Yesterday morning I was driving my friend's car crying and asking for God to kill me.
When I went to bed I felt okay. One of my best friends, who lives in Washington State, is here for Thanksgiving, and so is Liam (my housemate)'s sister.
At about twelve or one when I was back from driving the car, Liam and his sister asked me to go to lunch with them. I had just started dyeing my hair but they waited for me and I remembered thinking, it just keeps going. Sooner or later, someone will be waiting for you, sooner or later there will be a new episode of The Walking Dead and you will be curled up watching it with some kind of soda or juice.
I find half-full packs of cigarettes in the park. I go to a college that has electric typewriters and an art library full of my favorite comics from when I was a kid. Liam worries about me and wanders in to ask if I want to watch David Blaine Street Magic for the hundredth time.
(I ask what he can possibly still get out of it but he says, "Now I notice little things.")
When I was waiting to wash the dye out of my hair so I could go with Liam and Jodie, I sent my friend a text: "Is it brave to go on living if you don't have anything you can do?" And I do wonder about this. I am not a depressed person, but sometimes it seems reasonable to think that stopping everything would be better. It's more a tactical decision than an emotional one.
Recently I read a quote about how if you're disabled you have to learn to be a human being and not "a human doing." I see what this means, but I guess I find it really inadequate--I mean, other people would not accept me as a being; if I completely collapsed and only wanted to experience good things, it would just be seen as laziness, depression, or a triumph of disability--a sad story. I have to stay in the doing frame because being from me would be unacceptable.
But I'm just trying to say I am, I am, I am, anyway.