any of you normal people that follow this blog, you might not appreciate today’s snippet.
but for all you roller derby girls, ex-junkies and psych ward patients, well i think you’ll get what i’m sayin’ here.
it’s been a long week already. i have a schedule at work that goes: Long Week, Short Week, Medium Week, then starts over again. this is the long one i’ve just finished, and ended it last night with an altercation. so today i’m lounging around in my pajamas (yoga pants, whatever) and just breathing, you know?
suddenly there is this harsh pounding on my door, and i’m like CRAP! WHAT?! I’M ABOUT TO WATCH SOME TWILIGHT ZONES, LEMME ALONE!
but i answer the door. the mailman (and you’ll hear more about him another time) was actually concerned that someone in the house might be hurt. we’ve let our mail pile up all week because of my schedule and my sister’s, who is pulling double shifts. and most of it is catalogues and junk mail adds, so who’s going to run out at midnight to worry about cleaning out the box? not me!
but he had noticed we hadn’t picked it up, and he was like “everything OK here?” which is soooo sweet! and i brushed him off, “oh yeah, it’s fine, sorry!!”
i pull all the mail out and smile at him. “sorry!”
then later i happen to look in the mirror and see
wonky hair in all directions, ex mascara smeared all over my face and basic overall grumpiness. plus i’m in my kookoo pants and a sleeveless comic book hero tee shirt.
yep; nothing wrong with anybody here!
what if this life isn’t what i think it is? what if it IS more like a Twilight Zone than people want to believe? what if it is just a scripted experiment, and i’m just a body running the maze, with an already decided outcome and a short time in which to determine the path i choose. which may lead to the same outcome the other path leads to.
so why am i stalling? why am i afraid of my own power? my own magic? my own voice?
time to live like this crazy life might actually change itself around my actions. time to live like i’m in a dystopian novel, but I’M the writer of the ending.
time to fully be me, and let all of the magic strands of me do what they will…
to be continued…
Used to be I was a drone bee, like all the other drone bees. I would wake up at the ungodly hour of 6:00 in the morning, get ready, go to work, bustle about with whatever I was supposed to be doing -half asleep because I hadn’t had enough coffee – and spend the entire day doing what everyone else was doing, which was thinking about all the things we COULD be doing instead of working, like playing video games, or going to the movies, sleeping in, having sex, or spending some money at the local mall. I told you, this was some time ago…I don’t really go to the mall that often anymore. Unless I need some cute earrings from Claire’s, or something sassy from Hot Topic. Shut up; yes I HAVE seen that South Park episode and it’s hilarious. I still shop at Hot Topic.
Today makes me glad I finally gave up working the normal work-a-day business hours to go rogue. It’s raining steadily right now at twelve noon. I went for my walk, as the rain poured down on me, and breathed in the smell of toast that permeated the air. Lunch time, I guess. I still hadn’t had breakfast. I had a chance to see a baby muskrat running through someone’s yard. I got to hear the morning church bells, which always remind me of Switzerland. I made myself a cup of coffee, wishing I had my secret ingredient to make it Russian style, and sat myself down to write out a little blog. Perhaps I could squeeze in some work on my Twilight Zone project, if time allows.
Back in the day I wouldn’t have the chance to do all this. Back in the day, I would be collating paperwork right now, or ordering up lunch for some executives, or wondering why my boss’ deposit slip never seemed to match the till. (hint: weed growing in the back yard, which I didn’t find out about for a long while) Back in the day I would have missed this glorious morning of green grass, mama Robins and soggy britches. I would already be indoors, wanting to get out, waiting to be released from work so I could have an evening walk full of traffic and cars honking and people driving home hungry for dinner and drunks that started getting happy quite a while before the appointed hour.
So it’s a good thing I finally happened to start taking jobs that allowed me to go into work at 3:00, or 5:00 even. And it’s a good thing I finally discovered I was a writer. And also, not much of a morning person.
i don’t know, there have been some pretty hard ones…narrowing it down to which one is the worst may be overly ambitious of me. still, this one ranks right up there. it’s at least the hardest day i’ve had in a very, very long while.
my condition – the DID – makes life…shall i say, interesting.
my sister – the angel i live with – puts up with a lot, and i don’t envy her. i guess my memory is rather spotty. maybe if i just sat around trying to remember what my favorite childhood tv show was (TWILIGHT ZONE) or favorite book (I Never Promised You a Rose Garden) or other childhood favorites, well maybe a spotty memory wouldn’t be so bad.
i like to be witty. i like to have a funny comeback, or a sassy antidote. i like to write blogs that are interesting, or curious, or whacky, that will make someone laugh or wonder how i got to be such a silly person.
but today is not like that.
today is a punched-in-the-gut day.
today there isn’t much bravado left in me, so i guess i have to be brutally honest for a change.
today was horrible.
i’ve had a lot of jobs. i’ve been a janitor, a teacher’s aid, a cashier. i’ve worked at bookstores, health clubs, pizza parlours and day camps. i’ve worked for theological seminaries, colleges, insurance companies and health food stores. and i’ve never really looked at that. i know several people where i work right now that have only worked one job, their whole life, in the same building for 20, 30 years. i don’t mind that i’ve traveled and changed and lived. but today it stared me straight in the face, and the question was…why do i have to keep moving?
i had a job review recently, and it didn’t make me happy. usually my job reviews are good; often they are great. i meet expectations or i greatly exceed them. i’ve always been something of a workhorse, and people have regularly noticed that i’m a hard worker. but this time i got a mixed review. feedback from my supervisor was that i was inconsistent, and she felt i should be remembering my job better than i am. and only being in this position for a little while didn’t seem to matter. she is frustrated with me.
the thing is; i don’t remember.
i don’t know what things i’m not doing right. and she didn’t tell me, though i kept asking. but that’s the thing…several people might have had conversations with me, and it’s true, i may not remember them. this is what my sister deals with all the time. she tells me something in passing, and i say “what are you talking about?” then she’ll say, you know … we talked about it yesterday. and no, i have no idea what she’s talking about. she’s gotten so used to it that now she’ll just look at me and say “well i talked to one of you the other day”. this has made me feel embarrassed a lot of the time, and i’ve sometimes gotten mad and been like “stop saying that. it’s all me” but some of the me’s don’t have any idea what we’re talking about.
and now, apparently, this is happening at work.
back in the day – when i worked at all these other places – none of my other personalities came out at work. or if they did, the worker person somehow managed to keep them in the background. i was basically always functioning in one mode back then. but now i have people out all the time that may not fully understand their job situation.
so today i had to tell my boss i have MPD. and it sucked. i cried like a baby, because i’ve tried so very hard for so very long to fit into the “normal” world and look and act just like everyone else. i haven’t wanted to rouse suspicion, lest someone find out my darkest secret. and now it’s out of the bag! and my secret is more public than i’d planned on going. and i’m scared.
i’m afraid of being fired.
i’m afraid of losing my friends.
i’m afraid of people thinking i’m an idiot.
i’m afraid of making people angry at me for being this way.
i’m afraid of not being cared for and loved.
i know i’m totally fucked up. i know that. but i’ve been alone with that knowledge my whole life. and now my sister supports me. but the more i open my fucking heart to people, the more i care, the more i end up needing to explain my whackadaisical behaviors….and i’m worried.
because not everyone will be able to love me.
and i desperately need love.
My local library has the entire five seasons on DVD, and I frequently check them out. You see, The Twilight Zone is one of my Achilles’ Heels. I’ve been addicted since I was nine or ten. Back when I was growing up just outside of L.A. (in the late seventies early eighties), The Twilight Zone ran in syndication every day at noon. I became addicted to the show, and days that I stayed home from school with a cold or flu, I lay on the couch with my eyes like saucers, all aglow from the light of our telly. The twisted, reality bending episodes crept into my mind and shadowed me throughout my lifetime, where I questioned which version of reality was accurate or correct. Mine? Someone else’s? Rod Serling’s?
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I see these familiar episodes, which have become like old friends to me. I love them each time, and find new things to appreciate on each viewing. So yes, I didn’t feel my best this weekend. But watching the Zone while I was under the weather made my weekend the best possible.