Hey, what do you think? It’s September. My life feels like a patch of briars. I’m trying to get comfortable. Unfortunately, I’m made of human being.
I brush past the cat’s claw acacia and find out why it’s called that, as thorns catch my clothes. Oops, I liked those clothes.
I keep listening to this song for comfort.
At the doctor’s office, I said the eye drops with steroids he prescribed for my eye infection last time kept me awake all night–literally! I slept zero that night. “That’s not possible,” the doctor said.
“I had really bad anxiety.”
“That’s not a side-effect of that medication.”
“Uh, ok. I guess it could have been a coincidence…”
I’m 43 years old; I’ve spent a lot of time with myself. I notice stuff. Some time after Ming put the drop in my eye, I WAS FUCKING VIBRATING. Why would I make that up?
What sinister secret reason could I have, for wanting a medicine without steroids? Oh yes, I will sell my steroid-free antibiotic eye drops on the black market. I pity the world that has a black market for that.
An hour later, in a parking lot while Ming bought fruit, I saw the doctor had prescribed an eye ointment with steroid in it and lost my shit. Interpret that as you will.
It had been a bad day already. The doc looked at my eye for three seconds. Do you think I’m exaggerating? Yes, I am. It might have been two seconds.
So half hour in the first waiting room, spaced inadequately for covid guidelines, scared, and time in the second waiting room, needing to sedate myself to go in the door at all. I don’t like risking my life so a doctor can get $300 or whatever, to look at my eye for two to three seconds.
A lifetime of being treated as a worthless person has destroyed me. I’m waving the white flag over here. I surrender. You did it. Good job, world. I give up.
Meanwhile, 2,960,000 google hits for “can eye drops with steroids cause anxiety.” Spoiler alert: the answer is yes.
Thank God for Ming, saying that’s so true, I’m sorry he was disrespectful. Yes, that’s terrible. Yes, I notice you’re treated that way. I’m sorry you’re hurting. There’s tissue right here.
help is on the way
Ming called the office, when we got home–they made a new prescription, as his voice sounds like the voice of a man, and he’s not a middle-aged fat woman, scared in a doctor’s office. He has confidence–it works. He has worth.
My strategy of kindness, listening, considering, trying has failed. Like always, I’m bad at moderating myself. It’s either docile lamb or Kali.
I’m making art and trying to live. Thanks for any good wish or prayer you can send. Maybe one day I’ll have worth. Meanwhile, yeah, going to print out the new hat genius tomorrow.