I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to talk to anyone about what goes on in this stupid head of mine. All I have to do is move my mouth, make the sounds, make those sounds sound like words, use those words to form a coherent sentence that articulates my thoughts, and express those thoughts to another human being. It’s so simple! Yet with me, it’s the equivalent trying to pull a jack ass out of a thick pile of mud.

I don’t know why I’m like this. No, wait, I’m lying. I DO know why I’m like this, I just don’t know why I can’t fucking change. Every time I get close to expressing just one fucking thing in this dumb fucking skull, a stop sign emerges, and I freeze. I would just like, for once, to completely fall apart in front of another person. I don’t want sympathy, I don’t want a shoulder to cry on or a pat on the back telling me everything is going to be okay. I just want to lose control for one moment in my life, and feel the sweet relief of not having to not feel like I have to put up a front, and just show one Goddamn person in this small world that I’m insane underneath it all. That would be me, in my most vulnerable, honest form.

Does anyone even know you? Does anyone even care?

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My brother gave me a nickname when I was a teenager that he abbreviated for brevity: HHHBCBD. This was short for “Heaven Heavy Heave Background Character Blackbird Dickinson”. He apologized for this nickname years later, but he used to make the comment that I was merely a background character a la Maggie Simpson. I was unremarkable, unmemorable, easy to miss. This unfortunately stuck with me, so every time I’m forgotten or seen as an afterthought, there is an automated response in my head that says, “Of course. Why would anyone remember you?”

Lately at work I’ve been feeling like an afterthought. Twice I’ve been accidentally excluded from meetings, I was signed up for an email listing weeks ago and was wondering why I was getting emails for something I didn’t sign up for. Today I found out my supervisors signed me up on my behalf and no one mentioned it to me. I’ve been referred to as a “service desk”. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just good at being the court jester. Any idiot can do my job, it’s not hard. I’m replaceable disposable. I feel like I’m being taken for granted, and every time I’ve hit that point, I’ve slowly lost motivation in my job to the point where I quit. I was hoping this wouldn’t happen, but every job is the same—exploitation, degradation just so you can earn enough to keep a roof over your head and your tummy fed. At this point, it’s becoming harder and harder to keep up with that. I’m slowly getting priced out of the state, anyway. Detaching now would make it easier when I can no longer afford to live here and have to move to another state with a lower cost of living.

Maybe the adjustment of my hormones is making me more sensitive to this feeling or this hits a bigger nerve than I was fully aware of. Thinking about it upsets me, and I’ve been on the verge of tears all day. This may just be exhaustion, and I just need to take a vacation. Or maybe I’m being hit with a heavy dose of reality that I’m merely a body to answer the phone so everyone else doesn’t have to.

Occasionally I will get this feeling in my body/chest/soul where I just want to be left completely alone. I can’t describe the feeling, it’s kind of a weird gnawing tinge in my gut and travels to my chest. It’s not anxiety, it’s just…a feeling. It’s hard to transcribe but my brain manages to translate it as “You need to be alone”.

The past few weeks I’ve just been going, going, going. For years, I think I just categorized it this feeling as Heaven just needs Alone Time, but I think it might be my brain’s way of saying, “You should process your emotions”.

I feel like there hasn’t been a whole lot of drastic change recently, but I don’t think there needs to be drastic change to process your emotions. Day to day living is enough, and since I haven’t had a moment to myself to truly be by myself, my soul has felt neglected. I think I just need a breather, reconnect with myself. I don’t mean to make this sound all hippie-dippy, but sometimes I just need a reminder to slow down.

Do you ever just miss someone so much you feel it in your bones? The absence of someone’s presence can be felt throughout your entire body? The ache, the pang that you feel in your heart manifests in your nervous system then goes to the skeletal system, and every thought in your brain is hyper focused on this one person you miss so much but are too afraid to verbalize and it ends up manifesting your physical senses?

I am having a week. Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s Lift You Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven always reminds me of [REDACTED]. I try not to listen to it too often. It’s an emotional album for me, and much of that emotion stems from [REDACTED]. I always think of him when I listen to it, and the only times I ever listen to it is when I miss him.

There is a lightness about the album that reminds me so much of him. Despite all the darkness in the world we live in, he always manages to see hope at the end of it all. That there is a way we can fix this shit. For a pessimist like myself, it’s refreshing to see someone not only have the hope that things will change, but also be willing to help make that change. It’s an admirable quality, a trait I wish I had. Godspeed’s music operates in the same fashion: addresses the evils in the world, but still holds on to the idea that a better world is possible.

It’s hard finding that in a lot of Leftists. Many of them are burnt out and have become jaded by the state of the world. Hope for many feels foolish. It’s easier to think the worst—you’re never disappointed, therefore you are immune from getting hurt. Having hope puts you in the position of being continuously disappointed, hurt, and looking like an idiot. I wish I was more like that. Maybe that’s why I find it to be an attractive trait. I’m envious.

The last track on the album, “…Like Antennas To Heaven” makes my heart ache but in the best possible way. It provides that light at the end of the tunnel that there is a way out of the darkness. At one point in the track, it speeds up—the drums kick in, the guitar drones, the bass gets funky, and the violin flourishes and it sounds like what floating would feel like. But then the track slows down, and you feel like you’re in the sky at this point, just drifting in the clouds. trying to grab a star. Then the drums and bass kick in again, but this time the tempo is slower, the guitar twangs, and the violin swells. This is the part of the song when I think about him, when I miss him. It’s just a beautiful sound that is filled with hope and love.

When he moved, I listened to this track nonstop, and every time I listened to this song, my eyes would well, and I’d clutch my chest as if I were trying to prevent my heart from jumping out of it. It got to a point where I had to stop listening to the album so I could function normally.

It’s been years since he’s left, and the track still hits me like a freight train. I listened to it at work the other day, and for five minutes I was frozen. He popped into my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Even though this album messes me up emotionally, I listen to it when I want to feel closer to him. In a way, it feels like he’s still here.

I haven’t had a dream about him in a long time. I miss seeing him in my dreams. It’s the closest I ever get to visiting with him.

Corinne Marchand in Cleo From 5 to 7 (dir. Agnes Varda, 1962)

Adjusting to the thyroid medication the past couple of months has been a roller coaster ride of side effects that have reawakened things that have been dormant in my body for the last few years. On one hand, I am glad I feel reinvigorated again, but some of the awakenings have been intense, and maybe it’s because I have forgotten what it feels like to have energy instead of constant fatigue. Or it could be overstimulation. In any case, it’s been a blessing and a curse.

Because of the increased amount of energy, which is making me more active, coupled with a change in diet, I have been losing weight, which is one of the more pleasant side effects. I’m trying not to get too thrilled about this because everything in my body is still adjusting, but it is nice to have my clothes fit looser and my co-workers note the difference. The weight loss is proof the medication is working. The mere thought of exercising six months ago made my entire body ache. Now it’s something I look forward to in the day because it makes me happy. The weight loss is a visual that my health is improving.

The downside of the weight loss is realizing how a woman’s physical appearance changes how you are noticed in the world. The last couple of weeks I have been getting more male attention, and not the good kind. For years, I thought men no longer noticed me because of my age, not because of my weight. I have suddenly become more attractive as I have shedded weight. I’m no longer invisible to the rest of world. Knowing this and experiencing this are two very different things, and experiencing this first hand makes it suck more.

I rewatched Cleo From 5 to 7 last weekend. Watching it in a new perspective, having gone through health problems, and experiencing the anxiety of receiving medical test results, it resonated more. One of the themes in the film is Cleo’s femininity and value that is placed in her physical appearance. Cleo is constantly worried about how she looks to the rest of the world, and as a viewer we understand why when we see how many people gawk at her in a cafe as she’s trying to not exist in the world for five minutes.

As a woman, going out in public means sometimes feeling like you’re in a fish bowl while strangers take a gander at you swimming, just trying to live and eat fish flakes. The last few weeks have felt like that. Riding the bus, walking to the theater, going to a restaurant, eating a cup of Honey Nut Cheerios in front of the library—all of these things have brought about some sort of attention from a man trying to strike a conversation with me when it’s obvious I have no interest in speaking to anyone.

Maybe I should be thrilled my stock is going up as a 34 year-old woman, and that I am getting attention. The confidence boost from losing weight seems to be overshadowed by the shallowness of the world. Oh, and the many creeps who are coming out like cockroaches to simply grab my attention.