Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Thursday, April 22, 2010


Today the Random Counselor Dude's (RCD) office was a large serving of utter, total frustration.  With extra crispy FAIL.
Brick wall, meet forehead. 
It was a total waste of my time, his time. 

But five hours later, when I should be sleeping, NOW I want to talk? 
For the first time in 35 years? Work at 5am?  Now?  Seriously, now?

I didn't feel like it was a part of me.
It WASN'T me.
I had no connection with that person that those things happened to.
And if I recognized that girl, I might become that girl.
And the new free floating memories...they fuck with everything.
Play Dough Infinity Squared.

But today, the utter frustration, or anger maybe? 
Changed something.
And it's real now.
And I want it OUT.
For the first time ever, I WANT to talk.  Or not so much to talk as just to barf everything out to get rid of it.  Eliminate it.  Take a big dump.  Because its actually in me, festering now.

Weird, strange, scary and intense.
And I don't do intense.
I don't do frantic in this way at least.

I do baseline.

I'm terrified of when I actually put these now ALIVE words out there....what other monsters will walk through the door I open?
How big is the iceberg?
But what else do I do?
I can't get the door shut anymore.

I think the current problem is:  Who do I talk to?  Who do I tell?  Where do I barf?
I can't tell Dave.
I can't talk to sisters.
I can't talk to Random Counselor Dude.

And I'm SO entirely sick of:
Keri the Wall.
Keri the Empty.
Keri the Blank.
Keri the NO.
Keri the Giggle.
Keri the Smart-ass.
Keri the Stubborn.
Keri the Lost.
Keri the Obnoxious.
Keri the Mute.
Keri the Stagnant.
Keri the I Have the Right To Remain Silent Because Anything I Say WILL Be Used Against Me.
So how about if we try, Keri the Verbalist? 
I know. 
CRAZY idea. 
Because I think the mechanism never fully developed or got pretty broken somewhere along the way.

I think if I tell someone...and I don't dissolve and blow away...THEN I can tell RCD.

I even tried to tell Moses.  But felt too guilty because he's just too happy to hear ANYTHING and he gets sad when I cry.  And the words physically HURT my ears.  So I cranked up the I-pod so I couldn't hear myself talk.  PATHETIC.

I want to be able to tell someone who will nod instead of grimacing.
Not someone who will thank baby Jeebus that they didn't lose the dad lottery.
Sympathy to me is the WORST.
Not that RCD does that.
Not that RCD hasn't heard worse.
I'm sure he has.  That has nothing to do with it.
This is my worst.
MY road kill flesh strapped to a run away car.

But by the time I write this...this too shall pass.
I'll probably be twitching in RCD's office next week, silently growing gray hairs.
Talking about Ichiro's batting average.
Planning a BFF party for the brick wall and my forehead.

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