Putting these pieces of thoughts together finally. Not really worth a read. Random notes, need to type in longhand journals for sure...
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Ironic my last post was about bonking my head streaking in high school. I have a long history of cracking my melon - from streaking to being knocked out undercut on a basketball court to being put to sleep for quite a while in a car accident when I first got to California... I'll write that up one day - enough time has passed.
Suffice it to say my Docs, given my history, cringe when I tell them how often I black out drinking. Totally functional - have even gigged and don't remember a thing - and it happens more often than I like to admit. Not proud of it, not bragging, actually embarrassing for me - what's that say about me drinking myself to wide-awake sleep? Just noteworthy as they believe there is a connection to my soft head and this.
Well, fuck all if I didn't do it again Saturday. I play in an adult hockey league, and during our pre-game warm up, I was standing by rail talking with a coach - helmet unbuttoned, lifted up on my head to see him more clearly and chewing on my mouthpiece. Two sacks of dicks from the other team were racing each other, one fell (or was pushed) and slid into me from the side. What I DO remember is talking to coach, and next I kinda remember a hot, dizzy cry while people taking off my skates wheeling me into the SAME emergency room my Docs many years ago cut off my high-tops (still have them) and saved my life a couple of times that night.
What I DON'T remember is being clipped from the side, helmet flying off, and the right side of my face smashing on the ice or laying there for a minute, then getting up to wobbly sit on bench "mumbling nervously." Don't remember putting skate covers on and helped to cop's car or the ride to hospital with him trying to keep me talking via bloody mouth while on my phone with my Docs. We talked Christmas plans - I inadvertently told him what I got him. He's gonna love it. Then I fell asleep.
Had a CAT scan Saturday - seem to get them more than gyno checkups these days. Spent Saturday night in a dark hospital room with ice on my face, a cop holding my hand and my Dad on a flight. Seems I painted my gown streaky, bile-green Pollock-style a couple of times that night - I'm just classy like that. Sunday is foggy, but do remember having the WORST non-alcoholic hangover you could imagine. That earned me another Sunday night's stay and an MRI Monday.
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Home now in Palo Alto with roomies, Dad and cop spoiling me. I'm writing this for Docs almost as therapy. Bright screens and lights give me headaches and squinty eyes (few minutes max at a time), very sensitive to noises and have been a bitch on wheels at times. I feel slow like a hangover day Thought of alcohol literally makes me sick. I don't like people joking or fucking around. I'm frustrated and scared shitless of this being my new normal. I feel weak and cry often. It's like I'm babysitting a stranger's slower mind. Things HAVE to get better. I feel better each day. It's Tuesday, been working on this couple days now. Feel scattered now.
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Fuck, I'm just so far sad. I had a burst of old me this morning - like sun coming through a split rain cloud - felt good. My Dad was noodling on my (his) Goldtop trying to interest me in joining him. I know what he's doing - I'm not interested, but she shouldn't be muted because of me anyways. I'm supposed to be in Albuquerque tomorrow for work - that's not happening. I have to get the OK to even drive again, more or less work. Accidentally fingered a G chord when thinking C - I just feel and hear minor chords anyways. I'm scared to play or think about.what I saw when looking at the frets today. I blinked a lot and didn't jump out to me like it used to - catch myself blinking to focus more than normal. Scared to even type that - fuck I'm just scared.
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Dad and I just did one of my favorite things ever - got loaves of bread and fed the ducks. Frenzied herd chasing just one slice of bread - they make Dad uneasy - couldn't resist throwing bread at him to duck-blanket him. Like the cold and freshly-cleansed-by-rain air. Says he'll stay here as long as I need him - OK, that'd be forever then. Like how he puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head - reminds me of being little. He's asking me about silly old stuff trying to suss out if I'm having problems remembering. Hate he worries about me - I'm gonna be fine, much better!
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Feel guilty doing nothing but relaxing. It's not me NOT to be stressed out non-stop, on the edge or going 100 miles an hour. Doc wanted me to write today, like longhand write. So I did - couldn't think of anything, but being with Dad reminded me about my 2 major crimes as a child of 5 or 6. First was writing my name Karyn and a smiley face in drying concrete, then denying it even when confronted with hard(ened) evidence. Claimed it was windy and a blowing stick did it. Yeah, that's EXACTLY what happened!
Second was walking into my best friend's house while she was gone, raiding her fridge of all their eggs and smashing them on their driveway laughing my head off. That was fun, but how much MORE fun would it be to re-enter house and write KARYN on their walls with colored markers? What a shitty little criminal I was! There HAS to be some psychological reason I literally wrote my name at the scenes of these crimes? Some shrink fill me in - Did I WANT to be caught?
So I wrote the stories out chock-full of expletives. Haven't literally written by hand in a while, was kinda calming and taking my time, was even pretty. Pretty,,, pretty... little... cuss... words...
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I have a HUGE problem being alone with my brain, so resting in quiet is secretly killing me. I'm the kind of person who HAS to have background noise - first thing I do when I get home is turn on TV or stereo. My mind wanders in quiet - can't focus and the steering on this brain is already a little loose. I drive towards negative thoughts and then a wet sweater of dread weighs me down. Must go get ready to visit Doc - play his little reindeer games. Dad says I'm OK, just far-away and spacey sometimes. Know what he means - I feel distant, tired, weak and alone. No drugs, just Advil.
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Woke up at 3 a.m. bummed, scared, walking-on-eggshells like some giant shoe is about to fall hard on me. Honest writing here, as 1) Always honest, no hiding and few cares about what people think. You'll never think I'm the piece of shit I KNOW I am. 2) Always get a kick about reading my life in hindsight - how I was feeling at time, etc. 3) Doc I love has asked me to. Frail is the word I've been thinking of. Was told what potentially could happen (bleeding brain, strokes, seizures) to me - wish they hadn't, thus the walking on eggshells, and I never want to see a scan, MRI or fake brain EVER again. Hands feel weak, but I'm not telling anyone anymore. Sometimes would rather bury my soft head in the sand than know the truth...
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Dad surprised me with a relaxing day of pampering made all the more fun by him doing everything with me. Started with a mani-pedi - that's a mental Polaroid of him I'll never forget - all fancy in his robe tucking and hiding his underwear from pedi-lady holding sparkling cider. I couldn't even have orange juice, as it reminds me of screwdrivers (sad) and thought of alcohol is still.... well, nothing... IS no thought. I don't know why.
Had massage afterwards - oh my goodness... I went towel over butt naked - didn't want to know how Dad was riding, and they drew a curtain between he and I face down in those weird face-holder clamps. Know I fell asleep at least once, as I woke up quickly - caught myself drooling and pretty sure a second wake-up call was because I was so relaxed was deathly afraid of farting. Face down naked made like flat tit-pancakes smooshed out sides, masseuse kept poking and squishing and pinching them accidentally when doing back and sides. Asked me to flip over, kinda got felt up and my inner thighs and even got my hippo's yawn brushed I think unintentionally - NOT like into her mouth, but kinda brushed by the labia gums kinda. God, I hope he wasn't getting that "special massage" like in SF a thin curtain away - therapy couldn't heal that scar.
Jacuzzi afterwards was nice. Can't do hot water, so just warm and jets felt awesome. Talked about home and family a lot - laughed quite a bit. I bought him dinner, he snuck money into my purse - why do play that game? Good day.
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I feel like sad Cure or Depeche Mode music so far today. Not saying I feel like LISTENING to them, rather I physically and mentally feel the dark and tatter and confused randomness of uncertainty. Floated, played scared in my head, then was drowned by that bitch reality - pounded the shit out the bedroom wall shared with the guy next door - Stephen fucking Hawking himself could vacuum that ONE tiny bedroom quicker than he did today. Seeing the world today black and white and red and tepid tapwater and ready to pounce.
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Made dinner tonight for everyone - really noticeable how scattered I still am. It's in making everything finish together and remembering where I put things and how much time left for certain dishes. I took that shit for granted, never even crossed my mind to whip up dinner without thinking. At least for this one, I had to use timer, organize everything in groups, not improv and take my time. Still fucked things up. At LEAST I'm aware of it - guess it's worse to think I'm normal when still fucked up - then I'd just be every one of my clueless fucking friends.
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More longhand writing is being pushed on me. Not bragging, but when I try, I write beautifully - think Constitution-like pretty, content is shit - plus it forces me to organize thoughts, as no backspace. I wrote today about one of my favorite twitter follows - she doesn't know me from anyone, but fuck me purple if we don't think soooo much alike - Laura Palmer and Roxanne_Cams she goes by. She's a cam model - I'm probably the only girl that has gone to her site just to see her rant on in person and literally scream-laughed at what comes flying out of her mouth. She's brilliantly and beautifully full of the dread I've been feeling (granted had to get brain kicked in a few times to feel this - probably not good news for her) and has that fuck you asshole trigger-quick tongue I've been cursed with - plus she loves Husker Du, Crenshaw, Gin Blossoms and MST3K... 100% the cool older sister I wish I had. Logged on twitter and quoted my faves full of despair and hopelessness and undeniable truth about religion and children and all by her all cursive-y and gorgeous. I totally get her - like a pretty Bill Hicks...
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His family is here for Thanksgiving - have to be on best behavior. They're studying me with curious, darting eyes looking for something different about me - I see it. Then they look with raised eyebrow at each other like "Hhhmmm, did you see that?" like they're goddamn heads of their field in this subject. I'm 100% convinced part of them WANTS something to be wrong with me and free cop from the damaged girl. Lost it when I walked in living room from shower and his parents and my Dad just stopped whispering quickly - lost it like I came-fucking-unglued... Cried, did deep, scary angry low voice accusing them of talking about me behind back - comparing notes on what degree of fucked up I've achieved. Pointed, STFU 'em all, accused, cussed, then threw the remote as I needed an exclamation point. Could hear pins dropping in Santa Cruz it got so quiet.
I was partly right it turns out. They WERE talking about me. Just about the Christmas present they already got me. Fuck me... I'm so embarrassed, so sorry - have an explosive hair trigger usually saved for my week of having the Communists in my funhouse. Screamed at the people who love me the most and care about me more than anyone - what the fuck is wrong with me? THIS your best behavior? Have to get my shit together and stop thinking everyone's against me.
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Cop's pushing me today - and thanks, but fuck you as well. I'm frightened most, and for NO good reason, of driving. He pushed and pushed and pushed until I snatched the keys from him and stomped down the stairs like a petulant child and agreed to drive around the parking lot. Hate / love him for this, but he's gonna feel the hate for a while up first. You don't realize how second nature driving is until you dissect it down into the many pieces / tasks it actually is, then paranoid focus on each tiny task questioning yourself if you've kept it right in your head and not forgotten something. Thinking too much... except of alcohol. I believe the two of us are headed for divorce - maybe separation, but our love affair has seemed to taken a back seat...
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Said I wouldn't do it, but edited backwards today to clean up. Sounded like a victim too much for me - a virtual pity fucking party for poor me. I don't know why - that's not like me. Think it was to mask just how frightened and small and frail and full of dread I was feeling. I ran today for first time since mishap - afraid to until now, as treating my head gently, no jarring. Fuck that - not going to walk around life with a helmet on scared waiting for something to happen. Besides, was able to look at a cold beer yesterday and not feel sick. Hell yeah that's progress!!!
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Work tomorrow... Dad gone... It's like everything is normal again?
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