August 09th, 2023
August 09th,
2023
My legs are
silky smooth from the shaving cream I bought. I typically never splurge on nice
shower products, but the nearly $700 to hit my bank account on Monday takes
away any guilt or weirdness I’d feel for buying it. I have to be honest. I’m typically
pretty broke. Making $17/h is new to me and it is changing the way I purchase
food, beauty products, and the recreational activities I do. I take singing lessons
now once a week, I go to the YMCA and attend their classes, and I am considering
a kickboxing class to round it all out. I’m officially an adult with Adult
Money.
Today
despite my developing work crush I did think of my ex. I think of him when a
song plays which reminds me of him, or I see someone with dark curly hair, or
something jabs at my brain and screams “MEMORY! CORE ROMANTIC MEMORY!” That’s
an Inside Out joke for you. I feel like the little characters inside my brain
dance happily, sigh, and cry over my ex too often for my comfort. It’s hard
when you love someone. When you really, truly fucking love someone it is
impossible to scrub over. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my break up. I emailed
him far too much. I’m just insecure and heartbroken, and he’s been a jerk about
most of it, but it doesn’t replace the fact I feel like I lost my soulmate. My
tarot cards say so. My heart says so. Even broken and shattered by him, it
still kickstarts a beat at the mention.
The trouble
with my ex is a long list of complications I can explain as well as I can the pick-up
window at my pharmacy. I stumble over how to speak to the customer, my fingers
fumble and hit the wrong key when I type in their date of birth, and I awkwardly
get their medication together. My ability to work the pick-up window with any
sort of confidence or coolness shares in common the complications my ex does.
It is messy, it should be stupidly simple, and it gives me anxiety.
Wasting my
entire journal entry on my ex-boyfriend isn’t why I am writing this. Tomorrow,
I attend a cardio class at the YMCA followed by yoga. I personally think my
mind will be too rattled by the time the 6 pm slot arrives but regardless I
will try my best. That’s all I am doing lately. Trying my best. I’m exhausted
everyday and I feel like I was plucked from my world of psychosis and put into
an alternate reality where I’m a Full Time Adult who attends work parties and
buys shaving cream. Will it last? Who the hell knows. But I’m going to try my
best to make this last.
I tell
everyone who will listen how I will change the world of medication and God just
put me in step one. Someday when I’m old I will look back at these memories of
the start of my career with fondness, humor, and a little joy. Which means I
have to enjoy this now even if it feels like I am suffocating in all the
information they are shoving down my throat at the pharmacy. Being the district
technician means I need to be well trained and accurate. They said I don’t need
to be fast, yet, just accurate.
My
schizophrenia is relatively quiet tonight. I think it is as scared of this new
adult world as I am. It hasn’t taken on the voice of my ex or family, but it
did try to use the Caillou voice on me. The Caillou voice means I have the woman’s
voice who did the narration from the show Caillou in my head. It is obnoxious.
It will repeat things at me or tell me things in the voice and I want to smash
it to tiny pieces. Somewhere in my brain, there are all the voices I hear
playing from tape recorders and a golden, vintage gramophone. I picture a
miniature Alex with Harley Quinn’s bat smashing it to pieces as pink glitter
explodes. Right now, I tried to color my desk pink and it worked for a moment before
blinking back to a wooden surface. That’s one of the ways I tell what level my
schizophrenia is at. If I can’t imagine things turning different colors or
create flowers in the palm of my hand or turn an asphalt street into a colorful
garden— I know I’m okay.
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