"This world's a blessing and a beast"
Apr. 4th, 2012 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutanturThis morning I had a strange new experience. I was sad that it wasn't a day I was going to the gym. (I've been going Monday, Tuesday and Friday for the past couple weeks.) I think it's sitting in the steam room that has really tipped the balance, but there's also something to exercise being a little mind-numbing.
I'm trying hard not to think very much these days. I have spasms where I'm totally rocking things, and then valleys where I brood about what this new life is going to look like, if the absence is permanent or temporary. Not in the sense where I always get what I want, because I still think a lot of what I want is comprised of things I can't self-generate (dammit). But where I hang out with myself more. Maybe I'll try to get back on the volunteer train, maybe I'll finally take a class at Artisan's Asylum, maybe I'll start scrubbing the grout in the kitchen with a toothbrush, maybe I'll go to readings where I'm not already smitten with the author.
I cry, a lot, during my therapy sessions, and occasionally I want my therapist to just tell me something is rough, and it sucks, and I'm doing well. I've had four surgeries in the past three years (five, if you count gum surgery, which I kind of do). I've had nine non-dental surgeries and at least four dental surgeries since I turned 18. I know there are people out there who have had more, I know there will always be people worse off than I am, but sometimes I just want to have a temper tantrum and have the world produce the things I want, be it bigger boobs, more signal and less noise in my head and my friendship, cats that don't poo, less inertia, better hair.
I'm either afraid of pity, or it makes me furious. Pity feels like someone telling me that given the same set of cards I was dealt, they would have played a better hand. That said, there's this mysterious thing that I want from life (ie: a vaguely personified everything-outside-my-head), some sort of extra credit, some sort of comfort. And, even now, I imagine a readership thinking "Poor Omnia, she thinks she's had a rough go of it" in condescending and pitying ways.
Well, gaily forward and all that.
I'm trying hard not to think very much these days. I have spasms where I'm totally rocking things, and then valleys where I brood about what this new life is going to look like, if the absence is permanent or temporary. Not in the sense where I always get what I want, because I still think a lot of what I want is comprised of things I can't self-generate (dammit). But where I hang out with myself more. Maybe I'll try to get back on the volunteer train, maybe I'll finally take a class at Artisan's Asylum, maybe I'll start scrubbing the grout in the kitchen with a toothbrush, maybe I'll go to readings where I'm not already smitten with the author.
I cry, a lot, during my therapy sessions, and occasionally I want my therapist to just tell me something is rough, and it sucks, and I'm doing well. I've had four surgeries in the past three years (five, if you count gum surgery, which I kind of do). I've had nine non-dental surgeries and at least four dental surgeries since I turned 18. I know there are people out there who have had more, I know there will always be people worse off than I am, but sometimes I just want to have a temper tantrum and have the world produce the things I want, be it bigger boobs, more signal and less noise in my head and my friendship, cats that don't poo, less inertia, better hair.
I'm either afraid of pity, or it makes me furious. Pity feels like someone telling me that given the same set of cards I was dealt, they would have played a better hand. That said, there's this mysterious thing that I want from life (ie: a vaguely personified everything-outside-my-head), some sort of extra credit, some sort of comfort. And, even now, I imagine a readership thinking "Poor Omnia, she thinks she's had a rough go of it" in condescending and pitying ways.
Well, gaily forward and all that.
