It isn’t like we’re not all hyperaware of the plague that is COVID. We have this mask and that sanitizer – unless you’re one of those idiot anti-maskers. If that’s so, move on. I don’t want your eyes on my words. But we can finally see a glimpse of the future that includes people not in our household. And that’s where we’re going to have to be patient.
Some of us will be touch starved. The hugs, the arm squeezes, the hand holding. They’ll be so ready to feel that human connection. And then there’ll be others that have lived happily all this time without someone invading their space to get a quick hug.
I live in both worlds. I’m lucky enough to have a partner that I can literally reach out and touch whenever I want. And so I do. When I get lonely for the world, I go bother them for a few minutes and get my fix of touch then move on with my day. However, I’m not a receiver. I don’t like being touched unless you’re in the secret inner circle of my Evil Overlord Club. (If you’re not sure if you are, then just ask. I’m happy to tell you.)
My fear is that the givers are going to overwhelm those that do not receive touch well. So.. keep that in mind as we move forward. Givers don’t place your needs above the receivers. Cause if you do, that’d be a rook mistake
OK, look. I was locked out of my account for months. I don’t know why, but here we go…
It’s real. I don’t care what your weird ass pastor says. I give two shits about your opinion.
Sit your motherfucking ass at home.
Get stupid with your masks. Wear all of them at once. Just fucking WEAR them.
People are DYING. Are you resisting the death rate or contributing to it?
Am I bored? Am I stalking and researching anything and everything online? Am I trying to find the energy and motivation to work out? Am I gaining weight instead?
You dicks that won’t follow CDC guidelines are keeping me at home. You’re contributing to my boredom and weight gain. This makes me rage. When I rage I bake. Fuckers, you’re going to kill me over here.
DO you want me to have to go to the VA? Fuck you then. If I can come home from the shit, then you assholes cannot kill me at home.
Also – trim your beard.
TLDR; Shut up and wear your mask. Anything else is a fucking stupid bullshit excuse for a selfish piece of shit. That ain’t a Rook Mistake
I’ve just been coasting again. For months I’ve had my head down and shutting out the world with stupid ass games on my phone or Netflix binges to the point that when I’m out of lives or finish a series, I am lost. I’ve disconnected from everyone. Haven’t been out of the house for social interaction since the end of January. I do work, groceries, and then hide in the house. I am so fucking sick of it.
Hooray for fucking PTSD driven depression and anxiety, bitches!
I love my friends. I would move the goddamn moon from orbit for these people of mine. But I won’t follow a text stream or pay attention to Messenger because my head is stuck in nonreality at this time.
Today is the 9th anniversary of marrying my amazing sigoth, but due to some real world complications and issues, we decided not to celebrate. But friends, my packbrother and his gorgeous mate knocked on our door unannounced this morning. They brought a box, sealed with a green duck tape smiley face, full of mini pies (Pi Day) a new board game based on Choose Your Adventure Books, and a ridiculous pink flouf wearing glittery gold glasses that I love.
I had no idea I needed something or someone to just see me, to check on me. To acknowledge my hiding.
They said hi, dropped off the box, and left. They had no expectation of my time or anything. I am just struck by the awesomeness of it all.
But friends, my packbrother and his gorgeous mate knocked on our door unannounced this morning.
So, I’m a fake extrovert. According to all the personality tests, I’m equal parts extro and intro. This month is a full on test of those results. I’ve co-paneled HORROR 101 and spoken on an actual stage in front of people I didn’t even know for PTSD: Triggers &Lies. Next weekend is reserved for Sirens packing and the utter meltdown I’ll have when I can’t fit my metaphorical banjo into the literal suitcase.
The PTSD talk gave me the feels. It wasn’t just me typing to an invisible audience who might or may not even exist. I could see them. They listened and asked questions. I felt “normal” while doing it.
After proving to myself that I can do this, I think I’d like to do it again and hit the character developing/writing angle a little harder.
If you have the chance to attend Writers in the Field next year, do it. It was a fantastic experience. If you were there, thanks for attending.
Still haven’t seen a therapist. Still having paranoia and the sleeping habits are getting weird again. I’m not even tired until about 2 or 3 and by that time I’m mentally strung out and having almost waking dreams. It sucks. It also leaves me little energy to do things around the house or to write or – you know – take a shower. Yeah, I know when my hair starts getting greasy I’ve got a problem. As vain as I am about the silver fox moniker, I cannot bring myself to wash it. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Maybe that’ll happen before I try out the VA again.
Yeah, you heard me right. I’m going to the VA on Thursday to see if I can take it. I’m not sure if I’m testing myself or I’m honestly seeking help. Maybe I’m testing them. Whatever.
It’s like I forget how to people. I don’t want to be around anyone. When the sig-oth comes home, I fake it til I make it. I don’t want his company. But then I enjoy being around him. But all I really want is to be alone.
I mean, what can the VA do? Give me more medication? Take this feeling of defeat and that I am a fucked up waste of resources away? Sure. That’s why we read about all their success stories, right?
I have a psychiatrist who recommended I see a therapist. She even gave me some people to call. This means I’ve been making it on meds and the home-spun wisdom I created. Today I went to a therapist.
It took about 45 minutes for a 15 minute consultation to see if she was a good fit. I should have saved myself the time when I saw the rah-rah feel good decor in the lobby. Yeah, I know positive in creates positive output for lots of people. However, when it looks like someone’s grandma got a free shopping spree at Mardel’s – I’m out.
Let me saw that I am not opposed to God or church, but I’d like for that to stay in a religious environment. I am not looking to God to fix my anxiety. I don’t want to kumbaya the pain away. I’m looking for therapy and a therapist that doesn’t ask me to pray with her.
TLDR: Check out the therapist before you go. Anything less is a Rook mistake.
Rook Riley: writer, game enthusiast, and all around linguistic bad ass