Storms through clouded glass

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Not such a peaceful start to the week, chattering dreams, condensation on the glass, but maybe some beauty can be found. I trace my finger gently around the window pane, somewhere below the squeaking point, sways of idle swirls emerging from my heat. When the balance of clarity and mist is met, I step back and observe the view through my protective design,  It may not be art but I wish I could hold this moment in time, and say I made my temporary mark, but no such things exists in this space, and so I watch my design fading back into misty oblivion. No-one is here to see my scrawls, is there anyone out there anymore? Any more blurred faces on pinched frames pruning their roses and feigning indifference to the thought I cared? Repeatedly singed fingertips remind of my affliction, and so with sooted digits I systematically smeared all the faces, all the eyes dislocated from their sockets and spread around their sorry bodies. I had lost my spectators, and individuality was something reserved for myself and those able to show their fearless expression through even the murk of this clouded existence. I suppose somewhere behind the blurs there must still be a whole other world, but I have tasted its bitter fruit, and was beaten for spitting sour seeds to make a picture in my head. A matter of taste. Artless. Soul bleached yellow and mildewed beyond redemption, so I’m told, but how can small fragments of beauty spill from even such a thing as me? All this flocculant meditation before so much coffee has passed my lips.

I guess I took it pretty hard when something or some one who tickled my slumbering thoughts and graced poetic intentions bit hard when I was only playing tough to protect them. If only I didn’t care, but once someone pushes through my smokey screen, that’s it. I care too much. It’s too late by the time I finally focus on their features. I trusted them enough to let them see me. Too stupid to suspect a thief or spy in my house. I need them to hurt me enough that I can smudge their image from my castle gallery, but some spirits just won’t put their teeth in, leaving me to wonder if they even meant it. Well? Did she? My precious circle is closing in, the fog thickens and I have seen in dreams the storm circling me until only I remain in the eye right until it blinks out. If I could paint, I would capture the stormy smudged perimeter of my tornado the dust of some thousand strange faces, as the instant the lashes sweep me out. I’m staring into all those eyes, one behind the other, wondering what my protection has cost me.

“I swore that I
Could survive any storm”
~tori amos, snow cherries from France

In my head I’m always the doomed one

I’m special. On this occasion I do unequivocally mean in the special needs sense. In the sense that I’m often crippled by fears that real but extremely rare and life-threatening situations will happen to me.

The problem is that I am somehow convinced that I am special, but in the worst ways possible.

Let me give you an example. So, you know how for there is about a 1 in  a million chance of getting toxic shock in the UK, with ~50% of those associated  with using tampons, well I spent very many years of believing that I would be that one, that I was terrified of using them. 

You know how there is around a 1 in 2000 chance that someone will have an anaphylaxis response to penicillins, well, you can see what is coming next can’t you? Yep, I have spent years being terrified of taking antibiotics in case they cause anaphylaxis.

I know how stupid and pathetic all this is, but there’s got to be someone out there who gets meningitis, toxic shock, anaphylaxis and cancer…so why wouldn’t it be me?

Because of statistics.

Because of common sense.

Because of context.

Some days I really wish someone would lobotomise me so I didn’t have to stress through these ridiculous scenarios.

Needless to say neither tampons nor penicillins have killed me yet. The panic about taking penicillins though was pretty intense. Don’t do that kids, don’t assume you are going to be the unlucky one, don’t waste your time giving yourself worse symptoms that the thing you are afraid of will either. It’s just dumb. Hear that brain? It’s stupid, so cut it out!

“Is there a powder to erase this?
Is it dissolvable and tasteless?
You can’t imagine how I hate this”~the national, graceless

I’m allowed to be a dragon right now…

If you ask anyone who knows me what my favourite things to eat and drink are (assuming there is no nutritional judgement going on) and they’ll tell you chocolate, coffee and red wine.

Ok.

Now, if you ask my stomach how it currently feels about those items you will get a terrible response.

As my stomach and brain are at odds I have to bow down to the needs of my digestive tract because its getting in the way of thinking etc. Sadly the knock-on effect has been caffeine withdrawal to accompany the already established gastritis that has made a home in my body.

It’s really lovely because personally I enjoy nausea, heartburn, reflux, abdominal pains and more, and it’s a Particular delight when teamed with caffeine withdrawal. So the end effect is that I feel like I’m having a perpetual hangover – lethargic, pounding headache, nausea, depression..

Are you feeling sorry for me yet?

No?

Ok well maybe if I get medical with you for a moment. I have inflammation of the stomach lining that is aggregated by excess stomach acid. It is worsened by alcohol, caffeine, spices, fat, citrus fruits and stress. Which is a bugger because I have health anxiety…so I spy a bilious and vicious circle.

It gets worse…I couldn’t go horse riding because my body protector pressed into my tender stomach, and, to top it all off, I have to give a poop sample to the doctor to check if I have some funky spiral bacterium called helicobacter that burrows into your stomach lining (doubt it, I didn’t have it the last two times and I haven’t knowingly been eating other people’s poop….oh God, what if I DO have it and caught it from a restaurant or something…ewwww!!). If it was anyone else I’d be sniggering but it’s me, so it’s no laughing matter. Ok? I mean, I’m not going to discuss the logistics here but there are some things you should never have to learn to do.

So it has been a sad, painful weekend of coffee and chocolate cravings, and feeling like i’d drink a bottle of tequila, but without any of the fun bits. I’ve been a total dragon and didn’t shower for nearly two days. Sorry world, my adenosine receptors are having a party without my consent.

Now my GI tract is getting a bit less rebellious, I’m still struggling with the deeply unpleasant caffeine detox and I’m not sure which is worse…but caffeine will be waiting for me when this crucible is over, and if I hadn’t given it up for the timebeing I’d be staring down the barrel of an ulcer some time soon.

“You said I began
This messy state of love affair
And I drink too much and smoke too fast
And this city’s cleared my innocence”~Emiliana Torrini, heartstopper