Disordered Thinking

An old therapist once told me that to think of suicide as making sense was, well, crazy. I don’t know if I agree with her, but I guess that makes me a bit crazy. But seriously, doesn’t it make sense for some of us? If we’re not happy, no matter what, for no more than a second at best, and we’re downright miserable the rest of the time, well, what then?
And man-made drugs make me sick – these are drugs I took for years, btw, but now they’re biting me in the ass. Besides being really fucked, what then? Chamomile tea, exercise, regular sleep at night, cutting out gummy worms, extra Bs, medical marijuana, etc.?

I’d like to move where I can watch birds when I can’t move otherwise, but I’m too chicken to move out. I want to be able to lay on the bed, with my cat, and do nothing but stare out the window at wildlife.  (Cat videos are too outside of my technical abilities!)  And I can’t drive to where wildlife lives because I’m losing my senses: eyesight, hearing, balance… In fact, I’ve had balance problems for years, but I’m now experiencing dizziness – so having everyone think I’m DRUNK too doesn’t make me want to go outside at all!  (Don’t tell the people at the CVS or the grocery store that I drive there!)
Even medical pot kind of freaks me out: I grew up in the 70s, and we rarely even took aspirin in those days. Pot was strictly recreational, but now I take it for medical reasons. Weird.

I’d move, but global warming is fucking up everywhere, so I might as well stay where I am – but I’m not cut out for the urban-suburbs!  The lawns here are little, but when people cut them, they mow, then trim, then use a leaf blower to scatter the trimmings.  And don’t get me started on car locks and alarms!  I even bought a pair of airport-strength earmuffs but am too ashamed to wear them outside!

I just want birds, wildlife, trees and stars.  But I used all my hard-earned money, when I had it, on searching for answers to the unanswerable health questions that I still have.  If I only knew then what I know now … right?

I guess I want too much?

 

This entry was posted in mental illness, post-Sandy blog. Bookmark the permalink.