While I have no real scientific proof to back this claim up, I'm honestly beginning to believe there exists a real link between my orthostatic hypotension and my indecisiveness.

Let's lay out the evidence.

When I sit still for too long and then stand to rise to any occasion, all the blood drains from my head and goes somewhere I can't trace it to. It leaves me when I need it most (there's some deep sadness to mine in that comment, but I don't want to play into my own stereotype of sad girl too much more than I already have). Depending on the severity of the episode, my vision can swirl or simply vanish. But when the lights go out, it's not quiet and comforting like nights back home in Davao. There's nothing to see here, but everything is here. Rather than crickets, it's my own eardrums humming, humming, making they're own sort of music. Who knew tiny bones could be so musical? Who knew you could be made to feel so unwelcome in your own body by your own body? I like to think of my little glimpses into the darkness as sneakpeaks into my own skull. Something like a private tour I've gate crashed and now I can see my own inner workings. The buzzing of my brain cells firing off electric signals to each other.

But then my veins and arteries start working and the blood comes back and I come back to where I was, which is just me standing. It wasn't that great of a feat.

In terms of my lack of fortitude to make real solid commitments, here's what I've got. Listen up. Lend me your ears.

I've never been good at choosing restaurants. So please, don't ask me where I'd like to eat because first of all, let's start with do I even want to eat? Next, such a weighty decision (pun intended) is one I cannot make for another. The pressure! It's the 'pass-the-aux' of social commitments. This inability to commit to things, especially when my decision could affect others, leaks past menus and into every other aspect of my life. If I lived alone on a desert island, I'd be happy and I'd know my daily itinerary. But as sad as it is true, no man is an island and I exist in connection with millions of other people. In Metro Manila alone there 12? 16? How many millions of us? How can I commit to anything, how can I decide anything? How can I move past the fear that any action could butterfly effect and destroy something, someone, or everything, everyone? How can I forgive myself when I do destroy? 

Clawing my way back

It's been a hard damn couple of weeks.

Food, let's talk about food. My family would send me soup every day, all I had to do was go down to the lobby and eat it. The eating part was the hard part. Elevators helped with the first part. See, eating and I have a long and complicated relationship. An off and off again love affair. It's not so much that I dislike it, but I can't stand what it represents. If you eat you live, and well, living is a concept I continue to toy with, unable to commit. I'm a flighty, avoidant consumer. If I put this in my body, then my body will continue to exist and I'm still not fully sold on the idea that that's a good thing.

But we're trying. Hot damn, we're trying. Plural since it's been a team effort getting me back from the absolute hellhole breakdown I've been in the last few weeks. If I could list the things I've lost I'd run out of space. So let's just keep it brief and say everything. 

Hubris now. Let's talk about hubris. Damn, I was so confident in myself that I had it all figured out. On track to be a lawyer, damn good one at that, working high level jobs, high level competence, high level output. High level functioning depressive. Sneaky fuck, that illness. It crouched down and found me when my nervous system was all on fire with excitement and threw a plastic bag over my head. Suffocated me, suffocated the life out of me.

So if I'm so non-committal to the idea of living, why try to hard to get back from the dead? Good question, no answer. Maybe I just have nothing else better to do and I'm not that skilled at murdering myself. Many attempts, zero success. I need to find a new line of work, something else to put my brain to use with. 

Fuck these weeks have been hard. I don't think I've ever felt so low. Like gum stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe and then they walked in dog shit and then they dumped me. Fuck. Everything out of control and I hate that, since the food thing is also about control let's not forget that. 

Not sure where I'm going with this. Does this count as journaling? Does this count as therapy? Supplemental to the actual therapy I'm paying so much for. 

Anyway. I'm trying. Yet to see how it turns out, but I'm trying and maybe that counts for something.