Stitches and Scabs – One is a MetaphorApril 6, 2021
It has been a few days since I sat down long enough to crack open my notebook and jot some shit down in here. So here’s a few little things that have been going on.
I got my Mohs (?) surgery on my right cheek yesterday. They cut quite a bit out, and quite deep. There are stitches under the skin, and on the skin. I got a little whoozy when they were taking it out (no pain, just pressure, sound, and “whoah I’m getting sweaty, shaky”, and scwheew, they’re done), but when they went back in make the hole bigger (longer, like a football so it’d stitch up cleaner) I was fine. The doctor made it feel like she was trying to pull me off the chair when she was doing the internal stitches, and the external stitches sounded ca-razy in my head as she pulled the string taught. Overall, it wasn’t “too bad”.
My mood and emotions have been really pretty acceptable the last few days. Some little gut punch regrets, and disappointment in myself creep in occasionally, but they don’t last long, and most thankfully, they do NOT bring back the old memories unrelated to relationships and dating online. No tears have been shed for quite a while, and I feel “alright” overall. I still can’t wait to get back into my therapist, and get some more help with my circular thoughts, anxiety and over thinking. I really don’t want to get so jaded I’m no good to anyone (or perpetually callas and indifferent). I think I have a lot to offer a the right person, they’re just going to have to use some patience and carefully prod my communication skills out (I’ve made it a priority to ask questions that scare me – nothing specific, but sometimes I ask before I think on purpose just so I don’t think too much and shew it away).
Speaking of prodding my communications skills out. That is something I really hope I can work on with ideas and pointers from the therapist. If I could express my “bad” (for lack of a better word) feelings as well as I can express my good feelings, everyone around me would be much better off.
The thinking about how to leave this pain behind has subsided substantially too. That in its self is a big sigh of relief. When you start to think that sticking around is less of a burden than leaving your loved ones behind, it kicks you in the feels pretty hard, and wakes you up to just how much there is to stick around for, and how much you do for the people around you by just being here.
I would like to think that my medication is finally balancing out, but it is too early for that (at least a couple more weeks to know for sure). I hope it is as simple as enough time has passed that I have healed (rather than stuffed it away for another time in my life). There are glamors of hope dancing around my life right now (both terrifyingly scary, and exceedingly exciting). My mental state reminds me of that little scab you keep catching on stuff. Like the edge of your pocket, or breaking off a little piece when you’re drying your hands. Just enough to remind you that there’s still a hurt spot, but not enough to need to tend to it since it is actually healing, time will heal it up, it is just tender.
Optimism scares me sometimes. Being a passenger on that roller-coaster nice and slow up the front side, you crest the top, and your stomach makes that little flip just as you crest the precipice, that’s where I am now. How will I be in a week, or a month, or next year? I haven’t the faintest suspicion, but I hope, I hope that it’s happiness, fulfillment, and a bag of tools to keep my emotions in check, my heart healed, and trust in people restored (I said “trust in people”, that’s a good one, but one can hope).
(UPDATE Apr 7, 2021)
Ripped that damn bandage off today and took a nice warm shower. It’s a little longer than I thought it was, but the doc told me it’ll heal pretty clean, no bald spot, and with a little massaging and protective Vaseline it’ll go away in a few months.