Message in a Bottle

I write this blog for a number of reasons. Primarily, it is my catharsis to release nearly every CRPS-related thing that is happening in my life. It is a record of everything CRPS is teaching me, a record of how CRPS is changing me.

I blog using my “journal” voice, the voice I use in my handwriting, writing that fills little blank books, bound and kept closed tightly with elastic, writing that may never to be seen again. Self-indulgent streams of consciousness that don’t pander to any particular audience (despite the fact that I never want you to forget that I am always talking directly to you). Loosely formulated, brutal honesty complete with unabashed f-bombs and shit droppings. Incomplete sentences, with incorrect punctuation. And, it is barely bearable for me to use the tidy Alegreya Sans typeface to express a voice that I normally see conveyed in sort of legible chicken scratch, peppered with crossings outs, crowded margins, dyslexic inaccuracies, and ink blotches that indicate a blinking cursor in my brain.

So why do I do it? Why type out all of this nonsense, pasting .gifs, .pngs, and .jpgs instead of clippings, receipts, and plane tickets onto the pages? Why not just fill another black, green, or red 3.5″ x 5.5″ moleskine?


Because (pathetically, shamefully) I’m really fucking lonely. CRPS is an island of brutal isolation.

I used to use social media, primarily Facebook, to keep in touch with the outside world. In the past year, as you may have noticed, Facebook has become an acrid cesspool of self-righteous political chest thumping. And the braggarts with their exotic foods and journeys around the world (I used to be one of them, so I make this point out of jealousy and embarrassment. Jealous of trips I am no longer able to take, embarrassed to once have been inconsiderately flamboyant with my social media posts). And then there are those who prefer to use the platform as a weapon to inflict emotional pain. Every day, I felt more angry, jealous, sad, and more disconnected from a world that used to be mine. I realized that I have very little in common anymore with my family and friends. The isolation grew greater through being constantly connected. I don’t need extraneous reasons to feel angry, jealous, sad, and disconnected; CRP(fucking)S is enough. In February, I logged out of Facebook.

“The initial mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?” ~Louise Bogen, Journey Around My Room

And so, this blog has become my message in a bottle. And, wouldn’t you know it? It seems I’m not alone in being alone.

Message in a Bottle
Just a castaway
An island lost at sea
Another lonely day
With no one here but me
More loneliness
Than any man could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair
I’ll send an SOS to the world
I’ll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle
A year has passed since I wrote my note
But I should have known this right from the start
Only hope can keep me together
Love can mend your life
But love can break your heart
I’ll send an SOS to the world
I’ll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle
Walked out this morning
Don’t believe what I saw
A hundred billion bottles
Washed up on the shore
Seems I’m not alone at being alone
A hundred billion casatways
Looking for a home
I’ll send an SOS to the world
I’ll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle
Sending out an SOS

2 thoughts on “Message in a Bottle

  1. We are all going through our own battles, as we have discussed before. I can’t say that mine is harder or easier because I’m not *you*. However, as you said, there are people that are experiencing something that’s similar. That’s causing them to be isolated in one way or another. Physically bound by an inability to move here or there. Blocked by pain and losing friends because you just can’t handle the pain or loud noises or being in public with them. You most certainly… I most certainly wish I could go out and laugh and have a great time. Have drinks, play games, chat, whatever. It’s all been taken away. I miss those friendships quite a bit. I’ve been in my King sized bed (starboard side), under the covers, with sound canceling headphones for the majority of the 5 months of this year. I hate it. I hate this life. Similarly, as you did, I turned off all notifications from Facebook. It hurt to see people I was close with, continuing on with their activities and lives while I’m here, jealous and heartbroken. It’s only gotten worse, as the weeks and months, tick by. This is not life. This is existence.
    One thing that I can really count on, is you. Just by being there, you help. Fighting your battle as I fight mine. I look up to you. Very much. You’ve given me strength when mine has been exhausted. So, for that, I thank you JayPea, from my heart and soul.
    I frequently want to go grab a coffee, meal or milkshake with you and to chat like normal friends do. We don’t need to talk about our fucked up problems. We know that already. It’s like we can ignore our own 800-lb gorillas in the room and just have a nice time. When one of us gets to our stopping-point, it’s ok, we know it’s going to happen.
    So, hopefully soon, a delicious milkshake is on me. Might be a 15 minute visit. Might be 3 hours. It will certainly be fun. We leave our gorillas in the parking lot. We spend enough time with them anyway.


  2. Hm. Yeah… So much… This is not even existence. It’s subsistence. “The whole world is spinning, and I am standing still…” Maybe you should start a blog too. It is surprisingly therapeutic.


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