I took my father to his appointment. We got there early and they took him early, which was a shock as the last few appointments they were late. They had a piano playing so I couldn’t read. Live music tends to interfere with my reading voice. So I just played with my phone and texted my sister. My mother is not destined to have a new fridge. She ordered a new one but they had trouble getting it up the stairs. So again, no new fridge. My mother is very upset as am I. I wish she would just let me order from the Sears website but she doesn’t trust her information on the web. UGH. So annoying!
Things with my father went well until the last leg home. That is when he annoyed the hell out of me. My father isn’t happy until he pisses you off. And that he did. I am still fuming. I can’t fucking stand him. I try not to sit next to him on the train for this reason but there wasn’t another seat to be had.
Despite being mad, I am also feeling wicked sad. I keep thinking about Hyde and how sad he is, which makes me feel sad as well. I am the host. I feel what my parts feel. I just don’t know what to do. I do plan on doing something soon. I thought that would make him happy but it’s not. I think he is sad because he hasn’t been able to write dire things lately. I haven’t been able to let him “out” so to speak. I just haven’t been feeling that level of depression since I upped the trileptal or at least starting taking the full dose of it. I had to take it because I kept becoming hypomanic and the crashes were terrible. I could lower the dose again. Only problem is that I really don’t want the psychache to return.
I can’t live with both physical pain and psychological pain. Having both just makes me suicidal. I think that is what Hyde wants. He feeds off it. It is what fuels his writing. Sadly, it also fuels mine as well. Since being on the “right” dose of trileptal, I haven’t been able to write painful stuff. Actually, I haven’t been able to write anything for my book. I just don’t feel it. Writers have said that if you wait to feel it, you will never write. Well, that is my muse. High emotional stuff gives me things worth writing about.
I seem to write good blogs. My readership has gone up the last few weeks. I even have a consistent reader from Guam that is reading (hi!). I should feel proud of myself for be successful but I don’t feel anything. I feel like I should write more but sometimes I feel what I am writing is boring and mundane. My blog used to be about being suicidal. Now I don’t know what it’s about. My daily life and the struggle I have with chronic pain, either physical or psychological or both.
Speaking of chronic pain, last night Bill Maher made a comment that those that use opioids are “junkies” because of the stupid commercial they had during the Super Bowl about a medication for constipation. The asshole didn’t realized what the presence of the chronic pain community he pissed off, including myself. I didn’t participate in the hashing but I did call him a dick. That was all I could think of to say.
I just get frustrated every day because I feel like I write the same things only it’s a different day. I write because it makes me feel better. It’s like an itch that I have to scratch. If I don’t write everyday, I feel like I am missing something. There are some days when it’s hard to write more than 300 words and then there are days like today where I can write 600 or more. I keep track of my word counts because I am a number nerd, just like I keep track of my blog stats. It gives me something to focus on during the day.
Getting back to Hyde, I just don’t know what to do about him. I guess I should just try and let him out more if I am able. It’s just that there has to be circumstances to let him out and I am not always under those circumstances. He is a difficult part. And it hurts me knowing he is too.