There’s an owl hooting outside my window now, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s too questioning whether this is a world worth living in, such that the struggle will all be worth it in the end. I don’t really know either way, but I do know it’s nice, not to be alone, the only one up at all hours with a wonder-filled head.
I’m very frustrated right now. More frustrated than I’ve ever felt before it seems. I am very tired, my mind won’t stop thinking, it won’t stop crawling through thought and spinning webs of idea. I am frustrated because after two weeks of unemployment, I have no job applications filed to show for my worth – to show for an unemployment check which might otherwise now lie in my wait. Others see this as troubled behavior; I see what they mean. But then, I see too so much more and I cannot help but wonder why it was, that upon my shoulders and not theirs came crashing down this world’s worth of weight.
I see all the children in my head, out there all alone in this cold, hard world, wandering around in the darkness, losing hope in their waning searches for light. I see them in my mind, and I worry about them and it makes me sick – I can’t stop thinking about them and worrying about them because I am them and I have given this life a shot one day more and look where it’s led me. I can see them sitting alone, suffering in the darkness, pondering suicide, just as I do still. It’s less morbid now, the thoughts, but the point remains the same. I just cannot tell whether this toil and struggle is made nothing more than in vain.
I am worried sick about these kids. I am so sick about it I don’t even know what to do with myself. I am worried sick about these kids who might find on this big world’s inter-wide-web all of the discriminatory judgment our society’s professionals have already rendered against them. I am worried about these children who are going to be told that there is something wrong with them, and that they must be medicated to be made right.
I cannot stop the worry, and I look at the world around me and I cannot figure whether it’s an overwhelming beauty that makes it so goddamn hideous, or if it’s just so hideous that I find somehow within it the most striking beauty of all. It makes no sense to me, and I want to figure it out so that I can explain it to them, but I have to stop myself because I must sit down for three hours time and focus this scattered brain long enough to finish two job applications.
That’s it, two jobs. That’s all it requires – and yet, my mind has not let me be to go to that place. I’m stuck on the pharmacy and how they treat me as if I am a drug addict although, I’ve done nothing wrong, nothing more than drop my doctor’s orders off for fill. They have to call my doctor to be sure that it was he who has written them, even though they just spoke with him a day or two back and he explained that I’m not a drug dealer and I’m not a drug addict.
I’m stuck on my newlyfound understanding that the Food and Drug Administration allows a percentage break to drug companies – to save them a little money – my 15mg of Ritalin may actually be just twelve, with an unknown 3mg of filler. Filler which I had an allergic reaction to – filler that’s screwed up my meds going on three weeks now. I am disturbed with caution, as to why my government, which is supposed to be protecting me from drug companies, is actually negotiating with them to cause me harm.
I am nervous about what my state legislature is now planning to do, whether the Ohio Senate is going to move on S.B.43 or Sub.H.B.104 – both proposing to force this compromised “medication” upon my people. I am worried sick I will not be able to stop it. I am worried sick that it will pose as one more barrier between the mentally ill and the treatment and protection that we need, and that we will only find more substance abuse and suicide and bloodshed beyond this legislature’s door.
And the worry continues, the thoughts are infinite, the cause for my concern is real, and yet my concern is still yet misunderstood. I cannot help but be gravely disturbed by this mess. I cannot help but wonder, why is not everyone else?
And so now I am the one judged, two weeks here now unemployed, and I have not one job application yet to show. I will not get that money. My worry got in my way and for that I have been labeled mentally ill. I do not see it that way though, it does not look like that from within my skin, peering out.
I do see illness alright, but I see it in these sockets peering back at me gaping empty with judgment and doubt. I am guilty as charged I suppose, with my troubled behavior, but still I cannot figure how my actions are the cause for the shout. I wish people would open their eyes.