A New Leaf

I’m going to start blogging more. Even if I don’t have much to say at a given moment, but I’m already writing, and I also suspect it will be good.

Another reason—for all of this, journaling in general—was that there truly is no hope if I do what I’ve always done with therapy, assuming I live long enough to even try again. To get anywhere that way I need to know what I’ve done. I plan to keep the journal, partially, private—while I’m able to—but I hope that having a record I’ll be able to say it. Mainly, these entries are really poorly written at times; insufficient context and sometimes incoherent. It’ll be great for that despite the shame and guilt I’ve felt that keeps me from telling anyone much about myself.

Yesterday, I took a shower. Normally, I open the cold water to not boil myself and close the hot first at the end to not burn myself, but strangely, when I closed the hot it just shut off—somehow I was using straight hot. It was cold yesterday, and today too honestly, but that cold? Wow. Texas weather is great 😒; boil in the summer, freeze in the winter. It was great though, afterwards I had a great sleep.

On a tangent, there is a huge difference between being ashamed of yourself and afraid of retaliation. There are things not mentioned in here as of now that are thoroughly innocent, but that’s what happens when you live in a household that is conservative as hell within a state conservative as hell within a clusterfuck that is also conservative as hell. It’s hard to know what deviations are ok, even in a state like California, never mind in the south. When I say shame and guilt I usually mean this.

I got to sleep earlier that night—about 2am—and woke up around 0945 as usual since I have immunosupressants I need to take at 10:00. I got up and sorted my clothes and such. Then got up for water to take my pills—usually I have water, but, hey, I got thirsty last night.

Today was not that exciting really. I think I did something in my room later, then went outside my room. I don’t know why I do; I usually don’t do anything when I do. I went to the dining room to eat. Oh, right. I had asked dad to buy me a breakfast platter, because I was hungry and I really don’t like how he makes eggs; probably a safe idea anyway, raw eggs and immunosupressants don’t mix, and I should remember that when I eat mousse or tiramisu. Given how fucked my GI system is, perhaps that is a moot point. Nevertheless, he bought it and a sandwich for my sister, and then we did eat.

My eating habits have always been bad. Recently—last few years—they’ve been terrible and more recently—last few months—they’ve been ‘why are you still alive’ bad. I guess I do have some sort of safety check on it; every few days I’m like ‘fuck it, I’m starving,’ and I’ve made more of an effort to eat. I’ve tried to explain the duality of my appetite. There is both a physical side and the mental side; If I feel terrible—either way—I won’t want to eat. There is only so much weight one side can have, say, I’m terribly hungry but I’ve had a terrible day, then I probably won’t eat anything. If I feel good about myself and generally my life—almost never but let’s pretend—but I feel nausea or something, then same result. On either front things seem hopeless. My parents overlook that even when a decade has passed, the nausea from the chemo remains; I have tried a few anti-emetics and even am currently on a know appetite stimulant—prednisone for the transplant and previously fluoxetine—with nada. And the state is so ass-backwards that THC is illegal for me; I need to have active cancer and for AML that’s basically now at my death bed, nobody lives through a relapse. I also tried controlling my depression, which I don’t even need to elaborate here how well that worked, soon it’ll be obvious to read.

So, after eating I decided to work on the blog a bit. When I say I know web development, it’s really a generalization. I know how webpages are built. I’m not good at it though. I went back to the dining room; this time I really don’t know why—perhaps I was burnt-out on the blog. Soon, I came back and resumed to add the recent commits. I still want to add:

• A Tag-sorted listing
• A category-sorted listing
• An About Page
• An actual design

• Link to my twitter on the page, email is too easy to spam if I just write it in.

  @rhg135 is the account I’ve been using, but I may create a new one for this, but I do not foresee that. I don’t really use this one nowadays. People seem to have hit a local minimum on IQ and it’s better for my health to not even log on there anymore. That and I’m too reactionary, and if I do get on there without anything to publish I end up getting in a fight or even worse—saying nothing but with all the rage and time wasted.

• A footer with said twitter
• Centralize all the common bits; queries and layouts

After starting to write this, I decided to have dinner. More fast-food, but f*** it, I’d rather die that way than starve to death. I’m second guessing the choice of coffee—tachycardia—but otherwise yum. Now I’m finishing this up. Rather, writing it as almost all was written afterwards.

As I’ve alluded to in this post—and written in my journal, nobody would read it while I was alive—these are new posts, not journal entries. That may change if I ever feel more enticed to share, but they are—some—very disjointed and unapologetically TMI. I’m thinking of this being daily, but as prior-mention, these are new posts and I may not always form a coherent thought—either I really can’t or I forgot.

Wow, that was a lot more than I thought I’d write. This is why I don’t tweet anymore—I can’t do concise.