September 11, 2022 Journal Entry
This wrote itself out in my mind while driving back to Centralia from Federal Way. I was going to name this post 10 9 8 7 All Good Lovers Go to Heaven because they do, but then Brass in Pocket came on and oh my, spot on.
I’ve been dreading today for more reasons than I can count. Primarily, this is the second Don Day that Don has spent with his new girlfriend.
Two weeks ago was the first Don Day that Don spent with his new girlfriend. I was in the ER high out of my mind on Klonipin. I wasn't in the ER because of Don, but the fact he'd found someone his own age, someone with whom he might walk beside for a time or perhaps even the rest of his days, that was the thing that finally broke me. My Don Days now belong to a woman who is very likely Don's Person. I was grieving hard that day. I still am. I'm better. But man, I'm hurting.
The why is far more complex. It began with a major health scare in early April, followed by another health scare, followed by the stress of returning to work after more than four years on the bench, and so many other little things. Things started coming at me really hard. Challenge after challenge layered on top of me like heavy boulders, crushing me, suffocating me, rendering me impotent in the battle I wage against the sick parts of my own mind.
I remember little of that day in the ER other than protesting, loudly, ostentatiously, about the incredibly unfair treatment I was receiving. My unfair treatment was not any different than the treatment any other attempted suicide receives. But I’m Special. There's nobody else here, no one like ME.
Well, I’m through the psych stay, now. I got through and beyond the suicidal ideation. Yay Coco. I did it. Another big one I pushed through. Although it’s not like I had any choice in the matter. Alas…
Every time I think of Don and his new girlfriend, I get a hot shot adrenalin rush followed immediately by a particularly intense nausea. The nausea spreads quickly throughout my center and rapidly pervades the whole of me. I feel it in my hair. I feel it in my fingertips and toes. It’s a full body sick.
I tried to schedule myself out on that first Don Day so I’d not be at home all day that day, left to be swallowed up in the pain of this “not really breakup” with my “not really boyfriend”.
I had planned to meet Katrina in Olympia; we were going to drive out to the ocean. Sick out of my mind, I canceled the day before. What if I had followed through? I don’t know. Maybe what happened was bound to happen. I don’t know. Well, actually, I do know. What happened was bound to happen. I was at that place. I fell slightly below that point at which I’m still able to catch myself from falling too far. It just all got the best of me.
I’m sad for me. It’s so fucking tragic. I’ve so much goodness, I’ve accomplished so much, I’ve worked so fucking hard. I really have put in the time, done the work. I really have. I was making incredible progress. I arrogantly thought it was simply not possible I could fall that far down ever again. I thought the self-harming was behind me. I really believed all that was behind me. I think that’s why it all just got the best of me. I didn’t realize where I was. I just did not see how close I was to death. Pain was there, of course she was there, she’s always there even when she’s sleeping. But I didn’t recognize Suicide when he entered and took over. I just did not see it.
I look back at my text messages from the night before, and I see there were a handful of people I tried to contact. If any of them had responded what exactly would I have said? Anything I said would have likely landed me in the same place, the ER waiting for a psych bed. I was just that bad. Perhaps I would have been voluntary instead of on a mandatory five-day hold. Would it have mattered? I don’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t have fought quite so hard against a broken system that does, in spite of its brokenness, keep me alive.
I didn’t really want to meet Katrina in Federal Way today because that meant I’d have to drive by the Don Exit. I did not want to drive by the Don Exit, which I have taken every other Sunday at approximately the same time for the last 13 every other Sunday’s. Right on time, just in time, Don called.
“Oh good. I’m going by your exit in a few minutes, stay on with me,” I said.
“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time with this,” he said. “I don’t want this to be hard for you.”
Ya, I know, Don. You’ve said that a bunch of times now. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to magically get easy.
“I appreciate your concern and your support, Don. It’s going to take a bit of time. But you know I’m so happy for you. This is exactly how things should be. Exactly. Things always work out exactly as they should. Over time.”
I always add that last bit because sometimes it takes quite a bit of time for things to fall into place, to actually work out. But they do. Over time. They always do.
We talked right by the Don Exit and all the way to 320th. I hung a left and parked at The Commons and the conversation continued. About 50 minutes, that’s how long we talked. Rather unheard of for my lovely young friend, Don.
At about the 30-minute mark, knowing that’s about three times what’s comfortable for him, I started telling him to get off the phone. I try to give him outs. He’s all grown up; he should know how to end a conversation. Maybe he does, but he doesn’t do it. He feels obligated to talk to me. I so hate that. He feels especially obligated right now. I so hate that. But I’m so glad he fought to stay on a bit longer. Then the next out I gave him, he fought to stay on a bit longer yet. At about 46 minutes, he started to agree it was time to hang up.
“Oh, one more thing before I go,” he said. “The herpes test cost me $400 after insurance. It was worth it, but that’s why I hate the medical system blah blah blah…”
Ya, I know Don. I just smiled and let him go on a bit. There was a pause, or maybe not, maybe I just interrupted. Shit. I hate when I do that.
“Yes, it’s true the medical system is broken, but not all doctors are bad,” I said.
He took issue with that. So, I listened to him go on a bit more. I get an overwhelming amount of airtime, he’s more than entitled to a bit of a rant upon occasion. I try my best to just listen, and just smile, and just drink in his seldom used “I’m super annoyed” tone. I love it when he shows strong emotion, when he departs from his easy-going steady self and get’s all hot about a subject. I love it when he’s strong and opinionated and won’t be swayed by my incredibly logical, fact-based, experience-based counter arguments. I love it when he stands up to me. I’m so strong. I love it when he is stronger. I so love it when the balance of conversation shifts fully to him. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me when that happens. I’m so incredibly proud of him. He’s come so far since we met. And so have I, truly. I’m so proud of both of us, really, truly.
Yes, I’m Special. There’s no one like me. But I’m not Don's Person. It hurts like a motherfuck but this is how it’s supposed to be. Exactly and precisely just like this.
Brass in Pocket
I got brass in pocket I got bottle, I'm gonna use it Intention, I feel inventive Gonna make you, make you, make you notice and
Got motion, restrained emotion Been driving, Detroit leaning No reason, just seems so pleasing Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Gonna use my arms Gonna use my legs Gonna use my style Gonna use my sidestep Gonna use my fingers Gonna use my, my, my, imagination
'Cause I going make you see There's nobody else here, no one like me I'm special (Special) So special (Special) I got have some of your attention, give it to me
I got rhythm, I can't miss a beat I got a new Skank, so reet Got something, I'm winking at you Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Gonna use my arms Gonna use my legs Gonna use my style Gonna use my sidestep Gonna use my fingers Gonna use my, my, my, imagination
Oh, 'cause I gonna make you see There's nobody else here, no one like me I'm special (Special) So special (Special) I got to have some of your attention, give it to me
'Cause I gonna make you see There's nobody else here, no one like me I'm special (Special) So special (Special) I got have some of your attention, give it to me
Songwriters: Chrissie Hynde / James Honeyman-scott
