Monthly Archives: March 2015
I can hang in one more day. Tomorrow I have an afternoon appointment with the grief support group. Only they aren’t sending me straight to a support group. I get to start one on one. Guess that means I need to work through some stuff before I can sit with a room of people.
I don’t get to do the second treatment for the bugs till Wednesday, yet I can feel new bite.
I am out of my mind frustrated.
I guess I stand in a corner and don’t sit anywhere or touch anyone during my appointment.
I feel a thousand miles away from Mr. Yummy. He is frustrated too and said he hates waking up every day feeling dirty.
How am I to process that?
I have made him feel dirty.
It all makes me sad. I don’t think I’ll ever be to him, what I once was before this all happened. I’ll remain an old friend that he just happens to fuck.
As much as I love him and want to be more, If this is to be the case, I am not sure I am OK with that for him, or for me. Of course, I can’t think about another thing at the moment so till I make it through getting rid of these fuckers, and losing some of my anger at Mel..it is on the back burner. For all I know, I am just doing my old, worry about the worst and make it happen. I don’t want to do that.
I just want my life back.
The night of my last post, the post about Universe telling me to this is my chance, Mr. Yummy popped a movie in and we watched.
He had no idea what the movie was about, nor did I. I may not have watched as it was. I feel as lost as Ms. Strayed. It took everything I had, not to fall apart during the movie. SO many parts of her are how I am feeling about losing Mel.
She was one of the great loves of my life, and I have lost her. I had 25 great years being her best friend, but I have lost her, too soon, too violently, too tragically. My love, my love, how I miss you through all my anger and rage.
I’ve cried so many tears over you and there are more to come. They come easily. They silently flow. Maybe they will never end, but I hope to find the peace that came at the end of the trail.
Though I don’t plan on an 1100 mile walk, nor shooting heroin, nor fucking any guy who looks at me, I am as lost as if I were.
It sounds so foreign on my tongue, yet I want it so badly.
Isn’t it ironic, I hear the Universe say, “Stay, this is your chance not to run” and then Mr. Yummy plays this movie. If you’re grieving, maybe you will find something in this movie like I did.
I woke up this morning, feeling pretty good. On a scale of one to ten I was about a 4, which as of late, is very, VERY good.
I was laying in Mr. Yummy’s bed, slowly coming to. I heard my text notification, covered my head with the pillow and went back to the sleepier side of the pillow for a few minutes. Checked my text, woke up and realized that was the first time, since I got the flu a few months ago, that I woke up to something other than the intense itch.
I smiled inside.
Mr. Yummy, on the other hand has not been sleeping well. The itch is worse at night. He’s gotten really quiet and well, that’s scared me. I feel SO bad. This is not something I wanted to happen to him. I AM the cause of his intense itch.
Night before last, I did not take an antihistamine and I was up three times. I noticed that he was not sleeping, and was not in his bed with me. I felt really bad about that all day at work, so last night I again offered him a Zyrtec. This time, he slept a little better, and I was aware of him next to me. I was hopeful since we treated the same day, that he woke this morning with a little relief. He said he slept better but that it wasn’t getting better. He also said it wasn’t getting worse. That’s a YAY! But the fact he is going through this at all is killing me inside. ( I know, look at all the negative wording I am using.)
I was out of icky stick tubes and wanted to smoke so because I was suddenly SO much more angry at Melissa. I didn’t say anything, just got in my car and went to the smoke store. I got up to the highway and was getting ready to make my left, when I heard myself
say start screaming, “Well, I could drive my car into a brick wall, but then I’D HAVE TO SEE MELISSA AND I DON”T WANT TO SEE THAT FUCKING BITCH YET!!! By now, I’m on the highway accelerating, but apparently, I had more to scream. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! IT WASN’T ENOUGH TO FUCK UP YOUR OWN KID’S LIVES, BUT YOU HAD TO FUCK UP MINE AND NOW MR. YUMMY’S LIVES TOO?!?!?!” Then this primal screaming just started coming out of me.
It was a strange moment. As I was driving home, I heard myself utter, “Boy, that felt good.”
When I got here, the motorcycle was out and Mr. Yummy was coming out of the motorcycle hut. I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t look at him, I just headed straight into the house. I was still angry and I am really upset that he has scabies. I don’t want to read more into his silence than there is because he went out of his way Wednesday night to tell me he has feelings for me. He left, I paced, and screamed, smoked, started making coffee and suddenly got scared at what I heard myself say in my car as I found myself alone in Mr. Yummy’s house, with all his rifles and handguns.
I picked up my phone and called 1-800-273-8255 (Thanks Google). I don’t know how long I talked to Karen, but it helped. I then text a friend. I asked him to call me when he was able, he did. We talked at length.
I’m still fucked up, but I feel like the wind up airplane rubber band that just released so, I am writing…because that’s what I do when I need to calm, breathe, think, flow and release. Then I am going to take an Epsom salt bath, to try to draw out some of the literal shit these fucking parasites have left inside my body. Before the bath though, I am going to try this recipe for Crazy Coffee that my friend text me. The only coconut oil that I have at the moment though, is infused.
I’ve never in my life heard the woman who was in my car this morning and she scared me.
And all I got were these lousy scabies.
Didn’t have them when I left. But I spent 11 days in a hospital, several hours on airplanes, the same 11 days in hospital, I was also at her house. I slept in her daughter’s bed one night, who had a rash. Didn’t think twice of holding her hand, as I was trying not to cry as I walked in Mel’s room for the first time. Having been prepped, I still started to get emotional, and was telling myself I could do this for Mel, stiff upper lip. Her daughter heard me and took my hand and just marched me to her mother’s bedside.
I spent time talking to my mom today, reading her some of Mini Me (Mel’s daughter) and me talking. Explaining some of the things we went through and saw in the hospital, as well as heard. My mom was sort of beside herself at what it was like for 11 days. I told her I felt picked on by the Universe. Like I wasn’t specific about the type of happiness I wanted. I want unbridled joy and bliss, like that spiritual rush I had in 2011. I don’t want happy via tragedy or drama, like Mr. Yummy being very nice to me about his now having scabies.
This morning as we were showering, washing off our treatments, I noticed that he has bruises from scratching. I almost lost it, because I have been that way for almost two months and I didn’t want this to happen to him.
Thanks for moving me in, here…have some scabies!
My mother asked me to please go get some counseling because I do sound traumatized; when I talk about it.
We have to re-treat in two weeks. Hopefully, there is no re-infestation, hopefully our water and dryer were above 122 degrees. Hopefully I vacuumed everything thoroughly and efficiently because I have been itching for almost two months and am at my emotional limit. The itching just makes me more angry and I am pretty sure the anxiety of the itching and not knowing what it was has caused some of the panic.
But truth be told. I agree with my mom and my doctor, when I say I feel like I have a touch of PTSD, and they say…get some help.