annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 243

After I wrote here last night I went up to bed where I'd put the tube of ointment, the anti-pre-cancerous cells ointment, on the pillow to make sure I remembered to apply it before I went to bed. So I did. Including on the skin between my upper lip and my nose. Then I freaked out. Like, majorly freaked out. I didn't try to wash it off, because I was frozen into inactivity and had to concentrate all my energy and everything else on stopping my tongue licking my lips and stopping my lips folding in on each other so that the skin with the cream on went inside my mouth. (This is a bonus feature of having false teeth - your mouth can cave right in.) I took a codeine and a zopiclone and after what seemed like two lifetimes but was probably only half an hour, I had a sudden rush of total drowsiness and then I was out and it was over. I had intense dreams that were so unrelated to the way objects exist and life is lived that I can't begin to describe them but they were about me being wrong, not just saying, thinking or doing something wrong but being wrong, in my very existence.

It took me a while to get up and out of bed after that and by the time I did the dermatologist's office was open so I called them and said I wasn't going to use the ointment on my face. The guy asked me a few questions and said to stop all of it if I wanted and gave me an appointment for a couple of weeks time, the first available, to review my situation.

If I had more sense I'd have rested today but I didn't, I was locked into a maniacal, purposeful mode. I am OK, I am efficient, I can work through a list of tasks and I will. So I did, with grim determination, including the zoom drop-in art session at the recovery centre. This was been an oasis of loveliness (until today), with just me, the teacher and one or two other clients, peacefully dabbling away at some project or other. Turner in my case. But today there were loads of people, already deep in a conversation about gollywogs when I arrived. There were a couple of loud, strong-willed women involved, who spoke over anyone who suggested that there was anything in a gollywog that might upset a black person, THERE ISN'T, that's simply NOT TRUE. Man. Why didn't I just sign out? I have no idea. I was too tired to make good decisions. They then fell into a chat about sex in a way that left me feeling repulsed but again, frozen into inactivity. stuck in this endless zoom group of vile comments that made me want to block up my ears forever more.

When it was finished I walked on the hills with Shirley, but all clenched up, unable to let go. Yin yoga - kept noticing I had my shoulders up under my ears, my jaw clamped together, awful, awful, awful.

Bed now. Another day tomorrow. All that skin stuff is mixed up with Barb/awittykitty who died of untreated skin cancer. Mine isn't actual cancer, but why can't I just do it, use the cream before it turns malignant? Which it won't definitely do, but it might.

11:08 p.m. - 12.11.20


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