Hypnotherapy on Persephone

I've been sick to my stomach all week. I can't remember a time when I've been this nauseated persistently. I'm guessing it has something to do with Gabapentin, though I'll know more tomorrow after I speak with my pain management doctor. Another thing that has something to do with the Gabapentin (for certain) is the veil of blah has been lifted from my mind. I can focus now, I have interest again, if I'm not writing, I'm day dreaming. Sometimes, this regained cognitive ability has hindered my sociableness, resulting in snarky comments or all out avoidance. I look back on these past months as though a stranger has lived my life. My clothing items torn and not mended, personal items organized in a thoughtless manner, but most frustrating is the leftovers of a dependence on television and the internet. I love the internet, don't get me wrong, but I want to climb a tree, go swimming, relax on a beach, steal a blue fairy penguin or genetically miniaturized tiny giraffe. I want to DO stuff, not read about it or think about it, and it has made me exceptionally agitated. That could be the source of my stomach ailment, but that doesn't make enough sense for me to do anything about. I doubt that wanting to drive a race car is making me throw up at 4 a.m. (at least, without having had any tequila).

I've been scanning the various fifth generation Camaro forums, reading some car magazines, and generally praying I get well enough to actually go to mechanic school or become an engineer. I hate math with a passion, but my lungs crave to breath the scent of racing fuel and my heart skips a beat at seeing a perfectly tuned small block 305. The most exhilerating moment of my life was gripping the steering wheel of a GTO in a dragstrip in Arizona, sweat dripping into my eyes but unattended, as I wait for the green lights. I always thought I was just a driver, but I've realized after I took about our vacuum cleaner just to clean and inspect it, I really am a tinkerer. Sigh, I need to get better!

Moving on: Hypnotherapy. I have some bad family back story on this, namely a cousin who was committed after things she said under hypnosis. At least, thats the story I was told. Who knows whats true in my family. Anyway, I've been terrified of not only hypnosis but shrinks in general after hearing that story. At this point though, I'm willing to try anything to get better. I have goals to reach and an idea of how to reach them. My mind is racing faster than my hands can keep up, and that isn't acceptable. My goal is to be able to own and of course, drive a new Z28 by the time it comes out. Silly, materialistic, shallow, or whatever you chose to call it, its my goal and I'm not ashamed.

I thought of all this as I held a clear ball on a chain the doctor had given me, to test me if I could be hypnotized. He said to make it spin, and my internal voice cheered me on. Anything to get better, anything. At time I couldn't seem to do what he asked, but other times it was done before he finished his sentence. Nausea began to claw itself in from the foreground of my consciousness, assailing my concentration and overthrowing the doctor's ability to instruct me. Involuntary twitches I normally maintain control over began to surface. My inability to fully satisfy the demand for letting go of control may make me a difficult candidate for hypnosis, which I think is a quack anyway, but we'll see. Like I said, I have a goal and I want to get better, I don't care what it takes.

Here is a snippet of something I have written since getting out of the Gabapentin prison (yes, prison). I have a million ideas, so I may branch off another blog just for my writings. Cheers!

I recline back, letting the wretched smoke fill my lungs in passing sublime repose. Away I push this need I craved, drawing in, only to push it away once more. Each cigarette a secret joke, evidenced only by the slight smile in my eye. 'I was born the day of a full moon!' I inwardly reassert beneath said moon's beams. This only explains my current bliss if you go for that sort of thing. I am the primitive mind, and I care nothing for your dramatic euphemisms.

He said I had no need to be afraid, a recollection that created a soft chuckle. With this knife always at my side, I've never known fear.

I hover between madness and normalcy, basking in the blur of my transitioning between your image of me and mine. This game I play, how I adore it. Hiding behind 18 foot high salt pillars and a blood moat, I engorge myself on all these valentines. 'Oh world, you silly confused child!' I exclaim as I lean back in my dastardly creaky chair. 'You try so hard!'

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