Summer-Time Blues

I have been away from my keyboard for some time. Working, enjoying the summer, getting some much needed rest and just haven’t had much time to sit down and type it out.

I’ve been missing this outlet. This blog allows me some time to reflect on my not-so-rational thoughts, and process situations and all that other self-care bullshit. So, I’m back again because my brain has decided to go on an all-out “let’s make Lexi feel like shit” parade.

To preface this, I would like to mention that I had been out of Xyrem for exactly 4 days. My dose had increased, I didn’t remember when exactly I opened the last bottle so, woops, no Xyrem for 4 days. This also means that for four days, I slept horribly, had little to no deep-sleep, was cognitively defunct, and was a little bit of a cranky-pants.

It has also been hotter than Dante’s 9th Level of Hell. Our window A/C is struggling to keep up, and the neighbours downstairs like to have all of their lights on and windows down at all times. It gets very hot. I do not tolerate the heat well, especially at night.

Finally, my uterus is twisted into a knot. I am into my third day of Shark Week and I’m still cramping, still having joint pain, and still not loving life.

The reason I bring this up, is I like to do a basic check-in of why the fuck my brain is being a little dick. Generally, I ask myself: ‘are you hungry?’ ‘are you tired?’ ‘are you sick?’ ‘are you unbearably hot?’ ‘is your living room a disaster zone?’ and if any of those are the case, I try to resolve those before I go on ringing some alarm bells.

I have been dealing with excruciating exhaustion, stupid summer heat, a punishing menstrual cycle, and my living room is an abomination that I have been procrastinating on for the last several weeks. The fatigue is getting worked on, we’ve managed to lower the temperature in the apartment a smidgen, day 3 of Sharkweek is better, and I have started tidying my living room.

Still, my brain is trying to convince me that everyone I love and care deeply for is going to leave.

Since I’m not the only person in the world that experiences tiredness-and-heat-related grumps, my fiance and I have been having some minor tensions that have needed to be resolved. Misunderstandings are easy to clear up right off the bat – oops, I didn’t mean to react that way, I thought you were saying xyz. I’m sorry, Lexi. *hugs*

My issue lies in my complete inability to handle anger from those I love. It leads my brain into a spiral of abandonment scenarios that I can’t squelch fully. I generally will seek reassurance, but that can come with its own consequences. For instance, my fiance might start rattling off the reasonsΒ for why I’m asking for reassurance.

I’ve had to ask for reassurance many times over the last week, mainly because of all the little factors that have lowered my tolerance for all sorts of emotions. I’ve also decreased my ability to regroup internally and deal with shitty thoughts and feelings.

This is common, this is not bad. I didn’t think about how my own reactions might affect those I care about the most in my quest for trying to somehow predict future abandonment. I’ve been a bit of a pain in the ass. And that’s not fair, either.

I explained to my fiance, that this is not him and that I’m sorry he’s having to reassure me so much. This is my past taking the opportunity it sees in my vulnerability, not an actual fear based in reality.

You see, everyone left. Every. single. one. But that’s not true. Not everyone. A lot of people left, but some I chose to leave behind, too. Some were friendships that drifted, some were moving and some had other priorities, and sometimes I did, too. This is not abandonment, this is life. This is the progression of relationships at times, and it’s okay.

Some left me in the worst possible way at the worst possible time, and that sucks- but not all and not even a majority of people.

C and I are allowed to fight, get annoyed, be annoying, get into silly arguments – we are not doomed because of it. We strengthen our relationship by communicating, resolving disagreements, compromising at times, and always being there for one another. We can’t always agree on everything, and my memory might make me forget things a lot, but we work together to bring each other up and we become better versions of ourselves for it.

 

 

 

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Emotional Metamorphosis & Free Tattoos

Early this month, I contacted a tattoo studio in my city who offers one free cover-up tattoo to someone with scars from self-harm.

As a perpetually broke college student,Β free is my favourite number. I also have a tremendous amount of scarring on my left arm that I would rather see turn to something beautiful.

I contacted the artist knowing full well that other studios have told me it just wouldn’t be possible to tattoo over the scars. I contacted her knowing I may not be chosen or that, again, it just wouldn’t be possible.

A few weeks ago, I met the artist fromΒ Pretty In Ink. She was so joyful and immediately took me into the back. She felt my arms and noted the areas she wasn’t comfortable tattooing over, explained the risks, and spoke about the design I was hoping to get. We set an appointment and the artist, Jackie, told me she’d draw up a design with my original ideas and inspiration I’d shown her. I gave her free reign to do what she felt would work best, with the colours that worked best.

Although it may take several sittings, it may need touch ups, and the scars may swell initially; I want to document the experience when I go in for my appointment.

In exactly 10 days, I will have the scars I’ve worn for 16 years turned into a piece of art. I can’t explain how exciting this will be. I’ve learned to look past them, not to see them, to ignore the damage.Β Self-harm hasn’t been part of my life regular life, save for two slip ups, in 5 years.

I think it’s time to acknowledge their existence, to believe in their significance, and have the emotional metamorphosis I’ve sustained etched forever in ink.