Wake Me When September Ends
Where do I even start. Uff.
I typed out a crazy big journal entry a few days back that there's not even a saved draft of, not sure what happened there, but annoying as fuck as you can imagine. Especially considering how much happened since my last post.
Long story short, I had a massive upswing and then a massive downswing, in a window so small that it makes me question how in the hell our human brains are even able to process and proceed when we're just living life.
At any rate.
I got the Nissan Armada back, so I don't have to worry about where to sleep any more. The same day I got the whip back, I got my dog back. So sleeping in my home on wheels is even more enjoyable and comfortable and available. I can't really sleep - well, at least - without my dog and a place that I know isn't going to be pulled from under me at any given moment. Imagine that, ha! So this has been a huge win for me. The ordeal to get my dog back has been a nearly constant in my daily life since I stopped off in that weirdo ass abandoned home scenario and came back to find her missing. BUT. Dude got back off the road, set his dad straight, and orchestrated almost every aspect of the thing to get her back. Gas money was the big obstacle for me, which he helped a bit with, but wasn't enough. Neocities crew sorted me out, and Ella and I have been living it up in the days since. She's actually a bit more open to other animals and people than she previously was, so it's a gift of sorts, I guess.
This all falling on the coat tails of a stay at the psych ward, brought on by a severe mental health breakdown that didn't get any help from the current state of the world. I tried to seek resources and supports and found nothing. Like I really fucking tried. Phone calls not only unanswered, but which went literally nowhere. No replies on chats. Almost no one I can count on IRL, so that was a bust, too. Nothing other than a bunch of other homeless people all battling their own things, typically compounded by an addiction of some kind. Aside from weed, I've been clean and straight for the better part of a year and I ain't tryin' to fuck that up, so that wasn't the move or environment for me, and with no other supports in place, I made the call. I was ready to just fucking dip. Like, after I called for help, when the police showed up - nearly 16 blocks down the road from where I called for help from, so I guess good on them for doing their job - I kept asking why I couldn't just walk. Walk away. Follow the river. Disappear.
They couldn't tell me why I couldn't do that, all they could say was that in my current state - at that time - they could not, in good conscience, let me do almost anything at all.
So there I went, into a 72 hour hold, which turned into a six and a half day stay, at the psych ward.
I've been battling my own mental health for nearly my entire life, more or less getting on with my life and dealing with my shit. But when external forces compound the already thin shell around your mental health and well-being, sometimes that shell collapses and and crumbles and things get unbearable. That's where I was at. And this is my second time there.
Needless to say, it was the right decision, moment of clarity style, looking for help to keep going while simultaneously wanting to just disappear from the face of the earth.
I am working on writing about my stay this time. The first time, by comparison, felt like a break from life. A moment to clear your mind and exercise some self-care (which is important, don't get it twisted). This last time felt like being in the trenches during war in, I dunno, Viet Nam in the late 60s and early 70s. Like, why are we here and what are we actually doing to better anything. It wasn't without it's benefits and connections - I've been in touch daily since with someone who was there the same time I was - but man, it felt more like a half-way house to a mental hospital or back to the "real world", far more than it felt beneficial for anyone's mental well-being. I saw some shit, heard some shit, and felt some shit I don't think anyone should have to - especially in a fragile moment in their life. But, trust, I'ma write about it. What happens with that writing, who knows.
At any rate, I lost my job, applied and interviewed for a bunch, since. And I start my new gig washing dishes for Denny's on Monday. Will be working almost exclusively the tail end of the weeks - Thursday through Sunday, with another day sprinkled in there somewhere. I'm actually pretty stoked about a job where I can just put my head down and grind, I don't want to have to discuss with anyone or answer to anyone or direct anyone or or or... I'm just doing dishes and taking out trash. For not awful pay and a with a decent schedule, weekends aside. Really stoked on getting straight, financially.
I watched Renfiled for a second time, if you like modern takes on vampire lore, you need to watch this film. Nic Cage lowkey been my fave actor since "Raising Arizona", and while he's done some trash since - he's also done some incredible work.
Picked up a buncha paint and markers and paper on Facebook marketplace for free, stoked to get back into creating art.
Currently discussing a possible small studio apartment option at a mutual acquaintances property. Fingers crossed!
All this to say, as on the upswing as I feel I am, life ain't easy and dog food/treats and gas ain't leveling themselves up. If you're in a position to help with either, I'd be forever grateful. Donate link at the top of the page.