I am sliding back into my nocturnal inclinations thankfully. I have always naturally been a night owl. I slept a few hours this evening after a wonderful supper and then was up to listen to Coast to Coast AM at 1am (which dismayed me they are talking about sports of all things tonight. Shit!). I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about my illness and my life. Currently? I am just happy to sit still for hours on end – a feat that was almost impossible for me for weeks on Zyprexa. I was constantly pacing the floor till my legs were sore and I was exhausted. A friend on Twitter who also has anxiety and does the same thing joked with me tonight that at least we are getting our exercise. For some reason, that is not funny to me tonight. I don’t want to spend my days nervously pacing the floor as my mind races and my heart thumps in my chest. It is not a very fun or nice way to live when you can’t even sit down for ten minutes.
Dad is still coming every morning to make sure I am taking care of myself. Our close family friend telling dad that I looked like I was dying really alarmed him. I keep wondering how long this will last though. He’s a busy man with much to do with his busy business. I appreciate his help immensely, but it is a tad bit demeaning for a man of my age. That seems to be the story of my mental illness – demeaning. It has taken away so much of my soul and humanity. I have watched my manhood slip away over the years to the throes of addiction and schizophrenia. It has left me this battered, anxious shell of a soul scared of every misaligned inclination of his body.
I was just thinking that my having my medications at night has been a detriment to me. I would like to take them in the morning so the full effects are with me during the day. Late afternoons and evenings are horrendous nerve wracking mental illness filled affairs. I have little control of my medications or healthcare for that matter much like my mother. My father carefully controls all of this. He means well, but it can be a tad bit overwhelming. Maybe I will become nocturnal again so I am asleep during the day when my medications have worn off. It’s an appealing thought. I just have to stay up all night tonight to start the process.
My favorite blog, The Homeless Guy, can pretty much be officially said as dead. Kevin rarely posts these days and what is posted seems to be reactionary or an afterthought. I follow him on Facebook, but it’s all alarmist activist type stuff that just doesn’t appeal to me. You’re not going to change homelessness posting on Facebook to a cadre of friends that is equivalent to preaching to the choir. I want to know about his life (which is interesting and unorthodox). I want to know how he lives and manages to eat with no job and no government check. How does he clothe himself? And how has his laptop lasted all these years when they are so notoriously fragile? So many questions that I will probably never know. The man is a mystery that is so intriguing.
I was alarmed at which the way my anonymous commenter's are describing work. It all sounds so demeaning. Is work really that bad? I haven’t worked in about eight years realistically so I can’t quite remember what it’s like. Lately, I’ve thought of work as a way to better myself. So many aspects of it are appealing to me such as money and as a social outlet. I have visions of making lasting friends through the camaraderie of work. I have visions of being able to just drive down to Fat Albert’s and buy me a cola – something so foreign and strange to me at the moment that I could be living on Mars for that matter. I don’t have to work. I am crazy enough that I could stay on disability for years and years living at a poverty level. If I lost disability, then my father would pay my way although I would be on a tight and tethered leash. It would be easier for me to stay on the dole, but I wanted something better. Something to call all my own – an accomplishment of grand proportions for me.