Finally figured out what has been bugging me for a while and figured out what’s going on (probably). Basically, my vagus nerve is a lazy piece of shit and even though my sinus surgery fixed the cause of my pretty extensive vagus nerve dysfunction, it refuses to act like the last 10 years didn’t happen and just snap out of it.
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Identity is a weird thing. For the last 19 years my identity has included living with bipolar disorder. Two weeks ago I found out that this was a misdiagnosis. I am now slowly running into each and every ingrained thought pattern that doesn’t work anymore.
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As I was writing the previous blog, I had a very visceral memory of trying on wedding dresses for the first time and feeling so utterly uncomfortable in my body that I disassociated to the point where I had an out of body experience.
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I read The Good Body by Eve Ensler in college and I desperately yearned for the kind of self-acceptance it modeled. But I wasn’t there yet. But I got there eventually. As equal parts apology, acknowledgement, and wonder, I want to say a few things about my body. All of them are way overdue.
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Risperidone withdrawal (and readjustment) comes in “waves and windows.” Windows of feeling okay, waves of feeling like wet trash on a hot day. The idea is as you finish the withdrawal or readjust, that the windows become longer and longer and waves become less severe. So I’m having a good day today and I feel like a human being. Yay!
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I haven’t been writing poetry lately. Or really, much of anything. For the last four-ish years I have been writing on occasion, but nothing I am supremely happy with and everything I produced seemed to feel… different somehow. Not as powerful. Not as passionate. Some kind of watered down, mealy mouthed collection of niceties where the subject matter was literally no longer life or death.
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I thought to myself, tomorrow I will grab my book, Karaoke, that’s lighter fare! It has the Kylo Ren poem in it and everything. The next day, I grabbed a copy and flipped through it. Then I remembered what was actually in the book and the Kylo Ren poem doesn’t make up for the other 100+ pages of absolutely grinding trauma and pain.
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But then I went to visit my mom’s side of the family, the last time I ever did, and was kicked out of Thanksgiving. I came into that therapy session charged up and ready to unpack my what had happened. The psychologist brushed it off and kept returning to the topic of vegetables and how I needed to eat more of them.
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Have you ever been at the doctor’s and you tell them what your previous doctor told you to do and they can’t even hide their surprise and horror? I wish I didn’t. Let me tell you.
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They will say there were no signs.
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