Still feeling lost. C and I went to Boston Market, it’s a comfort thing today. Kabob & Curry was too challenging to go to tonight aided by some kind of money funniness this afternoon. Then we shot over to the old Patriot Cinema and caught Ride Along which we were going to watch when it first came out.
I’m very lucky in that C is one of the very few people who is spared from the paranoiac cloud that envelopes every other person in my life. The fear and loneliness is colored by the darkness of depression’s fog. And the weather along the New England shore lately reflects the engulfing chemicals in my brain. I go through the lists of people I know in my head: people I trust, people I know, people who give a sh!t. It narrows the worse the maelstorm whirls. I see their faces as I go through these lists looking for people to call just so I don’t sink into the isolation the disorder corrals me into. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Once I build up the courage to contact someone to just connect by getting a coffee or something simple then the agony of dealing with my acerbic attitude. Usually many of my friends aren’t offended by my angry humor. As the maelstorm spins and gathers strength my “clever banter” will turn into angry passion then withdrawn sullenness if I’m lucky. Then in a final show of self hatred I will disappear and not leave the house while my mind flagellates my into a groveling fungal mess. I hate myself and am convinced that I have no right to show my face outside my doors. It will take me some time to recover from another episode but it isn’t the end by any means. I will have to carefully plan who I can see once I’m able to walk in public again. I can’t afford to hear the inevitable ignoramous’ lecture “just get over it”. I will be proud that I once again survived another episode without convincing myself to off myself. I will talk about it. I need to make sure that I don’t encounter one of the well meaning but uninformed people who will spew a cliche or “helpful advice” that is gauranteed to push me back in my recovery from the journey out of the maelstorm.
Last night I found out that I spent an episode in the Jane Brown Wing of RI Hospital. Well really what I discovered was that H. P. Lovecraft died in the Jane Brown Wing back in March 1937. C called me a nerd when I roused him from his lair to tell him last night. And bless his pea-picking heart he indulged me my glee without laughing at me.