Musing no. 16: The Doc

I was sitting in the waiting room because my lungs keep doing this thing where they stop working and make me cough and it feels like my chest is getting stabbed. Wth.
So I went to get checked (finally) after four days of coughing and not breathing and waking up not breathing because I died in my dreams. 

She was pleasant. 

She walked in, asked me how I was, placed me on a nebulizer treatment right tf away, and told me she wanted to do an X-ray on my chest, a STAT CTA scan on my blood stream to make sure I didn’t have blood clots or a pulmonary embolism, and to go to the emergency room if I still felt the same. Handed me a note to pick up my doctors note at the front desk, schedule the damned appointments, and reminded me to pick up my antibiotics, inhaler, and a nasal antihistamine to make sure it wasn’t allergies. And she places me on a second nebulizer treatment because this time, she hears rattling when I breathe, now. She said go to the emergency room if you can’t get this fixed by Friday. 
It’s Sunday night. I still feel the same. I didn’t go to no emergency room. I ain’t no sissy. I ain’t no sissy.


But I have to go see her tomorrow and tell her that I have to babysit this cat for a whole week.
While struggling to breathe.
Smart right?

Well I’m kind of broke, after having to pay 2x rent for 2 months. Coz I pick really awesome friends. Whatever.

But hey, I’ll see the doc tomorrow and she’s gonna put me on another nebulizer treatment, tell me to go to the emergency room again, and run around like she can pump me with all the medication so she can fix me.
While I just sit and wait to die.

Lol

I’m not. But it’s interesting that a stranger cares more about my ability to breathe than I do. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Musing no. 15: That deep Low

Let me bring us back to 2005.

Hello, Lo of 2005. What have you done?

You went by “Lorie,” then you removed the “e” and it’s been “Lori” ever since. You’re a mess. In fact, you feel the exact same loneliness and brokenness from that time in 2005. Right? You just left everything you knew (for 2 years, anyway, since you’re gonna be moving 19 more times right after this), and then plunged into a culture you do not know, a language you do not speak, and a country whose airport smells like food. Whose country airport smells like food????

But after all the loneliness, suffering, learning to speak a language that will later on influence what you want to do in life, etc. etc.

*insert motivational quote here*

But today I feel low.

2017 Lo feels low.

It’s okay, though. I’ve gone through a lot the last few years.

I forgot what I was headed to with this post.

I’m gonna go nap for a bit and do a re-write later.

Musing no. 14: Kintsugi

So I felt broken. I still feel that way sometimes. I felt I had it together, had the perfect everything. Everyone thought everything was going well for me. From the outside I was pristine.

From the inside I had cracks slowly breaking through the outside.

I tried to drown it with justification. I tried to blame myself. Actually, I blame myself. It’s mostly my fault anyway. 

I feel like I’m never enough. And when I begin saying this, I can tell what people hide. I can tell when you act differently around me. I can tell when the way you touch me is different, the way you look at me. The way you don’t look at me. Why don’t you look at me? I suffocate people. 

My concern for their safety suffocates people.

And it was broken. My giant dam of emotions broke. It poured out. I had no control. I broke down. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to breathe. I was tired. I was alone. I got given up on. I got given up on.

After pouring my heart, my wishes, my soul, my poetry, my desires, everything you would invest in someone who promises to love you the way you love them–it just all trickled down the drain. Forgotten, set aside, shoved aside.

And I broke. 

And I hurt.

And I felt alone.

And I was alone.
So I bring all my broken pieces back to God–again–for the ump-teenth time. And cry. At His feet. Because I gave my love to someone who didn’t love Him more than me. I need someone who loves God more than me, who wants to grow in faith with God with me, and seeks His will and doesn’t doubt it.

Someone who runs to God when he is hurting, because he knows humans will fail him; I need someone who won’t hurt me because he thinks the carnal desires that take over him are what makes him human. Yes, they are. But if you claim to have a relationship with God, why live like that?
I’m tired of dating. I’m tired of wishing to be with someone who reciprocates and loves me the way I love them.

So I’ll wait. 

Learned my lesson again. 

So this time, I’ll wait. 

Maybe my love will come back someday. 

Only heaven knows.
And my broken pieces will be fused back together with the sliver of gold that takes over because of the Love I can always hold onto. 

Musing no. 13: Pray

Ok I’m done being upset. It’s in Your hands now. Everything I am and have. I’m tired of pretending I have everything under control, because clearly I’ve only set You aside. Learned–yet again–that I shouldn’t do that. People have and will let me down, and I need to learn that only You are my constant, in times of my struggles. No matter how unwanted I feel, worthless, directionless, and lonely, You still love me. Unwaveringly. 

Musing no. 12: Prayers

Most of you don’t know I speak 4 languages. Only 4. I’m working on the other 6, since I do want to end up knowing at least 10 functional ones before I die.
But I pray in Ilocano. My language closest to my heart. Pray to the God who gives you love when all you feel for yourself is hate. 
He won’t let you be by yourself without His unending support and love. 

It sounds stupid, after wallowing in depression for almost 3 weeks. But I find my comfort in Him. ❤️
Humans will fail you, no matter who they are, they will. 

God. Will.

Never. Leave you.

March 17, 2017, 2:04 AM

Dear Future Husband,

I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t know where I am either. But I hope that you will be able to know that I already love you even if I don’t know who you are yet. Maybe I’ve just met you.

My heart feels peace knowing that someday we will be together. Maybe our paths have crossed. Or maybe our paths just crossed. Maybe I haven’t met you yet. But I am happy to feel I will not end up and die alone.

I want you to grow with me. Encourage me when I do things to make our family better. I’ll encourage you to keep doing what makes you happy and won’t nag you for working so hard. I will make you tea when you get home. I’ll rub your shoulders and won’t stop kissing you when we’re sitting on the couch together. I will cook You meals with my whole heart. I will make sure you love them, too. I will make you all the baked cookies and goods you want. I’ll watch all the action movies, play all the video games, and horse around with you when you feel like being goofy, because I’m pretty goofy.

I don’t know if my heart will still be around, but I know that God will use your patience to heal my heart. And I will heal yours.

I don’t know why I’m writing this right now, but it feels right. I feel at peace.

-Lo

Musing no. 11: Are you awake?

Hi, it’s me.

Today, I feel like I’ve lost my fight. It’s okay, I’ll finally have peace. I remember feeling this when I was 14. Nobody believed me, because he was blood. Relatives would never do that. Nope. Let’s still help him go to school. Let’s still feed him when he’s hungry. Let’s ignore the fact that our daughter is wanting to kill herself because this human-imposed “purity” was the basis of that of a fulfilling and honorable marriage. But let’s help the enemy instead.

I feel it again today, unfortunately. And this time, I’m by myself. No one listens to you anyway, so what’s the point in surrounding yourself with people who have no care except to promote their own well-being, when you’ve been selfless this whole time? When you’d drop everything in a heartbeat, travel to them in short notice, but you’re just a passing hobby that gets too complicated. So bye, “it’s not you, it’s me,” yet again. Laugh it out. It’s going to be the case anyway.

She’s always handing her heart to people who would receive it, but not give anything back.

You’ll pass. you’re just a game. Try to explain it, and you’ll go insane.

Just wake up. It’s all a bad dream.

 

Wake up, you’re by the river stream. Pick the right choices from there. Don’t pick that box up. Save your money. Don’t buy that knife. Don’t cut your hair. Be beautiful. Keep singing, never stop. Don’t drink that.

Keep reading.

 

Is it something you’d die for? I doubt that’s passion, that’s just sacrifice and a justification of what’s “right.”

Does it make your heart beat fast, dilate your pupils, excite you, beckons you where you get distracted for hours on end, without tiring? That’s it.

Wake up. It keeps you awake. Find something that makes you want to stay away.

Don’t go to sleep.

Rage against the dying of the light.

Musing no. 10: Don’t ask me how I’m doing.

You don’t listen anyway. 

I say, “I’m fine, everything is well. I haven’t had an episode in days!” Just to make you feel like you’re doing your “job” as a friend.

But when I don’t respond, or just look at you, you know there’s something wrong. Of course you change the subject right away, because what the heck did you get into, asking me how I was doing, right?

Ugh.

Why do we ask people, “How are you? How have you been?!” If we aren’t genuinely interested in knowing how they are doing? Why do we say self-serving statements in order to prevent us from looking indifferent and clueless–when that’s exactly what we are?

Well, I don’t know either. 

Don’t ask me how I’m doing. 

Look into my eyes, maybe. Understand that there’s pain. Understand that it’s not easy. Understand that even if I go La-La Land all the freaking time, I’m not okay. I’m trying to be positive and find the good; I find the good even in those who think they’re no good. 

Listen to what I’m not saying. 

Then you will understand how I’m really doing without you asking questions that don’t warrant an honest answer. 

Musing no. 9: I should just be alone.

The sun is out, shining its brightest. It’s 72 degrees in New York City. I’m sitting in a room full of people taking exams. 

I am paying attention to them, and paying no attention to them. 

I like my interactions with these people. Some of them I won’t see ever again, and I’m alright with that. But why am I here?

Because I need to make ends meet, so I’m working on a Saturday. At my third job. 

I could just complain more and blah blah blah, but I’m honestly just very lethargic. Days like these are when I wish I were just laying down on my bed, reading a book, sleeping, just laying down, catering to my tired-ness while I waste away.

Just kidding.

But seriously. 

All I ever wanted was to be loved and Be accepted for who I am, no matter how broken and screwed up I am. I’m working on it, I promise. Everyone just leaves because they automatically think people should be  finished and shiny. They forget that if you’re human, you’re a constant work of art, an oil painting that can numerously be modified and changed and improved and destroyed. And destroyed.

But hey, I don’t know how to deal with myself either. 

I feel like checking out sometimes. 

I heard it’s surreal. I heard it’s peaceful. 

I want that.

But not today, it seems.