Besides being one of my favorite quotes from my favorite movie (guess.), it's how I feel tonight. Yep. I hurt like I've been hit with a ton of bricks - thanks to Kim for the life-saving massage at dance tonight - but I still hurt like I'm under those bricks. I couldn't for the life of me find any pep to dance tonight - only towards the end of the night did I perk up. When I got home, I figured it out:
I AM A FUCKING RETARD. Carla, you are diabetic, you fool. Take the amount of insulin you need and you won't feel as terrible. Still might feel bad, but not sleepy and bad. I ate pizza for dinner and drank a SPRITE with it - and only took insulin for the pizza. Do you KNOW how much sugar is in a SPRITE - and not a can - one of those GIANT soft drink containers at the mall. Yes. Then I tried to be social and dance with THAT MUCH SUGAR rushing through my veins. What a retard I am.
There are other issues that also need to be blogged about - the number of people who came up to me tonight to tell me something they heard/saw/found out about CF; How much I love people, How much I hate people, etc.
But right now I need to talk about this:
I think I am teetering on the verge of depression. Tonight as I sat on the floor of the Senior Center I started to cry thinking about how much work it would be to get up and actually dance. I was sitting by myself - and it wasn't honestly for very long - but long enough that I started to cry. I have this hole in me and sometimes it just really hurts.
There are times when I am so happy and I love everything, and then there are days like yesterday and today when the physical and emotional pain combine into one giant ball of awfulness. I am so thankful that I have some really wonderful friends - people who can make me laugh when they don't even know that anything is wrong.
What I'd really like is someone who would just KNOW that I'm not quite right and would ask me why. Of course I would completely lose my shit if someone actually straight out asked me what the fuck is wrong with me - well, that's not true. I'd say I'm fine until they say, "Carla, I know you well enough to know you're not fine, now spill."
And then the crying would start. And all the sobbing and the crying and did I mention the crying? Because there would be crying. And the sobbing mumble - the one where no one actually understands what you are saying but they just nod and hold your head like, "It's okay to be crazy right now... but maybe let's go outside and be crazy so it's not right here in the middle of the dance floor."
That'd be nice. Then it wouldn't just be me with the crying and the sobbing and the crying. I hate feeling this way - in physical pain, which causes emotional pain, or maybe the other way around, but whatever it is I hate it.
If you can find the version of me that can stay awake for more than 8 hours a day please let me know where she wandered off to, because she CERTAINLY did NOT have permission to do so. She needs to get her ass back and return to her post as "keeper-awaker."
Right now, I need to sleep because I have dance tomorrow and I am in charge of driving people other than myself, so I better be awake. And then I have to be somewhere at sometime to watch something, I think. I'll figure it out tomorrow.
And I need Chris to email me his observation or what he overheard or whatever it was he so desperately needed to tell me but couldn't because it's horrible and bad to talk about people when they are within 10 feet of you. Again, to quote my favorite movie, "Well, you know what they say: if you don't have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me!"