Mercy in Every day scata

I saw the damn ortho doctor yesterday.

When I told him that I became suicidal due to the pain and ended up on a 72 hour hold, he didn’t bat an eye. He just asked me if I was on Meloxicam. I said, Yes, for a year, 15 mg. I swear to fucking god if he was close enough to kick (I should have got up and done it anyways) I would have kicked him right in the balls and said “Lets see how well the fucking Meloxicam works for that, you ass.”

My calendar is a mess of appointments. PT, psychotherapy, psychiatrist, ortho. In between all of these appointments, I try to catch my breath, I try not to become so dead inside. I almost prefer the rapid cycling better, even though the ever-changing moods were exhausting, at least it wasn’t always being depressed.

Did I mention that I’ve been dying my hair funky colors? I had pure purple hair that pissed P off so bad. I had no idea she would react so badly. So because I want to keep the peace (somewhat) I dyed the majority of it back to chocolate cherry, and still have that shock of purple in the front. I intend to keep it that way… or red… or pink. Who knows. I’m just going to change it whenever. It’s my fucking hair, right? And who cares if I’m “old” I can be “old and crazy” now.

The thing is, I need to be me. I am a punk. I always have been. I like purple hair and black nails and combat boots. Shit, I should start wearing safety pin earrings again. It all comes down to the saying “Be true to thyself”. Why can’t I be happy? If this makes me happy, what is so wrong with it?

I’ve been living my life for everyone else for so long. I’ve forgotten who I really am. I am a bit of a chameleon that way. I pick up on others moods and ways. That is when being an Empath sucks donkey balls. You do tend to lose yourself.

I’m going to try hard not to let that happen anymore.