Hey there, it’s been a while hasn’t it? I’ve not visited here as oft as days of yore. I don’t think I should promise I should change that. I wish I could retain enough focus and motivation to follow through with many of my intents.
It really has been a while though. Writing isn’t as cathartic as it once was. Or rather the type of release that writing is seems less called upon in my present state. I’m good. Well, as good as I can be I think.
What else is there to say about someone in my place? I lost my parents and my uncle last year. My brother a couple years before that. My dog that same year, and while I understand dogs aren’t people, I would be hard pressed to name 10 people who I would mourn so roughly at that time. I don’t do the whole people thing very well, and animals were (and generally are) more of a comfort, so yes, losing my dog was very hard.
I have bipolar disorder. I have narcolepsy. I have struggled with other issues, chronic pain, impulse and anger control. What can the world ask of me and expect in return?
I was just recently diagnosed with narcolepsy though, at 26 years old. This should have been found much sooner and I can point to huge points in my life and say that was affected by that. My ability to learn, work, and be productive in daily life has always been impacted by that. I struggled so damn hard in school, especially in college. I went to college and slept through almost every class for a year, still managing almost all As. This semester was my first “real” one back and I pulled off 3 As and 2 Bs and that was before I was diagnosed and started treatment. I know I have great potential despite finding it so easy to give up or put myself down.
My parents would be proud. And God how I miss them lately.
Even at work, when I sip on my coffee. That soft noise the java makes while you draw it in with small sips, that pattering, I’m just thrown back in time. I clink that mug back down on my desk and suddenly I’m back when I was 12 and having a bad morning. I’m in the bathroom on my mom’s side of the house telling her of my constant nightmares that kept me up. She consoles me softly seeming to debate if she should let me stay home. Clink. Her coffee gets put down. She sits on the counter cross-legged (not sure how) applying mascara in a loose set of pajamas. They’re a faded lilac color. She sips again, and asks me if I think the medicine is helping. I’m just upset, sitting in the bathroom floor, my eyes feeling swollen from tears. And she knows she’s still got to go to work and goes about diligently preparing, while downing cup after cup of coffee. Her pajama pants don’t match the top well, they’re a faded blue with some pink lilies patterned on them.
Just one of the many times I would talk to my mom in the morning. Even in high school. I had to talk to her by her bathroom while she prepared for work. Every so often I would hear a sip or clink and know she was still having a hard time waking. Sometimes I got her up in the middle of the night because I was having really bad impulses to hurt myself, and she would console me, often making a cup of coffee to make sure she had some energy to watch over me.
So every so often at work, when I get my cup of coffee, I will set the mug down and have to fight to regain control, because it’s still hard to realize she’s not here. Coffee isn’t the only thing. I wish it were, that would make this a little easier. But, sometimes I do remember good things, things I liked about my mom. And sometimes, just sometimes, it does bring me a little joy.
Maybe I’ll start writing again. Nobody hold me to it though!