Just stayed up waaaaaaaaay past my bedtime to watch George Clooney in Descendants, I think it was called. Deliciously emotional.
Powerfully emotional movies leave me, oftentimes, having to remind myself that the characters’ pain is not my pain. Strange and kind of discombobulating.
I think past hurts/situations/dramas/traumas just get kind of dredged up from within. They pop up to the surface, often without clarity, and intermingle with the characters’ emotions.
A big soupy mix of my past emotions, the characters’ emotions, and my current bystander, secondhand emotions watching their scenes play out.
Weird. Like how smells can transport you to some other time, place, atmosphere…
So I’m over here emoting as well as worrying about my “I watched a movie and I stayed up late” headache and hoping it won’t kick my ass when the sun comes up. I decided to pop into FB a sec, so I could sit up long enough to properly swallow some ibuprofen and diphenhydramine.
And I discovered I had been logged out of FB. Well, crap, it’s been forever since I had to recall my password. We all know what that means. Recovering the password steps.
So I’m going through them and lo and behold, FB’s telling me someone reported me through their new suicide prevention tool.
And here’s where I began to question myself. Now wait, I wasn’t sad and emo, right? That was George and his movie daughters who were sad. Right?
Well hell, I don’t know. Did I post something negative/depressing/sad before I watched the movie? No. No way. Saturday was a good day. Right?
Weird how I can get so confused. Whoa. Head’s not happy – will have to finish this in the daylight…
2:30 in the morning was eight hours ago, so I can’t remember where I intended to go next in this thought process. And my head hurts too much to continue it anew. Suffice it to say, emotional movies take me on a weird, confusing ride on swirling whitewater rapids of emotions.
FB’s suicide prevention tool sending me a message may have been a glitch, a bug in the new system. I mean, I have been having a hard time. I don’t think, however, that I’ve posted anything too morose lately.
Or it could be one of the oodles of people, who will I’m sure, want to jack with the system with false reports. There are screeners around the clock and around the world, according to Facebook, but it’s being a new system, false report could’ve gotten past them.
It may well have been someone worried about me, and if so, I thank you for that. Though I’m having a hard time, I promise I’m not in a dangerous place right now.
I haven’t even come close to sorta considering suicide since I first got pregnant back in December 1992. Thank you, God, for that! That is a miracle, for sure!
It has been difficult to be clean and sober and live with chronic pain. And the first week+ off of carbamazepine, I did seriously consider smoking pot. After 23 years of sobriety, that was really weird to realize how serious I was about trying it.
One could say, however, that I’ve already been stoned for years — on Tegretol. I think if I were in a pot-legal state, I’d be willing to try it, under a doctor’s care. But in an illegal-pot state without a doctor as a guide? That could get slippery.
It’s funny, I’ve just thought of something. Being a recovered member of Overeaters Anonymous is tricky. (Which I’m not, though I used to go to meetings.) It’s difficult, because as they say, “You still have to go in the lion’s den three times a day to feed it — without getting bitten.”
It occurs to me that a recovered member of Alcoholics Anonymous (which I am,) who lives with chronic pain, faces much the same trouble.
I’ve often felt guilty about my “using,” but these last few weeks off Tegretol has really validated my need for such constant use of mind-altering drugs. Change my brain? Hell yeah, I’d like to — change it out for a not defective one!
Okay, this post is super long with no formatting and no graphics, but my head’s killing me. So I’m going to publish now and come back and fix it up pretty later.