a Scarlet D

This was supposed to be a tiny, short, brief note. RIP travel journal writing for the night

Just watched Cast Away (two words), and like any mainstream movie there’s a lesson at the end, or some revelation or reconciliation. I connected with Tom Hanks because I feel like I’ve been a castaway for some years now. Like it’s all on hold and I’m stuck surviving, so many people thinking I’m already dead and gone, and some still searching for me. Myself, included.

I just went on another soul searching road trip. Many miles and roads. Deserts, mountains, oceans, highways. When I get back from these things I expect people to ask “So was that it? Did that fix it?” and obviously the answer is no. Taking a drive doesn’t fix a chemical imbalance. Breathing the dust of a great desert doesn’t change how I think about myself. I didn’t go into it thinking it would, and I didn’t come out of it expecting my homecoming to be amazing. In fact it took a few days to get used to my apartment again. That was odd.

In some ways it helped. It gave me some memories of beautiful experiences. I saw animals I’d never seen before. Mountains I didn’t know could be so tall — in fact I slept on one. While the rest of the world was 100 degrees, I woke up to 28 degrees and frost on the car. I didn’t meet many people, because that’s how I am. But the people I met were nice. My memories are tricky, and I don’t remember much of the first half of the trip, I’m still writing up travel journals from the copious notes on the return. Hoping that helps me remember longer.

I was in my head a lot. I didn’t leave my problems at home this time, and I got to be as anxious and depressed as I would there. But I walked through a field of Poison Hemlock and didn’t pick any. I stood at the edge of so many cliffs, including Pike’s Peak, and I didn’t jump. I was living in the moment and doing my best to be who I’ve become, mentally and emotionally. Though after one long day of driving and thinking I decided when I was going to die. I don’t remember anything else, just that I decided when. And I don’t even remember that. Just that I thought it. I don’t quite know how to take that one yet.

But I’m back and maybe I’ll post more. I’m in two kinds of therapy and physical therapy and ketamine. My meds haven’t changed much except rolling back the Valium. Though I have the phone number to book an explant procedure for my VNS, in order to pave the way for the Deep Brain Stimulator.

Every five minutes for the last 2,166,334 minutes, I have had 1mA of electricity applied to my Vagus Nerve. Sometimes I felt it, sometimes I didn’t. But when something does something 433,266 times to you, it’s got to leave a dent in your personality. So how will it feel not to have that happening? I’m sure I’ll get used to it. It’s possible I won’t miss it one bit. But I think it’ll be weird. No more husky voice at inconvenient times, no more ring and no more being reminded every 5 minutes. Reminded that things are so bad they implanted this bizarre device. That’s okay, I’m sure the DBS will bring its own fun. And the next level of desperation.