Posts Tagged Health
Ever since Mel died, I have this ever-present reserve of emotion laying below the surface.
It is embarrassing how easily it surfaces. I don’t feel as bad, because I hear this frequently from others who talk about sudden, traumatic loss and the grief that follows.
For me. a lot of it centers around love-loss and love-acceptance. They are both such intense emotions and now, I have known them both. It’s like a new point of reference for me.
Last week I was hanging with The lesbians (my mom, her best friend, her best friend’s wife and, her best friend’s ex-partner of some 20 years). We actually had our own separate day of Grateful two days after the Official lie’s of Thanksgiving. (Yep, that’s how I feel about that holiday) They had Pandora playing on the New TV system when suddenly Evanescence was playing and I was leaking. My mother noticed and asked if we should change it? I shook my head, “No”. I let myself feel the emotion, be it loss or acceptance. I let my eyes get wet. If the tears start to roll, I let them.
Then stuff like this happens.
There was a notebook of Mel’s I was using when I was in Texas, those 12 days. I wound up bringing it home with me along with the kids personal records. I found it when unpacking and realized it was a very old notebook that had been used over the years. Most of the writing was 1991- 1995. I hid it and forgot where I hid it. It’s been bothering me since Mik and I got tattoos. I knew I had this notebook and we could piece together her writing if we had to, but then I just couldn’t remember where I put it. I knew I hid it good enough that my sister would never see it. Melissa had two letters in there to her. As much as I love my sister, I understood where Mel was coming from. I just never wanted to put it in my sister’s face. She’d have been hurt and that would have sucked. But I also found almost 5 pages she had written regarding her headaches. I read something she had only mentioned in jest. She never detailed it like she wrote about it. I started crying.
I also found a poem she wrote about a particular miscarriage. I remember reading at the time of her death and thinking I couldn’t share it with the kids. After 4 years, some clarity on where the kids are, what they need, I shared it with her daughter. There are many reasons, but as I read it this morning…I just knew I was supposed to share this with Mik, and the reasons behind it.
I started this post, talking about the emotion that springs up and my eyes leak. I can’t stop it when it happens. It happened a few times today, since I found the notebook, after I saved this post as a draft.
I hope this step is helpful. I’ve admitted I need help. I’ve never done this the right way, because I don’t know what the right way is.
I think my flu is becoming pneumonia. YAY!
I’m having such a hard time keeping my spirits up. I am just down. Down at the state of the world. Down at the way I see and hear women being talked about. Down about missing work all week and knowing I am in a financial fucking hole again. Down about family, friends and those I have lost to death or disowning. Down about being sick all the time. Down about losses. Down, down, down, downward spiral of what has become of my fucking life.
I’m so tired of fighting. Why is living such a fight? I’ve fought hard my whole life and the older I am getting the harder it is getting.
I have no one in my corner to fight with me. Not even to fight with me, but to be there for emotional support. I am totally alone. I don’t know how long I can keep this fight up. I feel like constant fighting is going to kill me.
I watch the news and today it is (again) Khashoggi. I can’t imagine it ending that way and yet I guess my fear is that we are ALL fucked. People have no compassion, there is no unity in life. Not in my life anyway. Every person who ever told me they had my back, is long gone.
I don’t think anyone deserves this kind of…isolation. It is hard to keep fighting when nothing changes, nothing gives, nothing GOOD comes from the fight. My thoughts are frightening.
My body, she has totally betrayed me. I can’t control my movements and I always have infections and wounds. This is frightening.
I’m at the point I feel the need to lighten my load so when I am dead, strangers don’t have to come in and sort through my shit. I feel like I need to have “the talk” with Melissa’s oldest child. Will you care for my things and shutting down stuff after I am gone? I certainly don’t want those who have abandoned me picking through my things and doing what they want when I am gone. I don’t want those who want nothing from and of me to suddenly need something of mine.
I feel like if you said fuck you to me in life, I want to say fuck you in my death.
I’m so tired of this. Monday can not arrive soon enough. Mid-terms can not end fast enough. They’ve already stolen it. It’s crazy feeding crazy and the future, is not bright.
I don’t know what I expected “mourning” to mean or to be like. It’s rooted itself into every fiber of my being and my soul.
I think I am understanding that it will never go away. The loss of you impacted me so deeply, because you were with me for every other loss or trauma I have ever experienced since 1988/89. When you died, the only other person who knew and understood my History, went away. You took all my secrets to your gave with you. Here I am about to start therapy, where the promise of taking your secrets to the grave with me, are on the chopping block. Your secrets have become my secrets and some of them…are weighing heavy on me. I hope that sharing with whoever I wind up seeing for therapy, isn’t breaking this trust. But there are things I can’t talk to Mik about. She knows a lot (old soul that she is), yet she doesn’t know everything and shouldn’t know everything. Same with the boys.
I feel such guilt in the way I told you we were removing life support. Not because you didn’t want it. You did. We had those “What if talks”. Not because you didn’t have a will. You did and I knew it. I was fucking blown away when I finally found it, it had never been signed. It did though show that evil woman, your brother and his wife, that you had in writing, what your wishes were. I regret it because I was hysterical. I came straight from the final meeting and was told to go in first, tell you, say what I needed to and then everyone else would go in one at a time, spend time with you before you were removed from life support.
I’m so sorry I was hysterical, shrill, sobbing and out of my mind insane. I wish I could have told you the right way. Maybe you needed to see how much I love you? Maybe you understood. Maybe you would have been exactly the same if it were me in your shoes and you in mine.
I have flashbacks out of the blue of those 12 days in Texas. They happen at the weirdest places. The weirdest times. A word, your name, a smell, a song, an object, and shit in fucking hospitals. Where btw, I am going to be spending plenty of time in the near future. I feel it in my chest, my pulse, by temperature and I hear it and see it in my head. It is always accompanied by that feeling of not being able to breathe and having to take that deep breath in, but just not being able to get enough air. It is followed by the need to scream. Primal scream, like that morning I blogged about so long ago about my drive up the highway from Mr. Yummy’s house and hearing that primal, guttural, deep in register freak out scream in my car at 70 miles an hour, while trying to strangle my steering wheel and give it shaken baby syndrome, thinking now would be a good time to hit a wall. It was such a foreign voice, I literally looked in my back seat to see who was screaming.
It is happening more and more. My wailing wall is so big.
Did you know it would be this Grand(e) (Venti)?
This is where my head is this morning. I realize I am terrified of Therapy. It’s sad I have never felt anyone I talked to in the past helped me deal with trauma from my childhood, adolescence, or my marriages, motherhood and abusive boyfriends. All of it has brought me to the loss of you and my inability to fucking deal with this trauma, sorrow and loss. The abandonment issues and trust issues I already had, have married the stuff from losing you. It is so big, inside of me. It’s in me and it’s bigger than me. Getting it out is going to hurt. Really bad. More than Venti.
I see your profile, Miki beyond you. You are making vocal “sounds”. I look at your profile and focus on your lips, the cadance and rhythms I hear. It’s Three. It dawns on me as I watch you on the second “sound” that you are trying to form the word love. It was the way your lips were shaped, and the air that was coming out. I asked, “Are you trying to tell Miki that you love her!?” A tear fell, and you nodded, “Yes”. I hope this is an important moment in your daughters life of KNOWING the love you had for her.
I didn’t realize it immediately, I think I was back home. I had heard the same sounds from you two nights earlier that I figured out the Miki thing. It was when you and I were alone in your room and I told you that you were my soul mate. I didn’t “hear you” that night, but I did eventually hear you. It was bittersweet. I was alone. No one saw it, heard it or, knew it but me and that felt lonely, but I was already with Mr. Yummy again and that was a miserable shit show in the end. But, I know it now. Maybe that was appropriate though, since no one knows the friendship we had. Many people don’t understand it. More than one person has asked me if we were lovers. Maybe it is because I called you “My Love” in the hospital, not caring what people assumed. You were my Love. I loved you more than any other boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or lover I have ever had. I held you in higher regard than any other person I knew, because you were my BEST friend and I loved you for being the person I knew. You were the person I trusted, the person I could and would say anything to. I WAS and remain in love with you. Love is love. Because we didn’t have sex, doesn’t mean I didn’t love you more than any other person I’ve ever known. When I had no family. I had you. When I had no support. I had you. When I was in danger. I had you.
One joy you gave me during the 12 days was this: Every person who met me and heard my name said “Ohhhh, the best friend…” and treated me with that reverence. Well, except…ya know.
Mourning…I had no idea what was coming.
I’ve been hungry for three weeks. The more tasteless and less joy I have had in eating and my HS has gotten worse. I’ve not craved coffee and I’ve not really missed added sugars and that surprises me because I have cut out added sugar, but also have been picky about sugar amounts added in to food. Fructose that is naturally occurring has been fine, but that’s about it.
Today, I had a hard-core craving though and it’s weird, because I don’t drink soda. We are allowed two soda’s a day at work and I have always bitched that they allow the worst beverage, health wise. I drink the bottled water. Today, I’d have slit your throat for an Orange Crush. No matter how much water or juice I have had (and it’s mostly water or green tea) I just can’t feel like I’m not thirsty.
Tonight I had taco’s with salsa and all the spices that make them yummy. I felt full after two tacos. I had a coffee with non dairy creamer and a glass of crush. I felt totally satiated but now, have a huge thirst for water.
I feel bad, but I don’t feel bad. I see my doctor on Monday and from there she will refer me to someone else for the HS. I will work a game plan from there with the new person. I’m not going to feel bad for falling one night.
My body shape is feeling different and I’m OK with that. It’s nice to feel some weight fall off, but my HS has gone insane so I am aware how much stress plays into my HS.
I realized some things today as I was driving home from a chiropractor appointment.
Since you died, I have had SO much loss. I mean… an abnormal amount, even for me at my worst.
What I specifically realized today, I laughed really hard, to the point of gasping, tears, and not being able to stop, the last night we talked. I have not had that type of laugh, since 24, December 2014. I’ve laughed, and some were really good, but none have been that hysterical belly laugh. I miss that.
This realization got me thinking about other losses. Mr. Y, PD, The Girl, my health (has tanked since you died) my car, my finances, a serious work injury 4 months ago, and a few other important relationships I am watching, or have recently watched tanking.
I don’t know if it is, but it felt important to realize these things.
I don’t have a best friend anymore. I don’t think I ever will again. I have a really good friend. He’s a guy and he has NO clue how important he is to me, or that I think of him in the way I do. I couldn’t handle it if he knew. The weird thing, is that it is anything BUT, romantic. There is not a single, tiny, tiny, speck of “I want him that way”. I love him, he means the world to me. He helped me more than anyone after you died, and continues to, but he is a friend.
Sometimes, I feel like I have just given up. I’ve got no passion. I don’t even write anymore! Me, who wrote every day, sometimes multiple times a day, for hours at a time! It’s like part of the fun of my writing was reading you 99.999 percent of everything I ever wrote from the day we met.
One more thing, I took the first card you gave me for my birthday and Miki and I did this:
I changed the theme. I think it’s a push for me to start writing again.
I’m also going to write really honestly.
Here are some truths.
I miss The Girl. I am pretty sure she knows this. I’ve never stopped loving her, though I fear her intensely because at one time, she had the power, and used it to try and hurt me. It worked. I’d love to have a relationship with her, but I also fear it. Trust and all.
I am moving on in life after so many losses, but in all honesty if I die today, I am pretty OK with that. I don’t think I am courting death, but maybe I am. I’m not going to the doctor and I have some pretty serious things going on with my body. Do I ignore it longer and go till I drop, or do I go to the doctor?
I’m not really into more of the same. I have kind of had enough of the loss.
I am probably more closed off than ever, because to let anyone in that close would mean to trust, and I am very, very, very careful about who I hand actual trust to.
On the other side, I know the things I have experienced, seen and felt, to be true. It’s just that life hit me so hard I fell off the path. I’ve not gone back to that same hateful person, but there is this wall of protection around me and when you live like that, you aren’t really living at all. You’re sitting around, waiting for it to be done. My life has felt like the last act, of a bad play, that will not fucking end.
But still I am waiting. I don’t know for what, but I am waiting.
I’m thinking I know what I personally need to do, but I have procrastinated because to jump back into it means work and I know that with so much hidden emotion and denied feeling, it’s going to be heavy. It can’t be any heavier than keeping all this shit inside me, can it?
There are things I am totally happy about also.
I love my little apartment. I love that the things I do in my life, are mine. I do them when I want and no one criticizes me, tells me I am wrong, disapproves, or hits me.
I love my few friends I have kept. These are the people I trust and am comfortable with.
Yesterday, I read something I wrote a few moths before the stroke. How odd. As things were getting better and I was happy because of Mr. Yummy, my move, my job, my soaring spiritual awakening, there was a point I admitted I feared what was coming. In all honesty I seriously thought The Girl was about to make an appearance and I wasn’t sure I could do it. That would have been so much easier than losing Mel, Mr. Yummy and Arie. All within a short time span. Back to back. It felt so cruel. it made me ask if I was a good person? I sort of began to doubt my value. I forgot I am what I am and deserve what I deserve, as do you.