Today is October 24, '20 as I write this. Fall is certainly here. I woke up shivering last night because it got quite chilly outside, and evidently, inside.
I just woke up from a marathon sleep of about 12 hours or so. This past week, I had to get up on Monday, Tuesday and Friday at 5am because of shipments arriving at work for Christmas. This is a crazy busy time of year where I work. October/early November is the most hectic time for my job every year preparing for the holly-days. I get home tired and sore, enough to wipe out any gym time because work IS my gym. But, going to the gym is a massive pain in the ass these days. I do understand it, but I don't like it. You can only go by appointment because of this whole damned Covid thing. When I get a chance to, I run outside. I'm contemplating again training for a marathon. The last run I did, I slowed my pace a little and found I could run longer a lot more comfortably, making me think if I trained, I could actually do it, so we'll see. It'd be pretty epic for me, being 55 soon, to run a marathon for the first time.
I do miss participating in taekwondo too, but I'll only train under one particular trainer, and he's not doing it anymore. I feel I could improve upon the black belt skills I've learned. I love the striking that comes with taekwondo, and the forms that shape the technique. I don't really see a time when I'll ever go back to it, though, unfortunately. Back in the day when I earned my belt, I went with my wife and daughter, neither of whom train anymore. They both earned 2nd degree black belts while I toiled earning my first; but like a grade 9 teacher of mine said when I failed two grades before, the mountaintop looks the same from the peak no matter how long it takes to get there.
So therefore comes the admission I've not really made in any forthright manner before in the past: I am a slow learner. For whatever reasons; but I surmise that it might be perhaps because of the TBI's I experienced as a child. I remember my grades were picking up from steady C's in the first three grades to B's, and then Dad died, a bunch of accidents happened, among other things, and from that point forward I struggled in school. My behavior changed a lot. I drove my mother and siblings crazy with a lot of my antics, understandably, and back in those days, not a lot of attention was paid to sufferers of TBI's or the ramifications that come with dealing with them. My cognitive behavior was radically changed, and worsened as time went on, because I didn't know the source of it all, and neither did anyone else. Now, it's plain as day. I have to hope that those I've wronged back in those days might understand my lack of judgment brought on by all this stuff I was forced to grapple with. Even today, I question some of my judgment and how I react to things. But I blame myself less now, at least. Sometimes.
Having a learning disability isn't something anyone would actually brag about on their job resumes. It isn't something that's improved over the years, either. I know people get frustrated with me when I can't pick something up right away, or even soon, and I never offer the reasons that I just provided here in this blog, because I hate using excuses. Especially repeatedly. But it's held me back a lot through life when it came to nailing the 'big jobs', not to mention keeping my self-confidence underground. I do have an inferiority complex. I don't think a lot of people admit these things, because of the fear of shame that it might invite, not necessarily in person -- but once the back is turned. I don't factually know what people say when I'm not around, but I have a good idea. But maybe that's the problem. Assumption can truly be a demon.
I remember when I was a teenager and I got my first job as a store clerk at Green Gables on West Lane here in Moncton. When I was being trained by the legendary Donnie Goguen, who managed the store, it took two to three weeks to get me through it, when most people learn within a week. The man had epic patience with me! I worked for him under three different company names, though, so he must've seen something in me. He did make me assistant manager at Green Gables back in '86, and I kind of blew the opportunity by requesting that I learn management skills more slowly. Not to mention I just wasn't responsible. Ironically, the one that took the assistant manager title from me was my wife-to-be! That was Donnie's choice, not hers. She was far sharper and actually mentally stable. That remains today. In retrospect, everything turned out how it should have, because we wound up being married with a wonderful little girl, plus, I'm still here. I'm convinced I wouldn't be if not for Janice. My sailboat was adrift at sea and she was the wind that brought me to shore, steering me out of the storms.
Still, I doubt myself and question my decisions, and even the things I say, on a regular basis. Such is the life of a traumatic brain injury patient. I say 'patient', because since '96, I've been treated for it by my family doctor, until I finally was given a psychiatrist fairly recently. Only to be dropped by said psychiatrist, so now my doctor is overseeing things again. Thing is, my doctor is not a shrink or psychologist. I'm basically on my own again as far as navigating my way through this, although I'd be highly remiss if I didn't mention that Janice is my number 1 advocate. She accompanies me to my appointments these days, by my request, to offer information that I might be hesitant to divulge. She even covertly talks to my medical professionals when things flare up and she wants guidance. That's protection you can't buy. On a cute aside, my wife's spirit animal is the hippo, she absolutely loves Fiona the Hippo at the Cincinatti Zoo. But I refuse to call her 'my little hippo' because of what some rude people might think. so I call her my 'Shrippo', or, my Incredble Shrinking Hippo. To her, I'm her Monkey, my spirit animal. You should experience us at our loosest around here. I'll jump around making monkey noises to the delight of my wife. When the Gorilla Glue commercials come on TV, I mark out and imitate the gorilla, I become a giant kid. I'm my wife's Monkey, who will go into Gorilla Mode to defend the honor of my sweet Shrippo. And be careful if you incite that taekwondo Gorilla to come to the surface! I'll come at you with all bananas blazing.
I worry sometimes at work that I'll lose my job, especially these days. I won't mention the company I work for, but suffice to say they're constantly making cuts to their workforce, despite the fact that with the onset of Covid, they're making billions more in profits as a result of it. But they insist on less people doing more work. My job title is receiver. At most places under this company, they've eliminated receivers, but my boss insisted on keeping me because he values my work. Here's the thing... he's not going to be my boss forever. He talks a lot about leaving, and everytime he does, I get nervous. I'm quite sure when he does, the next boss will cut my position like all the other places. That would leave me to seek out a new job. I've been doing this one for ten years this month. At my age, there's not a lot I can do, or learn very quickly, so that would throw my life into chaos. Thus the worry is there. To be blunt, I'm really not that smart or sharp.
A lot of people have told me I should be a writer for a living. I always rebuke that with the facts that I failed three grades, barely squeaked out of high school, and don't have any clue what I would do to get that kind of work. Go to school again? I don't think so. Last time I attempted going back to school it didn't go very well, hence my learning impairment. I'm not saying I'm stupid, just that my brain's efficiency level isn't exactly top notch, given my circumstances. You might think, you, reading this, that my writing doesn't reflect someone with the description I gave above. But everything I said is true. I have no clue whatsoever who would hire me to write for them, or why. I did start writing a book actually, but threw it aside after my last counselor critiqued the hell out of a short story I wrote. She was an author herself, so her opinion threw a lot of cold water on any creative fire I had, whether she meant that or not.
On the other hand, there's this woman I know who's written a ton of books that insists my writing is kick-ass and needs to be seen. She's quite special to me, really. MIMA, or Michelle, is kind of a mentor to me when it comes to writing at all. She's the reason I began writing a book, with her encouragement. She's also a big reason why I'm very level headed these days, after she suggested I try something to combat my mental illness issues. She recommended a mantra: "my ego is trying to kill me". It works! Whenever I feel slighted or degraded in any way, I tell myself this. It's true when you think about it, that the ego gets in the way of pretty much everything. Ultimately, Pride really is a deadly sin. If you feel you're entitled to anything, you set yourself up for disappointment that could represent mammoth proportions, as it did with me. I'm not saying this is a magic bullet, or I'm cured in any way, but it's a great weapon in my defense arsenal. I owe MIMA a lot. God bless her. I encourage you to check her out, too.
I'm happy to report that there's been no incidents of self harm since my last post. That's definitely progress, even if it's not that lengthy of an amount of time. But, there is another health issue in the form of nodes on my vocal cords. I got it checked out and apparently, they're benign (hopefully anyway), but I see my ENT in a few weeks where she'll check on them to see if it's improved by doubling the dose of my stomach meds; she believes it may have something to do with acid reflux, which I don't think, but I'll follow her instructions nonetheless. They likely will have to be surgically removed. That means Janice gets complete silence from me for at least two weeks after such surgery. So no jumping around with monkey noises for that period of time.
On another note, I was happy that a jam band appeared to be forming with me drumming, until suddenly the plug was pulled. This left me thinking about starting a YouTube channel with me drumming to songs so guitar players out there can crank it up and jam along with me that way. I'm not what you'd call much of a good drummer, but it's something I'd get a kick out of. I finally landed a cymbal that I'd only dreamed of having all of my drumming life, a 22 inch Zildjian K Ride, albeit used, but after I polished that sucker up it was new to me. It might just light that fire under my ass to get playing again, bad wrist and all. Maybe I can conjure up another jam band out of it. Jamming is one of my favorite things in life to do that I haven't done now in years, sadly.
I will close once again on this note... that if you're suffering from mental illness of any kind, of any severity, you absolutely have to talk to someone and/or get help. If your partner is supporting you, you have no idea how much of a blessing it is, or maybe you do. If your partner is bringing you down because of it, LEAVE. You're worth so much more. There are a lot of us out here who will catch you if you fall. Just like a lot of folks broke my own fall. Don't give up on yourself!
God bless, and thanks so much for reading.
