I’m not the type to dance. I walk with what I feel like is an awkward gait and apparently, I walk loudly on the stairs of our home. I feel it is my body’s way of balancing myself due to all the coordination issues I was blessed with.
I passed the permit test again. Written tests I almost adore. Being judged and scrutinized for my knowledge, for the time I spent or didn’t spend preparing. Whenever I am asked to show someone how I do things, or am tested physically, I can feel the dread even if the event is months away and the stress will increase and increase until I have hopefully sabotaged myself, gotten out of it, and not been tested. So the behind the wheel test is something that has been in the background for probably no less than 5 years.
But today, even though I didn’t have a very bittersweet visit with my sister (at least yet) I was able to smoke, let the marijuana do whatever magic it does to my brain and my blood and dance around my room a little, very dorkily, and 60’sish, but I was able to dance and pick up a few things and later I’ll apply for another job, and for now, things are okay.
When i think of him in moments like this, the almost lover, the gone away friend, I am able to let him go, kind of wave as I dance, as if I won’t be saddened by him later, when this is over.
UCLA tells my parents ECT is possible. Loma Linda said it would kill me. I know I talk about wanting to die all the time, but that’s not how I want to go. I want to know when I’m going.
But I won’t waste thoughts on fear, for now, I can lay here like I have a choice, like the depression isn’t keeping me suctioned here, and I can think of what I’ll do when my parents come home, and think, hesitantly;
“Maybe, if I get a kid, and the rest of my life feels like this, if this is my worst day, and the rest I’m productive, maybe I can live. Maybe I don’t have to take myself out.”