taking heed

slightly exaggerated
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2006-12-23 06:14:17 (UTC)

"I tell you this, because, as an artist I think you'll understand..."

I've all but given up blogging on myspace, I never liked
that word anyhow.

At a point somewhere around the beginning of september my
life as I had known it hit a wall. The taste of food had
become less pronounced, the company of others, good
friends included, less meaningful, my physical abilities
slipping down a slight incline. And to top it off, the
presence of an anomaly in my scrotal area (which I hope to
be varicocele or enlarged vien, but have yet to be
examined, diagnosed, or treated by a medical
professional).

As I write I am having a fair degree of difficulty typing,
the actual physical act of typing. My right index finger,
which shoulders roughly 50% of my typing output has been
significantly hindered by the progressive, neurological
disorder that has come to define me more than ever before;
Charcot Marie Tooth is it's name. I find myself, at
various points throughout various days, flexing my fingers
and hands while experiencing a range of emotions from
dispair to amazement to wonder as I witness the irradic,
uncooperative movement of these extremities. And my hands
are only a snapshot into the global state of disarry of my
ailing physical self. All inspiring adjectives here.

I didn't anticipate such a rapid and pervasive decline in
my abilities and so, unsurprisingly, my mental state has
fallen in unison. I could sit here and type for hours,
highlighting facets and examples of where everything has
gone to shit from a year ago at this point, and I thought
I had problems then. Some days, I don't have enough will
to even try to mask my inner anguish. Other days I want to
lay in bed and avoid all human contact.

Not one day goes by where the phone rings and I let go to
the answering machine at least once; tonight I have missed
4 calls. Right now I am thinkning that there are many a
person who believe that I am completely indifferent to
them. Unfortunately, some of them are right. I'm finding
out that one of the cornicopia of bad things about
depression is that you, the depressed person, is
completely pre-occupied with thoughts that in some way,
shape, or form, revert back to self. Destructive as they
may be, they are nearly all egocentric. Just consider this
entry.

So here we are, right smack dab on the coat-tails of
christmas. One of many "holidays" that I think is complete
gibberish. And I, depressing-dan, am on the eve of having
to spend 5 consecutive days away from home with family and
relatives. Family and relatives who appear to be
completely oblivious to my plight and/or unsympathetic
(otherwise they would leave me alone and not make me have
to try and bullshit myself into putting on a smile and
acting happy-go-lucky).

At least writing this out provides me with a few ounces of
catharsis.

In closing, I love my girlfriend, Veronica. You are the
tiny bit of light that I have to hold on to. Acacia, the
only person I really "know" who knows what it means to
have peroneal muscular atrophy. AND, just so that it is in
writing, not that it means a hill of beans to the
concerned partys, I am sorry. I am sorry to my friends
that I have disregarded through my struggles. I hope
they're still around if and when I get through these
anti-social times.


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