June 19, 2013
I could pay some bills today, but I probably wouldn’t remember it tomorrow. My mind is so disconnected that I’m not sure what’s real and what exists only in my head.
My mental health notes, the crucial ones that explain when I started losing concentration at work, are missing from the hospital’s bureaucratic system. The mental health department of the hospital has them but is “unauthorized” from sending them to me. It has been nearly three months since these records were requested.
Today I could not work if I had a job. I yelled at a customer service person on the phone because I misinterpreted what she said. I apologized for being hyper-vigilant. I am back at square one in recovery, and frankly, I don’t care about improving. I would rather watch people on the street who have functioning brains and wonder what they think about.
Homeless people don’t have to worry about how to pay rent or a mortgage. They don’t have to answer to anyone or be on time anywhere, unless they have a job of course. But homeless people with no regular jobs don’t have to be on a schedule. This idea has become a welcome one.
Two days ago, i was looking for a job. Today, my mind is incapable of work. I try to be present, but my mind hits a wall of fuzz, like snow on a cathode ray tube television. Instead it retreats into its netherworld of lost thoughts.
I used to think I had to be productive 90% of the time. Today, I don’t care. I am enjoying the sun, basking in its warmth, watching normally functioning people do their thing and not caring about being like them.