Freezing Rain

So dark.

That’s how the sky is, even with the snow. It’s raining outside – freezing rain. The trees are glistening and this is how the world would look if a sorcerer froze it, cast a spell. It would glisten like it’s glistening, sit motionless like it sits motionless. I heard the wind blow outside and the trees groaned and trembled with the effort of moving, cracked and bent under the weight of the ice like old men bemoaning the weather. The snow, all five inches of it, is hard, crackles under my feet as I walk. I wonder how it would be to take my sled out right now in the dark and hurtle towards the bottom of Frick Park. I wonder if I would even see the tree before I hit it, even perceive the solid mass at the end of the white funeral. I think it is precisely because sled-riding is ridiculously dangerous that it is so damn fun.

I know that, recently, I’ve seemed rather cryptic. And it’s because the blog has been a reflection of how I’ve felt in the past couple of weeks. I know its hard for the people who love me to read how much I’m struggling, how damaged the words ring out, even if they are pretty. I’ve been feeling pretty shattered recently, been feeling rather lost and insufficient, using the people who love me to confirm myself, to feel better. This blog post is another effort at reaching out, I guess, though I know full well that it won’t matter to what I connect, won’t matter who replies. The sky will still be dark; will still be frightening.

I am on the wrong meds. I know this for a fact. When I’m off of them, I feel no desire to drink or smoke. When I’m on them, I feel exactly the opposite. I don’t know how a pill that is supposed to make you feel better can so completely ruin you; so completely dismantle the things you hold dear in the world. I tried going off of it over the weekend, and I couldn’t stop shaking, wanted to blow up the Chik-Fil-A that Jessie and I ate at, wanted to drive the car into the Chuck E Cheese and hope that I put the tire in the “100” slot of the Ski Ball machines. Seratonin withdrawal. But I felt really no desire to drink or smoke. It was like the old me, the old Martin. The ice outside has taken out the internet, and I’m typing this to you, sans connection, on the desk I gave to Mat for a dinner and a dodgeball season. Mat and his roommates are sitting in the next room watching “Terminator 3” and are simultaneously enraptured and amused. The ending of that movie was such a disappointment, as though the previous three hours had been all for naught. Arnold dies (again). And this time, he accomplishes nothing. Achieves nothing. Is remembered for nothing. At least it was cool when the truck ran into that building. I hope I never make a movie where the audience leaves and goes, “Eh.” Where the audience leaves unchanged, maybe slightly annoyed that they wasted their time in my world. And that is saying a lot, considering how people spend their time nowadays, whittling away hours on the Internet reading the ravings of people like me, feeling sorry for others and at the same time better about themselves.

I have some good news. Apple has hired me to be a part-time employee! I am no longer seasonal. I can go to the “Young Professionals” luncheon with nothing to be ashamed of, because I, too, have a job. I, too, am contributing something, am helping someone better their own life with technology, with computers. It’s a small thing, but I DO feel better when I go, do feel better when I work.

Helzberg hasn’t called me yet to let me know the ring is ready. I know its bothering Jessie, and frankly it’s bothering me, too. I wish I knew when it was coming, when it would be ready. It is really such a pretty thing. And this time, I know she loves it, know she’ll be delighted when she receives it. I can’t wait to make her happy. I will be happy on that day, too, happy to know that she’ll be in my life forever, at my side forever. Woo!!!

I wish you were here to rub my back, to scratch my head. I got my hair cut and I am damn sexy right now. Whenever my stomach hurts and someone rubs my back, I feel better, like my stomach is hurting for attention. Biological codependency. I miss the old me, the one who didn’t feel sadness so acutely. I miss the me before Paxil. Before drugs. I could handle sadness, could recognize anxiety. Nowadays I feel like a victim, act like a victim, want to be perceived as a victim and taken care of, looked after like a child, nursed and swaddled and loved to sleep. If you are looking for reasons to not take this drug, consider this blog your first stop. The next question is: What am I going to do about it?

I’m taking advantage of the fact that I don’t live alone. I asked Mat to throw away my cigarettes tonight, which he did with great excitement. Jessie sent me chocolate-covered strawberries from Edible Arrangements, and they are AMAZING. If you haven’t sampled these, you have not lived. I don’t deserve her, her amazing, scalding love. We had such a nice weekend together. I don’t want to cheapen it with words. I just loved waking up next to her, feeling her heart beat next to mine. It made everything in the world seem lighter.

I hope you’re well. I need to go see a movie, do something that takes me outside of myself for a little while. A trip, perhaps. Or a retreat, a Catholic retreat where I could go and talk to God for a little while, see what’s been up with him, see if he has any more clue about what he sent me here to do.

Until then I remain, always,

Your
m