Sunday, January 23, 2011

anger ventilation

I had actual plans to go out last night. Not to a bar, but to a friend’s birthday party. While nervous, I was actually looking forward to forcing myself to be social. I already checked to make sure HWMNBN wasn’t coming, so all was safe. Then, I got sick, again. I swear to goodness I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I am always sick anymore. I felt bad bailing, but I also simply felt bad. I texted a friend and said I was going to sit in a hot tub and then go to bed. It seems that I typed something wrong on the text and what was actually communicated was that I was going to go shit in a hot tub and then go to bed. Once realized, I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. And in all honesty, the way I was feeling, that actually could have been an option. (Aren’t you glad you read this blog? And that I have no pride?)
I’ve cut my antidepressant pill down to one fourth. It’s hard to chop it like that, but I’m hoping I can get rid of it soon. However, I’m not sure if I should. I’ve definitely struggled with the HWMNBN more in the past few days and have had horrible, horrible dreams. About him, and about my family getting sick and dying. I don’t typically have nightmares, so I’m wondering if those are connected somehow. I’m also noticing that I am angry. Really, really angry. About everything. I nearly kill people in the gym countless times a day. For their rudeness, for their stupidity, etc. And, even my books on tape haven’t been able to completely detour the road rage as of late. What’s strangest to me, is my anger at homeless people. I went downtown for twenty minutes the other day to do a couple errands, and I was asked for money no less than eighty or so times (and I’m not exaggerating in the slightest). Both errands had to do with lack of money, so bad timing, I guess. I ended up speed walking, almost jogging, to get out of the throng of people and rushed home to my dogs. Felt like my skin was crawling. This from the man who used to make a point to look every homeless person in the eye and speak to them (wanted them to know I see them as human, as equal); it wasn’t uncommon for me to give a twenty or more to people who asked. I actually did give Five to a lady near my home yesterday, who I saw sobbing last week, holding a sign talking about her baby. My family’s money struggles have made me more genuinely empathetic of how things can turn to shit in a moment, but it’s also made me less patient with it. We’ve gotten creative and altered things to do out best to make it work, worked our asses off. All of us. None of us have begged for money. Of course, that may be next. Whatever the case, it’s one thing to not feel capable of emotion like I did before, it’s quite another to be feeling such anger. Let’s just say, the guy sitting by me in the sauna today [preaching about the heat of the room reminding him of Hell, how Jesus is the Savior, implying that I was uncomfortable with the thought of Christ (I didn’t even say a word), all the while talking about his wife, then referring to another woman he saw yesterday as the hottest bitch he’d seen in awhile, and cursing up a storm and including God’s name in his cursing], should be happy I chose the tactic of rushing out of the room and cooling off in the shower instead of giving into the throttling that was going through my mind.
And now, I’m off to research/contact sixteen different publishers and agents, and enter one of the books into a publishing contest. I guess in that sense, I am totally begging—every single book person I can scrounge up.

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