Notes from the Red Bird House

I'm going to be forty-one way too soon. I have a migraine, probably from the new anti-everything meds I'm taking, and I feel like life has somehow skittered away from me. I can't say that the skittering is a new thing. It's not. I've known awhile. I just never acknowledged it. Or maybe I just ignored it, pretended it wasn't happening. I'm almost forty-one. I know I said that only a moment ago. But I'm almost forty-one. And there's so much I shoulda, coulda done. I'm not sure why I didn't. Ok, that's not entirely true. I have a long history of laziness and I never seem to have a clear direction. Basically, I meander. I go from this to that and from here to there. I have no point or purpose. I have things I want to accomplish, but they tend to take effort and it's so much easier to float. Of course, then I end up here, almost forty-one and wondering where the last fifteen or so years went. I wonder about my choices and my non-choices. I

I'd like to think I'm getting used to it. The Panic. It's sitting right there across the room. At times it seems like a bear on a thin chain ready to pounce at any moment. Other times, it looks a lot like my shrink so prim and proper with her legs crossed politely all the while tsking silently about what a fuck up I am. Either way, it's there, always there. Simmering. Waiting. Ready. I can't shake it, though I do fight it. I can fight it. Right now. But what happens when I can't? When I finally have to give in? Will it take me over? Shred me? Medicate me? Will it become me? Will I become it? Or will I become nothing at all? I worry mostly about the person I used to be. Because she's coming around less and less. It's The Panic's fault. I wouldn't be here unless I had to be. So yeah, I don't blame her for staying away. She's probably the smart one in all this. Still, I'm lonely and I miss her. Sometimes I think if she was still around,

I'm trying. I am. I promise. It's about all I can do. Try. Try. Try. I can't hardly write or think or focus or do much of anything else. I take it as a good sign that I am making myself eat. So, I try and once or twice a day I eat. Occasionally I reach out to friends, but in all honesty I think I've worn out my welcome on that deal. I am my own pet peeve. I'm whining and doing little to change anything. It's probably best that I do this on my own before I piss off everyone I know. It really kinda sucks this doing it on my own. Trying is hard enough. Doing it alone seems next to impossible. I'm just not sure what to do. What exactly am I trying to do? If I break it down to the most basic, I'm trying to keep myself alive. Trying to think about life. Trying not to think about death. Trying to stay positive and stay likable . Trying not to cry and not to drink too much. Trying to fake it so no one knows how much pain I'm really in. I wish I knew what to

When I was little my mom used to hold onto the back of my shirt whenever I seemed to get too close to the edge of something. She was afraid of heights and this was her motherly way of protecting me. I guess she figured that if gravity tried sweeping me away, she'd be able to pull me back to safety. Lately I've felt someone else holding onto the back of my shirt. I'm pretty sure it's God and I'm pretty sure He knows I'm perilously close to the edge. I'm feeling a lot of gravity these days and if not for the hand on the back of my shirt, I might have already been swept away. God knows this about me; about my historic desire to not be here anymore. He gets it and for some reason insists that I stick around. That used to be good enough. My 'life force' as some called it. I'm here to tell you that's it's not what it used to be. And one day soon, it's not going to be enough. I asked God for more tonight. More than me. Something to live for,

Here's a psuedo Top Ten. Just a list of quotes, observations, and text messages gathered on February 11, 2010. I have to admit it's not going to be very uplifting. Sadly that's just what is (and what isn't) at the moment. 1. From 'Gray's Anatomy'... "...then one night she came in with him..." Seven words that said more about my life than any other seven words I've ever heard. 2. Also from 'Gray's Anatomy'... "I know you can't un-ring the bell, but I'm gonna try like Hell." If only I had the energy, I might be able to try like Hell. 3. A text to one of my best friends... re: material things... "Take all that and give me just one soul that loves me." 4. The title of my next series of blogs (once 'Notes from the Red Bird House' plays itself out).... "Waiting for Juliet". 5. I'm not sure if I'm above or below panic. All I really know is that it's here in the room with me and I