A Grumpy Tune

It has been a few days since I have written. I must admit that part of the reason I haven’t written is because I have been suffering from a vulnerability hangover. It is one thing to share some of the more unpleasant parts of my past and the makings of the we’s in me with my therapist, it is quite something else to share them in posts online. Adding to this feeling of psychological nakedness, as it feels, is the discovery that the platform upon which I am posting these words is somehow letting others know I’m out here blabbing away. It turns out this isn’t just an online diary without a reader of these unedited, unfiltered, and uncensored streams of consciousness. Oh dear.

Since it would appear my original plan of “online but undiscovered so therefore more or less private” journal writing was misguided and there may be others who might stumble across these posts, I’ve thought about adding “tags.” These tags will allow people doing online searches to find these posts and read them as well. While I don’t want to assume I’m the best source for anyone, if there are others looking for information about DID like I once was, maybe these posts will be of some help to find out here in the ether; a result on a desperate Google search for answers to “Am I crazy?”. I won’t be presumptuous in saying there will be visitors but if there is any chance someone like me will fine me here and find my words helpful, then I’m all about making my posts easier to find. I remember how desperate I was upon getting diagnosed to find a resource that wasn’t clinical – something to which I could relate and find even the smallest bit of hope and reflection of the scary mess in my mind.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time on the beach this week. The holiday vacations seemed to really make a go of it – celebrating the new year by shooting off fireworks while standing on the pristine white beaches and aiming the exploding bits out above the clear green blue water. Did you know those exploding bits have other inside bits that look like long slender slate grey bullets and when they explode they turn into shrapnel that is very sharp and, being plastic, very buoyant? I spent the better part of new year’s day picking up these bits from the shoreline where they are deposited by the waves. In the process I managed to give myself a couple of good painful pokes on their sharp pointy shrapnel-y edges. Probably just some well deserved karma for all the “fuckwads” and “rich cocksucking litterers” that I was muttering as I madwomaned up and down the shore. Truly – I’ve not been well behaved.

Along with the new year and beach shrapnel, a whole new crowd has arrived. The roads have been invaded by golf carts and the beaches have been invaded by a crowd that is easily identifiable as “snow birds” by their white hair, sense of entitlement and overall grumpy attitudes. I fit right in, of course. But despite fitting in, I’m still quite indignant in finding the beach occupied by so many others and straight up distraught in discovering that even my trick in waking super early to watch the sunrise is no longer effective in giving me exclusive access to the beach. It turns out that, unlike the vacationers, the snow birds wake up sometime around midnight. I swear, they must. I cannot imagine any other way they could be up and on the beach speed walking in their matching tracksuit outfits before the sun has even thought about making its appearance. I mean…for fuck’s sake.

I remember when I first lived in the Ozarks and found myself in the fresh hell of living through an invasion of horse flies late in that first summer. For almost 6 weeks, anytime I walked out of my house, they would chase me and it was actually pretty scary. I am not sure how familiar you are with horse flies but they are demon spawn and their bite is very painful. During the worse of their apocalyptic invasion of my hilltop peace sanctuary, they became so bad they started dive bombing the side of my home in large numbers – making it sound like it was hailing in the middle of August. I complained to God and prayed they’d go away and they did. As soon as they disappeared, however, an entire army of skunks moved into the immediate area and I ended up smelling them every day for weeks and regretting my prayers the horse flies would leave – as the timing so clearly seemed to indicate it was a matter of a choice between the two. I’m reminded of this story now…as I think about how I bitched about the vacationers and ended up with the snow birds.

I’ve been trying very hard to avoid the news today; having caught the headline this morning that the US has once again used whatever excuse the government is using this week to attack Iran and a high ranking member of their military has been killed. Even typing this, I can feel the bitterness rise up within me in the further realization of the age in which we are living, the cusp on which we are existing and the very wrong side of history upon which the United States is sitting. And while there are a lot of people in my life who are educated and who have been openly critical of the US’s military actions in the past and will surely denounce what has happened today, the corruption in government makes change so unobtainable and the corruption in the populous makes it so hard to believe it will be turned around through enlightenment and the power of the masses for the greater good. I have many formerly kind and beautiful friends who have turned into ugly versions of themselves over the past two decades. It sickens me to see how they’ve allowed themselves to be manipulated by the media and how they become nothing more than programmed nationalists…putting their loyalties into a country that is increasingly unworthy of it in this day and age, allowing islamophobia, racism, school shootings and so many other diseases of society run rampant in the US while grasping their guns in one hand and their bibles in the other. So much wrong here. So much wrong. So much.

I despair at ending on such a sad note but this is the tune I carry within me today and to pretend otherwise would be less than authentic. Perhaps tomorrow I will find another but for today, this is all I can sing.