a bitch is spectacular."
--"Mean," by Myriam Gurba, pg. 17
--"Mean," by Myriam Gurba, pg. 17
If Only I Could Have Written "Fire And Fury: Inside the Trump White House"
At four pm, Lucky shows up drunk and slurring his words at a local cafe in downtown Yuppieville (I hate their coffee, and the last time I was there, I had a first date with a dog walker who had a kid and an ex-girlfriend in another state, and also claimed that he had no interest in college or reading or...). He leans over to me, and says, "I went to grammar school with that guy, and he's a model."
I look over my shoulder, and saw the only guy who would closely resemble being a model. He was typing on his keyboard, and had his earbuds in. Handsome, of course.
Lucky leans in again. I get a sharp smell, an almost taste, of his booze. "He's a model and a doctor." He nodds at me carefully.
"A model and a doctor?" I laugh lightly.
Eventually, said model notices Lucky, and greets him cheerfully. They give each other half-hugs. Lucky goes over to make conversation. They talk for a few minutes. They decide to exchange phone numbers.
I'm wondering what I'm supposed to be doing since it's not polite to eavesdrop. I go back to working on a blog entry.
Yes, Lucky introduces me, and I notice model/doctor has a wedding ring on his hand.
Shit.
"Do you want to go for a walk?" Lucky says as he returns to our table.
I thought, maybe, he would actually want to go on a walk. You know, to talk and shit.
Lucky holds my hand as we walk down the street. He stops, and says, "Let's make out."
"No," I say. He draws me in closer anyway. "No," I repeat. I push on his chest.
He lets go of me. "Why not?"
"Because making out leads to having sex."
"So?" He responds like I'm a fucking idiot. Perhaps the same idiot I was when I was twenty and still a virgin.
"So..." I can't remember what I said next, something along the lines of--I haven't seen you for over a year, you're just in town for a month, we were in a relationship, etc.
"It's been a long time," Lucky says, referring to the fact that he hasn't had sex in a while.
I want to tell him to hire a prostitute (seriously), but I keep my mouth shut. "I don't want a guy who only wants to have sex with me because 'it's been a while.' "
He doesn't have a good response to that, and just stares at me.
If he was sober or maybe made some kind of effort to woo me, I might have been slightly more inclined.
"What did you think we were going to do?" He asks.
"I don't know, I just thought we were going to have a nice conversation...I tell you what, if you really want to have sex, then let's get together a couple of times and see how it goes."
"I don't have time for that."
"You're going to be here for a month."
"It's not enough time."
Honestly, I don't want to have sex with him, I don't even especially want to have sex with the model/doctor, although I might perhaps be swayed if model/doctor explained to me that he liked "plus-size girls," and we only had sex in the missionary position where my stomach looks the flattest. Even then, I would probably have to be drunk to undress in front of anyone.
Obviously, I'm a low hanging fruit for Lucky, so--no, I'm not convinced that he is even attracted to me. He just wants to stick it in something warm, and then thrust a few times before cuming on my leg. Lucky is bored, lonely, and horny--exactly the same conditions under which Morpheus contacts me.
In the end, I kissed Lucky on his ruddy, unshaven cheek, and told him goodbye. I got into my Mazda, and drove to the gym.
Later, I wonder if I could get at least a couple hundred dollars from Lucky if I let him try.
I look over my shoulder, and saw the only guy who would closely resemble being a model. He was typing on his keyboard, and had his earbuds in. Handsome, of course.
Lucky leans in again. I get a sharp smell, an almost taste, of his booze. "He's a model and a doctor." He nodds at me carefully.
"A model and a doctor?" I laugh lightly.
Eventually, said model notices Lucky, and greets him cheerfully. They give each other half-hugs. Lucky goes over to make conversation. They talk for a few minutes. They decide to exchange phone numbers.
I'm wondering what I'm supposed to be doing since it's not polite to eavesdrop. I go back to working on a blog entry.
Yes, Lucky introduces me, and I notice model/doctor has a wedding ring on his hand.
Shit.
"Do you want to go for a walk?" Lucky says as he returns to our table.
I thought, maybe, he would actually want to go on a walk. You know, to talk and shit.
Lucky holds my hand as we walk down the street. He stops, and says, "Let's make out."
"No," I say. He draws me in closer anyway. "No," I repeat. I push on his chest.
He lets go of me. "Why not?"
"Because making out leads to having sex."
"So?" He responds like I'm a fucking idiot. Perhaps the same idiot I was when I was twenty and still a virgin.
"So..." I can't remember what I said next, something along the lines of--I haven't seen you for over a year, you're just in town for a month, we were in a relationship, etc.
"It's been a long time," Lucky says, referring to the fact that he hasn't had sex in a while.
I want to tell him to hire a prostitute (seriously), but I keep my mouth shut. "I don't want a guy who only wants to have sex with me because 'it's been a while.' "
He doesn't have a good response to that, and just stares at me.
If he was sober or maybe made some kind of effort to woo me, I might have been slightly more inclined.
"What did you think we were going to do?" He asks.
"I don't know, I just thought we were going to have a nice conversation...I tell you what, if you really want to have sex, then let's get together a couple of times and see how it goes."
"I don't have time for that."
"You're going to be here for a month."
"It's not enough time."
Honestly, I don't want to have sex with him, I don't even especially want to have sex with the model/doctor, although I might perhaps be swayed if model/doctor explained to me that he liked "plus-size girls," and we only had sex in the missionary position where my stomach looks the flattest. Even then, I would probably have to be drunk to undress in front of anyone.
Obviously, I'm a low hanging fruit for Lucky, so--no, I'm not convinced that he is even attracted to me. He just wants to stick it in something warm, and then thrust a few times before cuming on my leg. Lucky is bored, lonely, and horny--exactly the same conditions under which Morpheus contacts me.
In the end, I kissed Lucky on his ruddy, unshaven cheek, and told him goodbye. I got into my Mazda, and drove to the gym.
Later, I wonder if I could get at least a couple hundred dollars from Lucky if I let him try.
Friday, January 5, 2018
It's All Connected
I realized after some calming (done on my own, no one noticed how pissed off I was for days) that using opioids in treating fibromyalgia is typically not done, and as Dr. Sean Mackey says, "controversial," so could I really blame my GP for not prescribing it?
I thought a long time about what was best for my health, regardless of whatever the GP might think or do. There are some risks with using opioids that goes beyond just abuse and addiction. They can affect hormone levels, and cause a decrease in libido for men and women, and also they can cause hyperalgesia, which is when the opioids actually make the pain worse. Long term use, like years, can cause changes in features of the brain, drastic enough to be shown on an fMRI. Most people, doctors and the public alike, are so concerned about the addiction aspect that they haven't spend time and editorials calling out the other negative consequences that can happen when using opioids for chronic, noncancer pain (I find it interesting that within the doctor community, using opioids for cancer pain is given a green light, for reasons which I don't understand--is it because opioids work better for cancer pain or because people with cancer are likely to die off anyway, so who cares if they become addicted the last three months of their life?).
So, I wrote a letter to the GP, outlining why I was at low risk for becoming addicted, and also that I recognized the other risks involved in taking the medication. However, I implored him that one pill a day was not enough to manage my pain, and I outlined how pain affected my daily life. During our last visit, I read the letter outloud to him, and my GP upped my dose to two pills per day.
What's ironic about all this is that the Neurologist is against me taking opioids, the psychiatrists at Stanford are definitely against me taking opioids, and the doctor at UCLA didn't mention anything specfically about opioids but told me that medications in general didn't help very many people with fibromyalgia. There are some people in the medical community who hint that fibromyalgia might just be a psychiatric disease, but they said that about chronic fatigue syndrome (a related disorder), and then changed their minds. At the very least, fibromyalgia has psychiatric symptoms, including anxiety and depression and sleep disturbances. What everyone seems to agree on is that while people with fibromyalgia have a decrease in pain threshold, they do feel legitimate pain. They're not making it up for attention or for whatever deluded reasons might come to anyone's mind. We just feel physical pain more intensely, which for me solves the puzzle of why I experienced moderate-to-severe lower abdominal pain right before I started having severe lower back pain. It's all connected.
I thought a long time about what was best for my health, regardless of whatever the GP might think or do. There are some risks with using opioids that goes beyond just abuse and addiction. They can affect hormone levels, and cause a decrease in libido for men and women, and also they can cause hyperalgesia, which is when the opioids actually make the pain worse. Long term use, like years, can cause changes in features of the brain, drastic enough to be shown on an fMRI. Most people, doctors and the public alike, are so concerned about the addiction aspect that they haven't spend time and editorials calling out the other negative consequences that can happen when using opioids for chronic, noncancer pain (I find it interesting that within the doctor community, using opioids for cancer pain is given a green light, for reasons which I don't understand--is it because opioids work better for cancer pain or because people with cancer are likely to die off anyway, so who cares if they become addicted the last three months of their life?).
So, I wrote a letter to the GP, outlining why I was at low risk for becoming addicted, and also that I recognized the other risks involved in taking the medication. However, I implored him that one pill a day was not enough to manage my pain, and I outlined how pain affected my daily life. During our last visit, I read the letter outloud to him, and my GP upped my dose to two pills per day.
What's ironic about all this is that the Neurologist is against me taking opioids, the psychiatrists at Stanford are definitely against me taking opioids, and the doctor at UCLA didn't mention anything specfically about opioids but told me that medications in general didn't help very many people with fibromyalgia. There are some people in the medical community who hint that fibromyalgia might just be a psychiatric disease, but they said that about chronic fatigue syndrome (a related disorder), and then changed their minds. At the very least, fibromyalgia has psychiatric symptoms, including anxiety and depression and sleep disturbances. What everyone seems to agree on is that while people with fibromyalgia have a decrease in pain threshold, they do feel legitimate pain. They're not making it up for attention or for whatever deluded reasons might come to anyone's mind. We just feel physical pain more intensely, which for me solves the puzzle of why I experienced moderate-to-severe lower abdominal pain right before I started having severe lower back pain. It's all connected.
Thursday, January 4, 2018
Disaster [REVISED]
I constantly have these disaster dreams, sometimes a natural disaster (where I can see a huge wave of the ocean coming for me), sometimes straight-from-the-horror-films zombie apocalypse where I stock up on guns and knives and chop people to bits. Reoccuring nightmares that I have multiple times per week. In all of those dreams, at least the ones I remember when I wake up, I search frantically for Morpheus, trying to call him on the cellphone (although I can never reach him, usually because the phone isn't working or I can't remember his number) or wandering into his neighborhood to see if he's alright. Sometimes I find him, sometimes I don't.
It's even more telling that I had a dream where I was able to time travel. I went back in time to find Morpheus as an eighteen-year-old, just starting at the University (same one I went to). I told him we were lovers in the future, and that he would marry and have three beautiful, intelligent kids, and have great success in business--basically all the things that make Americans happy (or what they say will make them happy). He asks me if I'm his future wife, I had the torment of telling him no.
Imagine using your one chance at going back in the past, and then blowing it on visiting an ex-lover.
To be honest, just the thought makes me want to cry.
It's even more telling that I had a dream where I was able to time travel. I went back in time to find Morpheus as an eighteen-year-old, just starting at the University (same one I went to). I told him we were lovers in the future, and that he would marry and have three beautiful, intelligent kids, and have great success in business--basically all the things that make Americans happy (or what they say will make them happy). He asks me if I'm his future wife, I had the torment of telling him no.
Imagine using your one chance at going back in the past, and then blowing it on visiting an ex-lover.
To be honest, just the thought makes me want to cry.
Monday, January 1, 2018
Is It Too Late to Follow My Dreams?
"I was going to turn 30 and then 35 and after that, I couldn't even speculate because I was either going to have a best-selling book by the age of 35 or my dream would be not merely deferred but dead, dead, dead."
--"Is it Too Late to Follow My Dreams?" The New York Times, by "Ask Roxane"
--"Is it Too Late to Follow My Dreams?" The New York Times, by "Ask Roxane"
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