Whattaday. I spent it with my neighbour, first in the ER waiting room, then in Cardiac ICU. Serious heart failure and it’s the second time I’ve taken her to hospital with it this year. Cancer meds ate her heart muscle (they’ve since been withdrawn from the
profiteering mafia market). I’m gonna blog about me me meeee though, since I can keep my head jammed up my ass on my blog.
I fucking hate that hospital with a passion. My mother started dying there and I remember my clear focus everywhere except the last corridor, which sort of telescoped every time I walked down it. Why the fuck that chain of hospitals paints so much red idk. Psychologically, it apparently denotes energy, passion, anger … it makes my eyes go like this: @@
Wtf was I talking about?
Today a doctor, a nurse and a specialist who looked after my mother went past me at various times. I was so fucking manic back then, but at a good level. I didn’t fuck my entire life and everyone else’s up till months later.
I am saying fuck a lot. I swear horrendously pretty much all the time, except when I’m truly angry.
The hospital antipathy wasn’t the primary issue today. The fucknutted whoredog minibollocked issue, was my neighbour. (I don’t often get my priorities right, so it’s worth noting.)
I sort of inherited my neighbour as a friend from my mother, they were great friends and my neighbour was very much there when she was dying. We were never close, the neighbour and I, but obviously we went through that together and some more stuff since. Suddenly I realised I really and sincerely, genuinely do give a shit. Tears prickled. I babbled. Well here we go again … I haven’t gone completely into orbit though. I sat and shook some, leaned on a friend virtually some and then pulled myself towards myself and got practical and sensible again. Somewhere in the middle of it all, my psychiatrist answered an email from last week, telling me not to feel bad about starting smoking again. *chainsmokes*
Now, after a fairly long day, I am home, scatterbrained and eating cold pizza.
Mixed episodes, srsly, fuck you. Your mother was a blowfish. Fuck injured hearts, fuck loss, fuck hospitals and fuck xmas.
PS – I’m happy now, just heard that she’s doing a ton better and the problem isn’t as hectic as it seemed at first. Blogging my bitching and whining anyway so that I can: –
a) Take you on an emotional roller coaster for nothing; or
b) Keep tracking this whole bipolar mood shi(f)t.
(I now cannot undo fasteners or cry.)