“And you’re gonna need it.”

feet showing under covers in bed

Aunty Extra

Welp.  Healing is hard.  It takes a lot of energy and mindfulness.  I didn’t realize it, but living on autopilot for so long has consequences.  I’m having to train my brain to be present without exhausting my energy levels at an alarming rate.  It’s rocket science, yo.  This level has a lot of work involved.  I feel surprised every time I get a moment to catch my breath (thanks, Solange) and look back at what I just accomplished.  It’s not a comfortable feeling;  more like, whew!  I don’t have time to over-analyze everything while zoning out anymore.  It requires me to trust my values and make decisions before I feel confident in my choices.

It’s another part of adulting that wasn’t in the brochure.  I’m relieved my love of speculative fiction comes with the bonus that most epic sci-fi and fantasy novels are also ethics training guides.  (You still have to do the work of understanding the symbolism and lessons interwoven into the story, though.)  In my case, it means rereading and or viewing after thinking about it for a while.  I often have to listen to my favorite podcasts more than once to take it all in.  I love this quirk because they’re always funnier the second time.  (My epitaph shall state:  She lived her life on CP time.)

Speaking of podcasts;  I want Crissle West and Kid Fury (of The Read podcast) to read my life when I pass.  (I set up a savings account just for this purpose.)  My funeral is going to be hilarious and healing (assuming they agree to do it.)  I’ll leave them a note, a recent decent photo, and the keys to my apartment, and let them snoop through my stuff (and kiki until they feel like they get who I was.)  Random peeks at my journals, going back to age four will probably more than suffice.  (Good thing I had access to a typewriter, but my spelling was phonetic-ish.)

adorable child

I want it to be for the people who grew up with me.  The kids who went to school with me and played with me as a child.  The neighbors who were part of my village and accepted me as a child in the community.  The teachers who stood out as exceptional and excellent.  The people who perhaps didn’t treat me well, but since evolved into better people, and want to heal from past mistakes — my village.  I’m very attached to Sioux Falls.  I’ve traveled and lived in other countries, but when I got to choose, I came home.

I recognize this is a wee bit morbid, but I still have PTSD.  One of the symptoms is being hyper-aware of my impending death.  (And every single time someone murders a transgender woman, I have to claw my way up from the floor and somehow convince myself I can handle living on a planet where people do such fucked up things.)  When I stop having a blast planning my funeral to amuse myself, I’ll know I’ve healed.  Until then, I’m good at managing it.  I’m no longer treading water;  I have the upper hand with depression and anxiety now.  They can only challenge me, not own me, which is a blessed distinction.  I celebrated hard and long, heh.

Depression: Whatever, bitch, you still have to fight me off, even if it no longer takes all your resources.

Me:  Look at you, so sassy.  Don’t interrupt when adults are talking, please.

The Friend Zone podcast logo

This week on The Friend Zone podcast was their 200th episode.  It was so good.  I mean it’s always good, but this week was special.  They were openly vulnerable to the degree you couldn’t help but love them to pieces.  It’s so rare when people you don’t know IRL are publicly unshielded like that.  Part of you can’t help but slide into protection mode and start daring anyone to criticize them in any way, (because you’re unbelievably poised to correct any such shenanigans with a thoroughness likely to result in mild emotional trauma for anyone feeling lucky.)  That good. 💜💜💜

I’m still stunned these babies (to me) are teaching me so many things for which I didn’t even know to wonder.  My life is more joyful since I started listening to their podcasts and trying the things they introduce, reading the books, and doing the homework.  I need to get busy paying it forward because I’m building up a deficit.  I signed up for Daily Harvest after Fran mentioned it thrice.  (3 times is magical to me, thanks to Patrick Rothfuss.)  I’ll update when I get my order.  It’s as if the universe witnessed how preparing a whole chicken ruined my ability to eat meat, and said, I got you.  Yay.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks. (Excellent way to recalibrate my brain when I sense an impending meltdown.) 💜✌🏾

2 thoughts on ““And you’re gonna need it.”

  • I’ve always sort of had this indifference of “well, my life history on the other side of loss plus fear of the state system guarantees there’s no early exit, but if an accident happened tomorrow I’d have my beneficiaries lined up and oh well.” It’s…kind of a weird thing not to lately feel that fundamental indifference to awareness of potential accidents after having points last year where I had to *actively* remind myself of all those reasons why indifference was the limit. (Also here’s hoping that made sense. My brain is not braining today and I am about to crash and make up for three days of too many spoons.) But, in my planned funeral there’d be an actual bouncer to keep anyone from the 9th Circle of Hell out. Like, treat me bad in life and you absolutely ain’t getting “good person bonus bucks” by attending my funeral and pretending you cared. All others will hopefully be treated to the “fun in funeral” as they say :-p

  • I’m assuming I won’t give a shit when I’m dead. I can’t even maintain a grudge toward people who abused me anymore. It just made me bitter and ragey, and I don’t like feeling that way. Once I figured out how to let go, those people ceased to matter in my world. They’re just vague disappointments who taught me not to presume humanity in people by default.

Comments are closed.