the mourning dove sings with two broken wings
i’ve got many things on my mind.
it bothers me that i type so hard. i wish i was more light handed.
sometimes i can physically feel the fact that i’m dying. not soon but sooner than i assumed. sooner than i always took for granted. yes, yes, i know we are all dying. go invalidate someone elses feelings. move along. anyway, it is the most bizarre feeling and seems to happen quite randomly for no real reason. i thought certain songs would trigger it but then it would happen while an upbeat dance song was playing. while i’m driving. while i empty the dishwasher. in the shower thinking. the closest feeling i can compare it to is deja vu. so eerie and surreal. it is a tangible physical feeling.
the universe must think i look awful in black lipstick because trying to own the new black; by what seems to be my go to line of cosmetics, NYX, has been thwarted twice. the universe will just have to deal though because i like black lipstick. i don’t care what people might think when they see me wearing it in the grocery store or on my way to an appt. they can go suck a fuck and point that finger up their own ass. i will have that lipstick this weekend if i am not thwarted again. i’m gonna buy the damn purse i found this morning on Etsy. i will find a way. who is a materialistic vain ass bitch? this girl. yup.
yeah, more talk about make up. i had been trying for awhile now to “make up” properly. a real smokey eye, not just thick Avril style black eye shadow (a look i love btw) but it just never looks the way it should. i’ve tried the whole contouring thing but can’t find affordable cream contour palettes and the powder just doesn’t give the same effect, or maybe my face is just too fat and fucked up. so fuck it. back to what i know. my ‘blackout’ urban decay shadow and soon my ‘Alien’ NYX lipstick and some mascara, maybe some obnoxious blush once in awhile. i also have my go to blood reds. my lime crimes and my jeffree star. money well spent on that one. yeah, i spent $25 on fucking lipstick. judge me. i fucking dare you. how much did your fucking wallet cost just because of the name printed on it?? yeah, thought so.
such deep thoughts i’m full of today.
truly though the weight of my weight and fear of my illness. fear of not breathing. worry that i will run out of oxygen while out and will panic and use up oxygen reserves i simply do not have. my oxygen will drop and then i will drop. i keep getting so close to losing this weight. can i just get below 200? pretty please? the scale teases me as it slows at 199 just before stopping at 200 or 202. FUCK. i hate being fat. i hunted down some photos to hang on a gift my daughter made me and came across one from about 2003-2004 of me with Julie Benz at my first convention. i can actually see why guys liked me. i looked pretty damn good. not just thin but dare i say it…pretty. i had nice features even if just average and a nice smile, a real smile that went all the way past my cheeks to my happy eyes. you can see my long black hair pulled back and somewhat up. my husband could easily guess how many thousand bobby pins i used to achieve that look…for years. so yeah. at least i had proof that i was in fact pretty once.
my hair. oh my hair. it is becoming a real issue for me. i’ve decided to stop actually dreading my hair. if it loks up freestyle, cool. if they keep sliding out, fine. aside from some extensions i’m just gonna let the shit grow and leave it alone. having any kind of look to attempt to achieve just stresses me out. i don’t have the patience and so this journey has taught me that i need to just let nature do nature and let my hair grow. oh i will still keep it black. dye it black. cuz i won’t have my roots showing until maybe when they are ALL grey or silver. maybe until it just looks ridiculous.
will i live that long? i mean, it might take til my 80’s to really have grey hair enough to stop dying it. please god and universe give me all the years i deserve at least. if not the years i have been wanting but taking for granted.
if you are new to my blog, which you might be because for some reason my last post was all popular and shit. don’t know why. i feel i live a rather unremarkable life and i always wanted it that way i think. but if you are new and haven’t back read the right posts i will fill you in on all the macabre talk of dying. i have terminal lung disease. we owned cockatiels for about 8 years and on top of being predisposed to lung disease in general i also have a sensitivity to bird antigens. so because of the birds i have cHP. chronic hypersensitivity pneumonitis. on top of some severe scarring. some people aren’t handling this well…no…that isn’t right. some people are dealing in ways that make me feel forgotten. denial around me making me feel quite alone in this fight. you know what? fine. pretend i’m not going to the hospital again. pretend i’ll be around to watch all the flowers bloom for years and years. prepare for me to be gone too soon. cope however you need to. i don’t want anyone to suffer this. i’m fighting like hell and i’ll take whatever support you have to give and do my mother fucking damnedest to spend as much time with you as i possibly fucking can even if you don’t treasure every moment the way i try so hard to do. every kiss, every ‘i love you’, every coffee date, every silly conversation, every trip, every dance, all of it. i don’t want anyone having regrets, not just myself. no one else. don’t regret how you cope. i’ll carry myself home without resentment or regret. i’m not afraid….most of the time.
maybe that was all too much and people will take it wrong and be hurt but that isn’t my intention. maybe i should be heavy on the backspace key. maybe i should trash this whole post. but i won’t. i am not the one. this is one of many ways that i am coping. i need to talk about this. that doesn’t mean i am expecting the worst or being negative or being pessimistic. i just need to face it. if i get too comfortable and forget that i am in fact dying much sooner than planned i will not fight so hard. it isn’t intentional. it is just what happens. when you forget where you want to be you forget how to get there. does that make sense to fucking anyone? i need to look this fucker in its dark scarred eyes and tell it i’m not ready. i also need to have a good cry once in awhile. i’m a grenade as hazel grace would say. i’m holding the pin as tightly as i can but it comes loose sometimes but i have to scramble to grip it ever more tightly for fear of upsetting anyone. i fight hurting people almost harder than i fight this thing itself.
so this must be what happens when you get used to waking up in the small hours of morning. it seems i don’t need more than 5 hours of sleep to function but maybe i do to keep my brain in check because heaven for fucking bid i have a sad or any other emotion that isn’t a bipolar mood swing. bipolar people do just have bad moods and good moods like ‘normal’ people we just never get treated like it is even possible. every snap and every laugh is blamed solely on this mental glitch. i don’t burst into tears randomly because of my broken brain. sometimes i’m just pissed at you for being a bitch. i.am.allowed.
this has been my mantra this week.
i should reign myself in before i do go heavy on the backspace key because i.am.allowed to feel all of this and i.am.allowed. to say these things.