Quote 259

I'm a little hungry... And I'm a little Rock and Roll...

- RJ

Snippet 217

RJ:
(Upon receiving Pu-Er tea delivery he didn't recall ordering, and, later, after reading up on it, submitted that he probably did)
Well, I saw "Chinese, fermented..."

V:
And you thought of me?

Expo

Saw a psychiatrist today hoping to get tested for ASD. Basically got an "Aren't you too old for this?" I have my reasons. No matter. Focus shifted to depression and alcoholism instead.

What was I thinking? Shouldn't be surprised. Did get a few laughs out of it, though. Once again, just like JD all those years ago, upon hearing that I lived at Grandma's for most of my childhood, the doctor couldn't let it go. Back then JD was plain appalled. It'd never even occurred to me this particular piece of trivia would inspire such a reaction. It wasn't like my brother and I didn't see my parents everyday. But apparently not sleeping under the same roof is a big deal.

"Why wouldn't someone raise their own children?" Asked Dr. Kefir* today.

I shrugged, "It was the practical thing to do."

He laughed unabashedly before he remarked, "Children are not goats."

I laughed too. Of course there was that classic "How does that make you feel" spiel to follow.

"I feel gypped," I said. "I feel like I didn't get to spend enough time with my parents."

"So you feel deprived," said Dr. Kefir. He asked if anyone had told me that I had abandonment issues.

Have I?! If every time I would've had a dollar! I'm textbook, yo.

Sometimes I do wonder, had I never migrated away - not that I wish for a second that I hadn't, if my parents and I may have an easier time communicating today. The gap between us, cultural, political and otherwise is too vast to be bridged. It's one thing not to be on the same page, but another not to be on the same wavelength altogether. It's exhausting and quite frankly, sad as hell.

RJ has time and again advised me not to hope for things to improve, given my parents' age. "Things will only get worse," he warns. I know he is right. Still the sadness is like fleas I can't just shake loose.

Was really not looking forward to rehashing my entire unremarkable life. Just because my philosophy on life is dark: life is pointless, I shouldn't have been born, blah blah blah.

Somehow the subject of producing offsprings was reached. I said how I felt, "I wouldn't want to pass down these bad genes to anyone."

I almost lost patience when Dr. Kefir asked, "How are they bad?"

To me it's plain as day.

At the end I was given two vials of Cymbalta. "Have you taken Cymbalta before?" Asked Dr. K.

"I've heard of it," I replied. I've probably made fun of it, too. But I held my tongue. I just wanted out of there.

On the way home, I felt emotionally drained. Before I knew it, road rage surfaced.

Anger! That was the one thing that I'd missed, when asked what emotions I was experiencing to cause psychological concerns. In fact I had to rack my brain to even come up with "sadness".

I guess when you've been living with something for a long time it no longer seems out of the ordinary.

I had also failed to recall the more recent diagnosis, Borderline. And the doctor didn't pursue it. He didn't seem to think that any additional diagnosis would make a difference. Completely dismissed Bipolar. (RJ wouldn't be astounded.) Dr. K. thought whether it was a chemical imbalance, autoimmune or fibromyalgia, or a combination thereof, Cymbalta would treat it. We didn't need to know what we were treating.

Again I felt that someone was in a hurry to slap a label on me. Only this time, a pharmaceutical label.


*Not his real name

Double Down

Yesterday DM, RJ's youngest son, got engaged.

Later at night, RJ turned to me from his laptop with that WTF silent chuckle. I glanced over. Even with my increasingly severe myopia I could tell it was an email from Amelia.

"I've been reminded that it was on this day I married her," said RJ.

Understandable.

"Do you keep track of dates like that?" Asked RJ.

Do I?! I see birth dates in digital time all the time. And there was a time, not long ago, when I memorized everyone's birthdays and anniversaries and would promptly send a Hallmark card. For years. Never needed a black book. I've shunned that sort of commercialism since.

I took a deep breath and said, "Today is Taylor's birthday."

Nine nine. That should be easy to remember. But I didn't remember it the previous years.

The fact that I remembered it this year was perhaps the first sign of complete healing.

I haven't written in a while. Naturally, when one hasn't been on something, one wonders how to go about it once more. Well, one just goes at it. I may never be a great writer, but I'll always be a writer.

It was only recently I started talking to RJ about JD with ease. Hated the fact that it took so long. Taylor is the next to tackle.

Yesterday was also the last day of festival in Taylor's town of residence. Still couldn't go. Still think that it would be awkward to run into him. So I went to Castorville. Lame. Was I expecting to find culture there? Big shocker.

Not like I find it a mistake Taylor and I never worked. But if I could just mourn him, for the monument that he was that I put up on a pedestal, maybe, for good, I can move on.

With Taylor, love was always laced with pain and loss. All the way. So there were nights, such as last night, when I longed for silence and peace, when I couldn't help but want to relive pain and loss per se.

When I write about Taylor, it's not about Taylor, but the segment of my life from which I barely graduated. Not with honors.

I put my mother on a pedestal too. Setting myself up for constant disappointment. I should know all about unrealistic expectations. Yearning for Taylor was reenactment. It was the only way I had experienced intense love. Love was pain and pain was love. That is the worst confusion.

Comes RJ and it has been so EASY, my brain is not used to the absence of heartache. Frankly this is weird.

My therapist would tell you our mind is like a vinyl record. All those tracks, over time, want to be played again.

So it takes some unlearning to rewrite those tracks. Toss that album and burn a new CD, if you will.

Yesterday I went to lunch alone. I've gotten by doing many things alone: dining, going to the movies, traveling, activities some couldn't fathom engaging in without company.

I did, I enjoyed, didn't bat an eye. I prided in my independence.

My favorite motto was, "If I was to wait till I had company before I did anything, I'd never do anything."

It is a general misconception that, once you're married, you'll never have to do anything alone again.

Wrong.

Cadence. Never force it. Marriage is no obligation for congregation.

I'd never be caught dead dragging my S.O. shopping, making him carry my bags AND my purse as if it were my birth rights, either.

And yet with age, that loneliness sets in.

I don't have much of family around (the little that I have sometimes come with restrictive conditions, through no fault of their own), and friends have moved away. Or I have moved away. Or both.

With age I've grown increasingly aware of aloneness, if not loneliness. And it's a thin line.

I used to not care. That's the freedom or oblivion that goes hand in hand with (relative) youth. Now I feel pathetic.

With bravado I went to lunch yesterday. It was not even a showy, gimmicky joint, and I was self-conscious.

I sat down at a table for a party of one. I ordered, I waited, I looked around. Not a soul cared that I was there all by myself.

I ate. Quietly and contently. For the most part.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: It's never about the food.

Nine nine. In Chinese the number sounds like "long-lasting", which forebodes well for a partnership or union.

Here's to the last ambivalent September 9th, if universe willing.