Broken Brain, Broken Ass

I remember trivial things and with great effort (sitting with my ears open and the facial expression someone might make while trying to release a fart past a wall of bad brownies), I can remember everything a person says.  This is particularly helpful at medical appointments.  It’s nice to be able to recall something accurately and since the beginning of Manchild’s tiny problem, I’ve proven myself to be quite useful as a voice recorder, even if that’s my only use.  The issue I have with this is that I seem to have a finite amount of space to hold this information.  If I exceed capacity, I retain what I need to for him, but I forget certain things I have stored away for myself.  Like passwords, appointment dates, birthdays of friends, etc.  Even my brain thinks I’m not its first priority.  Asshole.

I’ve had to reset a majority of my passwords more than once, yet I remember all of the passwords to pay his bills.  I forgot to request a refill be called into a retail pharmacy for my pain medication, couldn’t reach my doctor’s nurse on Friday, so I’ll likely run out before the email I sent is received, reviewed, and my order is put in.  I love running out of Tramadol.  I especially love taking suboptimal dosages to stretch it out, because some is greater than none.  I also happened to notice, over a month after my last refill, that the dosing was all fucked up.  Take one every six hours?  Monsta, please.  I didn’t notice this because I was caught up in making sure MC was taking his anticoagulants and also that he didn’t run out of low dose aspirin.  Or Tylenol.  Or water, low salt peanut butter, toothpaste, wet wipes, clean sheets, and everything else.

I’m not blaming him, not really.  I could leave him be, even knowing he’d likely forget (and would have on several occasions if not for my reminders).  This is the reason I get so offended when Harpy says he’s constantly stressed out because he has to take care of me.  Pardon?  Who takes care of who here?  It wouldn’t bother me as much if he’d correct her, but instead, he sits there and basks in the pity, almost as though he’s in agreeance.  Poor baby.  When my Dad talks shit about MC, I stick up for him even if he isn’t around.  That’s how Kara’s do.

What else did I forget?  My pttd ankle brace.  I spent a couple of hours on my feet yesterday walking through Kohl’s and Wal-mart with my Mom and by the end of hour two, I was balancing on my left foot like a flamingo because my right tibia was killing me.  I realized I had forgotten my brace a while ago, so I was going to order another lace up ankle stabilizer to get me through.  Fuck, I forgot to order a brace.  If only I had remembered to bring my boots.  But no, didn’t bring those either.

My brain is not my own anymore.  It belongs to those who can’t remember their own shit.  With daylight savings time ending this morning, I was extremely confused as to what the real time was when I got out of bed this morning.  Phones and computers should automatically update, but I wasn’t sure that they actually had.  A slight wrinkle in time.

I had planned on going back down to Harpy hell this afternoon, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t fly face first into a huge fucking wall.  You know the one.  Distance runners talk about this…the point when the body completely runs out of glycogen and has to switch over to fat for fuel.  It’s like running through mud until you make it over the hump, or take a mouthful of dextrose gel.  It really is mind over matter.  Difference being, even attempting to stand up had me smacking into this imaginary wall during every attempt.  The pike in my brain stem sure didn’t help matters.  Headaches are bullshit.  All of ’em, literal or not.

This is THE week!  The week to get the stinky boy fixed!  The weeks following will likely be a special kind of crazy as I try to plow through the fucking walls that go up in front of me all too often.  A medium sized miracle is all I’m asking for.  That’s not greedy, is it?

5 thoughts on “Broken Brain, Broken Ass

  1. Ah, the things we do for love. I’ve been listening to this song a lot:

    On the one hand, it makes me sad that I’ll never feel that kind of love. On the other hand, I’m so glad that other people find it. Love can be awesome. πŸ™‚

    However, I think you neglect your own needs on purpose. Maybe you think you’re not as important as all these other people surrounding you. Maybe you like feeling like a martyr. Maybe you enjoy taking care of your partner, regardless of all his faults. Maybe you think that you’re the only one who can take care of him in the right way. And maybe I’m full of shit. πŸ™‚

    Stressful times ahead. I suppose it’s hard to prepare for things like this. Chocolate. Earphones. Knitting. Lots of water, which is good for you, but also gives you a reason to be in the bathroom a lot. It’s quiet in the bathroom. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

    • There’s one thing I enjoy doing for him, and that’s making a pizza that puts him into a happy coma. I used to love cooking, but now? Not so much. The rest of it, I do because I feel it’s my obligation. Being the only one who cares about him and the only one who isn’t two steps away from the loony shack, I worry. Especially since he can’t seem to say no to them.

      Aaaand, you’re right. I think I’m less important than other people. It has to be a subconscious thing, because I don’t immediately think “okay, he’s more important than me, so I’ll put his needs above my own, damn the consequences.” It’s an automatic thing. When I sit and think about why I do things the way I do, yeah, I don’t have much respect for myself. Daddy issues. πŸ˜‰

      Liked by 1 person

      • I make homemade pizza all the time, but it’s never as good as restaurant pizza. Where I used to live in Houston, there was an Italian place that delivered. Awesome bread, pasta, ranch dressing, and sauces. Just perfection. Do you smell tomatoes and garlic? Man, I miss that place…

        I’m sitting here thinking about whether I have respect for myself… I’ve certainly done things that I’m not proud of… I’m nowhere near the person I’d like to be… I guess since I respect honesty, I respect that part of myself who strives to be honest… And that’s the best I can do.

        Maybe I respect my pain more than I respect myself. You don’t mess with my pain. My pain is the boss. Respect it or die. Good advice for you too, dude. πŸ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Whatever you do, get those boots! Does someone have your key? Otherwise, buy two of those lace-ups. Two is better because the stress doesn’t get laid on the side that isn’t splinted.
    I wonder if support hose along with bracing would help? For some reason, the kinesthetic feedback from support hose extends to musculature as well as vascular. The family fuckfest, well, I’m learning about reality TV. Just kidding πŸ˜€

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ya know I often wondered if I was the only one who had this happen to them. I used to pride myself on how well my memory worked and sure my various diseases and issues take their toll on brain power but I’m pretty sure that most of the reason I forget all my own shit is because I’m too busy worrying and nit picking through everyone else’s to make sure they’re all good first. I try to write things down as I do them or as I NEED to do them….but I usually forget to do that too. Refills, reschedules and ordering are high on the list of things that get lost up in there. You need a little KaraBot following you around doing for you all of the things you get done for MC. Then you can market it, make millions and then at least not have to worry about the paying bills part, right?

    Liked by 1 person

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