Itís kind of interesting how last week, I was congratulating myself on how well I was coping with the stressful situations in life.

As Iíve often experienced in the past, itís after I get through something extremely stressful, and the stress lets up that things start to fall apart.

Iíve been disoriented, lately. I feel like my guts are trembling.

About two weeks ago, we brought Adamís cats over, and one cat had a panic attack. Although, I havenít had a panic attack in years, Iím very intimate with that lack of control.

Sensory overload. Itís kind of like that, except itís inside your head.

Iím not sure what the hell Adam thinks might be going on with me. Heís asked me a few times how I feel about X or what am I thinking about Y?

Somewhere in here, I must have some thoughts about those things, but Iíll be damned if I can find them.

Itís a funny thing when you have enough social awareness to realize that youíre deviating from the path but unable to actually get back on the path.

So, I donít remember how the subject came up, but I mentioned to Adam about being two-handed, and how Iíve written with both hands. The left always comes out backwards, like a reflection in a mirror.

The writing itself doesnít even make any sense to me, really, until I hold it up to a mirror. I swear Iím not possessed or anything.

He asked me to demonstrate. I tried to be sparing with it. If I spend too much time writing with my left hand, I start going crazy. I wrote a bit and said, ďOh no, Iím probably going to be crazy tomorrow.Ē

I know that sounds totally crazy, but doesnít that prove my point?

Maybe when I was in my younger days, when insanity was socially acceptable (I grew up in the late 80s, early 90s), I was fine with it, but these days, itís distressing.

Iíve been trying to figure out exactly what is bothering me. Itís not just the mirror-writing. I was on my way to crazy before that.

Lack of control over my environment. Lack of solitude. Could those things really matter that much?

He went to the rock gym on Tuesday evening, until 10PM. I came home from work, my insides trembling so hard, I could probably throw up on someone or kill them or kill them and then throw up on them. Then the cats started fighting.

Thank God he was out of the house. It took me some time, but I calmed down before he arrived. By that time, I was still all about a continued separation from the living.

Iíve had a huge aversion to being touched, lately. Adam has the hormones of at least three men and two women in there.

SO, I donít know, I canít really tell you.

Last night, lying in bed, I felt so tense that I might as well have been a slab of rock. So, I sat up and kneeled on the bed. After about two minutes, I was stricken with a sharp stabbing pain in my right hip. Iím not even sure what happened. Bright yellow lights started flashing in front of my eyes, and I think I made a sound that could have summoned dolphins.

My hip has been bothering me for awhile. Adam has instructed me to see a sports doctor.

Then I realize that Iím a crumpled heap on the bed and Adam is hovering over me asking over and over, ďWhatís wrong? Whatís Wrong!? WHATíS WRONG?!?!Ē

By the tone in his voice, I gather that heís been asking me for awhile. I point to my hip (does this sound pathetic or what?). He asks, ďYour hip?Ē After much effort, I manage to squeak out a ďyes.Ē

I donít normally consider myself to be a low-pain-threshold kind of person, but then again, I canít stand loud noises or bright lights, so I guess it makes sense that I canít take muscle cramps, either.

Not that I havenít had muscle cramps in the past, but this had to be some sort of devilís muscle cramp.

He did his sports training/physical therapy thing on my leg and it got better. I was still sore from what felt like residual pain, so I took some advil.

He thinks that Iím low on electrolytes so now he wants me to drink more things with electrolytes in them. Oh, and see a doctor. Bah. Perhaps thereís a way I can detach my hip, mail it to the doctor and have it sent back?

Anyway, after several minutes of screaming and crying, I did feel better emotionally. Not perfect, but better. Too bad life doesnít offer very many coherent opportunities to randomly start screaming your head off in the middle of the night.

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Thursday, Sept. 04, 2008 at 6:04 PM