I looked at the clock, one I know to be correct as I got the lecture of it being an atomic clock that works of a GPS system...around 10 am, but felt so physically out of sync, my hand shook too violently to write but I knew the importance to write what I was feeling, the thoughts I had had as I tried to keep them in chronological order, taking medication to stop the uncomfortableness that was making my body tingle, breathing difficult and walking a straight line, impossible.
The mere thought that I walked and walked long at 8 this morning frightened me as I knew now to walk a series of steps made me out of breathe, my jewelry cling and my heart pound, I watching it from my arms, the veins pumping with the same veracity.
It was and is an ebb and a flow I was and continue to experience where my logical and my non-logical side of my mind were fighting, wrestling one another for a take down, a victory by points not an option but a pin the only solitude either side would accept as redemption and reward of sorts.
I knew the importance of telling someone my medication regiment this morning, that I had taken one I am prescribed but take little to often as it has a tendency, sometimes, to cause the irrationality I was thinking all while I continued and still continue to remember in sequence what is transpiring in case this is the end, and the thought of not telling others how I feel or what I thought leading up to and during the end would be an injustice to my plight, as my body lay limp, me feeling myself trying to doz off but the intensity of my panic preventing me the opportunity to do such out of fear, the fact that I AM NOT READY and have worked to hard for my ending to be one this day, at this time and in this outfit I was focusing attention upon as to put it on setting down instead of standing up as the shaking was not stopping but repeating in waves, wanting to call someone, to tell them so it could be remembered in case I did not or in case I passed as an awakening for all to know what my end was like.
Too, it started while I was cleaning the bathroom, using bleach, finally turning on the vent but leaving the door shut, as I waited to take a shower. It started then and I knew trouble of some sorts was brewing, that my system was out of sync...from the medication I took or the thought process that told me I was dying, continuing to watch the clock as more timed passed, deciding if I was getting better or worsening, feeling as though I was on a trip of sorts, almost too high, prompting me to tell my father.
Never have I told my father my medication regiment and told him not once but twice, using analogy after analogy to hope he understood the erratic behavior that was taking place within all while having felt normal, what ever that may be, prior to taking the pill that has done this before and sometimes not at all and I yearned to tell someone as I spun my thoughts in the circles I walked in, thinking more and wondering more still waiting for my hands to stop shaking as to write was my focus primary and otherwise but when the phone rang and I had a chance to speak in cryptic messages.
I felt a relief, often knowing he did not understand what I so desperately wanted him to, the mere volume an issue adding to any frustration. And as my thoughts wondered, needing to wonder, I was put back on focus and knew this was occurring but using him as a means to tell my plight in case this truly is the end I feel,not something I was not sure I would remember, as I could not stop shaking enough to put my hands down on the keys, hoping in a day or two, I can call my friend and tell him about the amazement that did not fit in his reality as he was not medicated or experiencing what I was all the while I asked and he answered questions about his life.
As more time passes and my conversation fell short for the inability of a good connection, my hands stopped long enough to allow my thoughts, random and circular to end up here, for all to view if it be their choice, me knowing I am writing about an interaction, serious enough to share, just not knowing but probably thinking this was NOT the end, but a medication happenstance as my body gets used to, once again, the
dossage I took, not to be asked why, as my
BMI dropping sharply in 4 months and clothes with tags, now too large and I am forced to shop in boys sizes to get a decent fit but my shoulders are that of a man, my arms too long, but the price and styles enough to sway me into a purchase and make a sacrifice as too wear too big sometimes works. Other times, a clear indication of how gaunt I appear to others, look back at self, how defined my skeletal system shows under the skin, grabbing not an inch even and no fat, but merely less than a quarter inch of skin that sits loose upon slouching over, the only 'bulk' I only have other than my exterior frame, looking good important for my mental well being, physical giving the truth away and spirit simply waiting to soar.
In waves, smaller waves now than at 10 am , the ebb and flow of feeling unnatural appears again but me focus uncanny, determined to write, forcing the shaking to subside not only through natural means but through digesting bits of food to soak up that which entered my bloodstream , chemical all the same, causing me the need to express thoughts, not random to me, more acceptable and my life as I see it right now, reading and correcting more through spell check as I pay close attention to a finish and know that if sense is not made is it not supposed to as the sense telling of my plight is part of the ending, an ending I fight against instead of allowing it to consume me as did the pill, small and circular in nature, upon swallowing, made me think my pattern of thought might go random, but knowing the importance it plays in allowing me to sense hunger, call food a friend and challenge myself to eat when hunger is artificial and my drowsiness real as my writing is real, changing,
always changing, trying to convey a constant series of thoughts that are as abstract as I write more or abruptly
stop....
