It's a Yoyo Life, But Hope May Be The Pragmatic Approach

My comment about hope being pragmatic is the result of my own recent experiences and experiences shared on forums about aquagenic pruritus and such.  One lady on the AP page said she wants to just give up; can't take it any more.

Had I found no relief, I would be right there with her.  But, from time to time, I have found relief and it can be a huge relief, and a big surprise at once.  I had been so free of the attacks that I almost headed to work on Saturday without my usual one or two extra T shirts and shirts,  And extra pants.

I have carried spare clothes for a couple of years because if an attack started changing to a clean dry shirt often helped, and if I had to shower etc, I needed the clothes.  At one outdoor show, I changed three times before the start.

I was doing so well I was not doing the spare clothes routine.  But, just to be sure, I tossed a couple of t shirts and a shirt in the car.  Good thing.  I had an attack, and nothing I could do. I had to use the shower to make it gop quickly and to reduce the extreme discomfort.  I was so mad.

Just free floating anger.  I am not one who thinks God is a sadist because I am having a little trouble, so I don't start in on that tack.  I just pounded the steering wheel in my car and acted like a two year old, mostly.  Auto's AC wouldn't do the trick.  Good thing I could avail of the shower that day and still be done in the ridiculous amount of time we had.  I wonder if my coworkers hate me.

I do everything I can to make up for my glitches.  When I can come in over night I work late late late.  Safest time.

Even with the return of the nasty pruritus attack, I'd say the overall trend with health is improvement. For the last couple of years it has isolated me, made crazy, limited me like you would not believe.

Now most of the time I am not ultra foggy.  Or I should say I am not that way all the time as much as I was.  I am gradually finding energy.   I am not positive which of a few actions I have taken may be contributing to the improvement,.  I have a pretty good idea, though.  Bit of a dilemma but that is life.  Dogmatic and rigid biases and mistaken viewpoints do not work out sometimes.

Anyway.  None of the part about making a life and minimizing this blood issue is far fetched.  It is possible.  The toughest part is probably my defeatist depression and extreme sadness, when it creeps around.

I have been so grumpy, edgy and angry that maybe it is OK.  Getting mad and refusing defeat may be what it takes to forget how lonesomely depressed I can be.  I come from a family with a few wackos in the gene pool.  Brilliant, but seriously off balance.  Did the best they could.  Does not mean I have to give in to all the insanity genes that may have come my way through either parent or both.

Well, OK.  It is too late, sort of.  But finding a life from here on out is a huge challenge because A) I do not really know how
and B) In my mind it is too late.  But I thought it was too late at 35 or 40, too.  How did that work out?

I know it is not true, but a WW2 vet I know who is 95 I think, and plays uke and harmonica, said he likes my playing the best in the state.  It is not at all the veracity of the comment that is touching, but the fact he would say that and believe it.   You would not believe this guy's wind.  He can blow one of those Hawaiian conch shell things for a healthy spell before coming up for air. When I was smoking I think he could beat me.  He is  a good harmonica player too.

How do I so often forget the good fortune I have with people I come to know?  I guess I often hide from them for fear of talking to anyone distant when I am so down.  Really.  I have shut off from my favorite people because outside of specific music obligations or work, I couldn't talk to anyone.

It is like trying to hide because I feel like the real me during those periods would be a sap on the positive energy of good people.  Or I can't face the shame of being such a colossal under achiever, especially since I should have known better.  How come I didn't?

I think abuse, and maybe a touch of autism and my own secret retardation, mentally challenged MF syndrome, is partly to blame.  But mostly it is because I asm not a very astute person.  Not a bad person I don't think, but not too good, either.