I went emotionally silent again. I’m not fostering the connections I seek. I keep doing the same things and looking for different results, but I’m not “crazy”. Just stupid I guess.

My happy place is the thrift shop. Well, home is actually my true happy place but that’s isolating. Everyone in the thrift shop is eccentric. There’s a cheap thrill in knowing I might find some music or a piece or two of audio equipment. There’s the amusing and/or irritating regulars too; the couple who follow the carts out of the back warehouse and around the store like vultures; the man who has to view the front of every CD in case the spine is lying to him; there’s the power tool junkies who always seem to be trying to convince the others to buy what’s on the shelf instead of coveting it for themselves; there’s the ultra-frugal electronics nerd who spends an exorbitant amount of time testing and re-testing a receiver/cd player/tape deck/turntable etc. even though it clearly worked when the process started 20 minutes ago; there’s the women who fill their carts up with clothes they don’t intend to buy but which they will go through and debate item by item again at the checkout; there’s the amateur goldsmiths who hang out at the expensive merchandise counter inspecting costume jewellry with utter seriousness. Then there’s me whose pathetic lifelong dream has been to own component stereo equipment with large speakers and have a kick-ass music collection.

Yeah. My life-long hobby can now be accomplished with a spotify subscription and a bluetooth speaker. Really validating shit. I’m listening to Danzig. Shiny compact disc. The spectrum analyzer on the equalizer dances to the music, the intensity meter on the reverberation amplifier pulses in sync as it provides a slight depth to the sterility of the CD. I’m only impressing myself.

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What is trying worth in a results-driven world? The day was going well. I went out to the thrift stores this morning to get out and be around people. Then my WSIB case manager called. I freaked and I haven’t called her back yet. She said she’s just checking in on the message but it’s too much. I cried, I did some breathing, a bunch of yardwork, I had a shower, put on some calming scent and instead of feeling better I’m still crying. Why? I don’t fucking know anymore. I took a clonazepam. I had to. I have to get the kids from school soon. I wish I didn’t have to be mentally ill when it comes to everything I do, but that’s the way this works. There’s always going to be mental illness and addiction. It’s always going to play a role. That’s who I am now.

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I didn’t totally blow it today. Well, I did somewhat with all the pacing and crying and not returning the phone call. I really thought I was past that reaction to WSIB. But what needed done got done. I tried keeping busy to regulate but I still needed medication anyway. Again. Needing it makes me feel dirty and incapable. Maybe having feelings and struggling but still managing doesn’t mean the day was a bust. It just means it was another day. This is life but at least I have it.