2009-3-28

In the dream my hands and feet are bound. I am inside a barrell. The barrell is full of water save for half an inch at the top. The top of the barrell is nailed on.
I know I can breath in the shallow spot of air, but I also know I won't be able to for long. That will become carbon monoxide quickly.
I think of tipping the barrell but don't know where that tiny bit of air would end up or if I will be able to reach it again. I don't know if the barrell will roll. There is no guarantee that it will break. It might not break.
I cannot figure out the weakness. I cannot figure out how to escape this.
I cannot accept that I will die this way.
I can only try to scream into that tiny space.
Hope fades. Panic is on the horizon.
I awake.

I am surrounded. My life is full of addicts. Xanax, alcohol, prescription drugs. All of my friends are....incoherent. I talk but they don't hear me. They misconstrue my words. Sometimes, they don't remember what I said at all.
I ended up with barstools when I said "office chair".
I searched for the wallet for the thousandth time.
I made excuses for him in public.
I remember how it goes away...every time it goes away.

I feel like I'm screaming into a canyon.

How do I change it?
What will I lose when I do?

1-29-08 internal conversations.....and epiphanies?

This rant...only in my head...began when he ended his e-mail with: Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Which, oddly, doesn't seem to apply to ME but only to her.

Here is what you don’t know about me right now. Everyone – without exception – EVERYONE in my life outside these walls, is in some stage of the grieving process. Myself included.
Two of them are suicidal. One of them, because she really is lost. One because she exploits the sympathy of others. Regardless, they both need consolation.
I spend my days trying to find joy in a joyless world. I come here and smile and work and pretend this happiness. I leave MY pain outside the door. It doesn’t belong here. I do not require anyone here to bear any of my burden. None. It is mine.
I am sorry if my well of compassion is not endless. It has a bottom and it is drained dry much more often than one might think. I cannot take on another. I will not. Particularly when that one, like the latter of my own, creates most of her own pain. AND the alcohol. I won’t try to save a self-destructive soul. I won’t do it again. It ends very messily. I’ll not do it again.

Leave me to my own. Let me bear my burdens alone as I choose and try…try not to add to them.
If it is your calling to save the world, then by all means save it. It is not mine. I thought it was and then I learned that I am powerless to change a person who wants to live a miserable life.

Does that class teach you how not to let other people’s burdens become your own? You might want to watch that…and re-read Mother Theresa’s own inner conflict. As strong as you are, you can lose yourself and your faith if you surround yourself with the pain of others.
Good luck with that.

Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for Everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for everyONE you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for EVERYone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for EVERYONE you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!
Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!

even me

I just, this very second, learned something about myself.
I learned that the big, strong, loud voice in my head that says “NO! I’M NOT GOING TO FEEL! I’M NOT GOING TO BE SUCKERED INTO THIS AGAIN! I’M NOT THE SUPPORTER ANYMORE! I’M NOT GOING TO BE THE COMPASSIONATE ONE!” is hiding this little tiny voice that says “what about me? Who’s going to support me?”
The sudden knowledge of that tiny voice makes me spontaneously tear up. Cry? I haven’t cried in………………………………………………ages.

Everyone is fighting some kind of battle.
Even me.
Please don’t go trying to support me. I don’t want to cry. I won’t cry. I WON’T FEEL ANYMORE!

Man. It really is my issue. It really is.

1-26-08 - A week of conflict

Ok, I've got the angry music on and I'm ready to start blasting.

I wrote this at work on Thursday, the day I got busted for job searching. "RRRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! I’m so busted, but why wouldn’t I be? I’m the one talking crap in e-mails and surfing Monster during business hours. Do they really want to “make me happy” or do they want to pander to me until they can replace me? Still, what is right for me?
Is SHE the only problem? Is that honest? I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t been given a chance to do this job w/o the daily animosity. Animosity. That is exactly the right word. So much undue anger and stress. Oh yeah, we can blame it on “what she’s going through”, but just so you know, when I say I have no patience for her because of what I’ve been through, you’re going to have to grant me that. (and really – is it “what she’s going through” still? It’s been this way ALL YEAR!)

Self-pity. Ptooie! I’ll have none of it NO MORE. NONE. I don’t care the “reasons”. Who, in fact, really ever does? Moreso if the self-pity is self inflicted. Good grief. Stop making things up and maybe the world won’t look so damned bleak all the time! A 10 minute problem becomes a 3 hour rant before the 10 minute problem is ever even addressed. FOCUS and maybe it won’t look so damned bad. And for crissakes – take a little pride in your work.

No! Stop! This is silly. I don’t care enough to offer advice. I’ve done my time in hell for advising. I’ve had my 14 years of preaching “It’ll all work out, hon. Hang in there.” If someone want to self destruct, they will self destruct and all anyone can do is sit back and watch. CHOICE. It is HER choice. It WAS her choice. It will be HER choice. I’m done watching people die. DONE. D O N E.
Quit telling me how you hate your job and just quit.
Quit telling me how you hate your life and just quit.
That goes for the lot of you.
Sympathetic? Empathetic? NO. No more. I paid the price for that and it cost me the ability to ever do it again. I haven’t got it in me.
NO.
Get her away from me. Get them both gone.

And it’s very apparent that the problem is me as much as it is anyone else.
Not entirely me, though. Not entirely."

When they said, in their overly religious overtones, that "we have to be kind to her because she is the way she is because of what she’s going through, I honestly, nearly broke. I nearly said, "you don't have any clue what I've been through" and started the tirade that spins daily in my head now. But I didn't. I chose to be "politically correct". I said, "Well yes, and all of us though." hoping to get that message across gently. It was as if I'd never spoken at all.
Then I spent an hour in The Owner's office listening to his preaching while he rubbed his head and eyes like a man put on the spot. He kept searching desperately for the "politically correct" words. It was driving me nuts. Spit it out man! Let's talk like grownups. The woman isn't "overly vocal" she's a raving bitch! She isn't "going through a lot" she's a SYMPATHY WHORE. And that other lady, the sales lady that treats everyone like her personal maid, she isn't "a bit offensive" she's and egomaniacal bitch that no one wants to work with.
I truly do miss the Redneck commeraderie of the logistics world. Never a word was minced there, I assure you. Gawd I HATE fake people.
I guess, if I have to choose between nice and real, I prefer real.

That's a pretty good summary of the emotion rumbling around in my head. It's not the only issue though. The rest is the daily rant that I scream when I'm alone.

Since I started this job I've been horribly uncomfortable with the Christianity. Don't get me wrong. I begrudge no one their faith. Faith is a necessary part of humanity. But where do you get off assuming I follow your beliefs? I never said I did. If I implied it - well I won't apologize. It is your narrow mind that filtered my emotions into your tiny little view of belief. It is that overly-communicated faith of yours that has kept me on the outside looking in this whole year. I can't get close to these people because I fear their judgement. I've discussed only very minute details of my life outside of this job. NO ONE there has any concept of who I really am. I do not feel the need to expand. As well as that, I have lived through some life-altering experiences this past 24 months or so and those experiences have taught me not to trust. I assure you I do not. Not a one of you - and I'm not going to start. I'm not going to "join your family" Mr. Koresh. Leave me out of the cult please.
Then there's the work to talk about. I don't enjoy the work. I can tolerate it for a paycheck but it's like giving an artist a mathbook. It's depressing gibberish. I have no passion for it and can't see where I ever will. 20 years of this? I don't know about that. Bank forms and envelope dimensions are heinously dull and might as well be written in Japanese for all I understand of them. Also, I made the comment, way back in my logistics days, that a truckload of soda is not blood. It really doesn't matter if it delivers to the store on time. It's not a kidney. No one will die. I actually feel more disdain for bank forms and envelopes with company logos printed on them than I did soda and milk. It really isn't the end of the world if the stupid bank didn't order more on time and ran out of "cash ticket teller #3". Plan better and give ol' teller #3 a vacation day or something. Get over it being that freaking important.
The conflict there is that I don't like logistics either. I'm damned good at it. It pays really well, but it's a brutal job. It has no mercy and no holidays or weekends. It's also getting worse with the economy. So where do I turn? What is left to do?
I think I'll take night classes and become a network engineer. That pays well and I sure do love computers. Remake myself at 40. That sounds like a better plan. Maybe just bide my time until then. (That is, if the boss isn't reading this and fires me on Monday morning.)

The final arguement is this: I am not who I was but I don't know who I am now. I know I'm disconnected. I know I feel solitude all around me again. I often wonder if the solitude is my own doing and then I know that is the truth and I wrap my arms around the emptiness like it's my best friend. (there's a poem in there)
I used to practice compassion but I've sorely lost the ability. I used to enjoy laughing and making people laugh. Now I want them all at arms length and I don't think much is funny. I still have huge laughs with my Mom and sister and brother. I still feel comforted by this space and the amazing hearts out there. But that is my only world anymore. All of it in a tiny, safe bubble.
It isn't the life I had hoped for. It isn't the house in the woods on the lake in a small town where I can retire and people can come visit me. It is sadder than that........and worst of all.....I've quit dreaming of the house in the woods on the lake. I dream of buying a house that he and I can live in - right here in the city. The thought is exciting and depressing all at once.

Sometimes, I think of not going home again. I think of driving west without explanation or good-byes. I think of walking the West Coast beach at sunset where the man of my dreams happens by me and gives me that beautiful, overwheming love that opens my eyes and my heart to all things like it did when Iwas 26. Sometimes.............sometimes I want it all to go away and start over clean.
Is it too late?

Conversations with the Dead

Hey Dad.
I got the new Windows Vista.
Yeah, it kinda sucks...not stable at all.
No, I wouldn't go out and get it, but then your pc is in good shape. Ours was on it's last leg. We're lucky it survived long enough to copy from.
Vista won't play games. That's really what we buy computers for these days, huh? It's just an expensive toy. Someday they'll just be passe. They'll just be part of the house.
Haha, I know - too many sci-fi books, huh?
Anyway, I've been trying to copy old AOL to new. Yes, we kept AOL. Brandt woulnd't know what to do if we changed. He barely uses IE. Besides, AOL has more safeguards against viruses. It's just safer (and less work for me) if he uses it.

You know what though? I miss the old stuff...like we had when we got 3.1. I miss how cool it was just to get some new screen saver or a better version of Majong. Remember when we were thrilled to have midi files? hahaha
That first version of Windows, I copied all the sound files from Monty Python and the PC made weird noises when you hit the wrong key. Remember the little dog..."yipe yipe yipe yipe". hahaha - yours still does that? HAHAHAHAHA. Too funny. I still have all that stuff on floppy.
OH - and that's another thing. There's no floppy on this new PC. No, not at all. I could add one but I don't even know if I can buy one anymore. Heck, they're probably ten bucks now. Remember when they were $50?? There's so much stuff that I had on floppy. I miss a lot of that stuff. Johnny Castaway - remember him??? I loved Johnny Castaway. I guess I could download him from the web now...but it probably wouldn't run. It crashed a lot even back then.
The best one, the one I miss most, was that screensaver...I think it was called "Lunaria". It played Moonlight Sonata. I may look for that again today. It think of you every time I hear that tune.

I know. We had lots of games on floppy back then. The games now wouldn't even fit on a floppy. What is that, 2.5k or is it meg? I don't remember.
Yeah, I broke down and bought some jump drives. I guess that was necessary. No one even writes to CDs now unless it's to make music - like "mix tapes" from the 80s. Hahaha.

I was at Frys the other day and they had "personal video phones". Remember looking at those in the store back when Windows first came out? We figured they'd be out by now - and fairly cheap. I was thinking you and I would be using them by now.
How much?
Oh about $150 each. We'd both have to have one. Be neat if the whole family had them, huh?
Well, with Skype now, who needs it?
Skype - oh, it came out this year so I guess you haven't seen it yet. It's like Yahoo kinda. It's for video calls. It's pretty good. We used it to talk to Brandt's parents in North Carolina. It works well and it's easy enough for them to use. They're in their 70s ,you know. It makes Brandt happy to see them and them us.
It has a full screen option and the graphics are pretty good.
Yeah, we bought a new web-cam to use it. We could set it up at Mom's but I doubt she'd use it. She surfs mostly and sends an e-mail or two, but that's all. You know she never really played games or anything on the PC. It's not the same for her without you.

Brandt and I want some wireless cams so we can spy on the neighbors. We can't find any. Not like you had. Maybe I should just get those since we'd never be able to set it up again on your pc so Mom could use them. We really should but they bomb sometimes and there'd be too much tech-support required. We don't get a lot of tech support anymore. It's ok. She's doing ok.

Oh they're fine. The baby is a sweetie. She isn't as cute as Riley was at that age. Maybe I just don't get enough time with her. Riley is a doll still. Why woulnd't he be? I wish you could see that blonde, curly hair. He didn't have that until after you left. Oh man, no one expected it. I don't know if he remembers you Dad but he said he saw Bubba. Isn't that odd? She was there in the house with Mom looking at Nora. It was either Bubba or Grandma. Who can be sure. Maybe it was neither. He said her name was the same as Nora's so we guessed it was Bubba.
I haven't seen you since you left. I thought maybe I would, in a dream or something, but nothing at all. Isn't that strange? I did dream of Satan the other day. He wasn't a kitty - he was a little boy. He still had that fang so I knew it was him. It was an odd dream but I was holding him and loving on him and he was happy right before I woke up. I was asking him where Mickey was.

Gosh I miss you Dad. There's so much I wish I could share with you. It sucks that this is the only way I can. I just want to call you up....
When Satan died, all I wanted in the whole world was to hear your voice. I think you sent us Dr. Biggerstaff though. She's a lot like you. She reminded me of you a lot. It helped to have her with us.

Ok Dad. I think I should go now. I really have a lot to get done today.
I'll talk to you soon, ok? I miss you something awful.
Love ya too.
Bye.

11-27-2006 the mirror has two faces

Thanksgiving 2006:
I played it like I was expected to. I kept busy and stayed in good humor. I tried to be positive and upbeat. I have counted my blessings. I was honestly happy to be with my family.

But let's get real for a minute.
Yesterday was the 1yr anniversary of Mickey's death. (do not mark or acknowledge the anniversaries of the death of pets! It isn't a brilliant thing to do.) It was our first Thanksgiving without Dad. It was my friend's first Thanksgiving without her daughter. AND...to throw a little gasoline on this inferno, the company I work for announced on Wednesday that the office will be closing. We will all be out of work. (no indication as to WHEN). Imagine carrying that little nugget around all holiday long. I didn't tell anyone.

Last night, as I was trying to fall asleep, I had this horrible realization. There are no fantasies to escape into. There is nothing but reality...such as it is.

I told my husband last night that I'm going to be out of work soon. He instantly got angry. "Why didn't you tell me?!" Uh, well...maybe because you'd get angry?
Why is he angry? It isn't my fault. I'm so terribly sad and frightened. I took this job at a lot less pay than my last job. Now we're horribly in debt and it's all my fault...and now I have to find another job. I have to find one that pays a lot, which means going back into logistics. I hate logistics.
My husband can't understand that. His perspective is that you take a job that pays and if you don't like it that's just too bad.
My dad was miserable for the last 11yrs as he slaved for an asshole boss. He did it because it paid enough to secure him and Mom. I just keep thinking how sad that is...all those hours wasted.

So anyway, I didn't tell the hubby until last night. I didn't see that there was any point to ruining both our holidays. Then, my best friend called...she spent the whole call talking about how sad her family is and how mad she is at her sister and, of course, interjected the "we raised my zoloft by 100mg so maybe that will keep me from...(pause) doing something."

Let's recap.
Anniversary of Mickey's death.
First year w/o Dad and Jessica.
Losing job.
Hubby's angry.
Best friend is suicidal.
I'm broke for Christmas.

Why is it easier to find things to be sad about? I wish Dad were still here. He could always make me laugh...even when the chips were down.

I wish I could run away.

Saw this on Mom's bulliten board:
I'll Be Seeing You - Sammy Fain, Irvin Kahal
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cathedral bells were tolling
And our hearts sang on,
Was it the spell of Paris
Or the April dawn?
Who knows, if we shall meet again?
But when the morning chimes ring sweet again:
I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through:
In that small cafe,
The park across the way,
The children's carousel,
The chestnut trees,
The wishing well.
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you.

I miss you so much Dad.

10-28-2006 wasting

Last February, March, April, I kept telling my best friend and her daughter that they needed to stop fighting. I told them over and over that time is too short, that someday one of them would be gone and there would be so much left unsaid. So much love wasted. Time...wasted.
I really supposed that time would be in the future and the first to pass would be my friend, not her daughter. Regardless, I was entirely correct. Time was short. Love was wasted. Her daughter passed in the middle of their argueing. No consolations were ever made.

Two months before my father died he looked me in the eye and he said, "No matter what happens, you know I love you." I said I love him too. It was never a question, of course. He and I never questioned that. Not once in our entire lives. Unconditionally and entirely and forever.

We are on the other side of death now. We (my family) are wasting time. We are not loving each other like we should and it certainly isn't unconditional. At least, they aren't. My love for each of them is entirely unconditional. I forgive them every fault without question. I promise, if it is ever questioned, I hold no grudge for any thing. I just love. That is all.

But they don't. They fight. They don't forgive. They hold grudges. Mother, sister, brother. Mom hurts and angers and hurts more. Sister angers and has no patience for anyone else's pain. Brother blames.
Wasting time. We are just wasting it.
Why? Why don't THEY understand what they are losing? They who have already lost?

She said, "I'm sick of it. I can't be around all her anger." And the other said, in tears, "She's always mad at me. I can't do anything right anymore."
and I think they both just cry and cry but they don't speak and they don't care and they think the other is entirely selfish....when they both are entirely selfish.

Dad, I don't know what words to say to fix this. I can't find a way to reason with them. I'm so sorry Dad. I can't figure out how to keep us together. I need you. We need you. We're so broken now.
I'm so sorry. You know I'd make it right if I could. I just don't know how. I don't think I'm that strong anymore. They can't seem to hear me.

I love you Daddy. No matter what, I love you. And I love them too. No matter what and always.

7-23-06

There are middle grounds and getting by.
There are picking battles and compromises.
There are dreams and hopes and smiles.
One wrong move and it dies.

The laughter ends.
We try to forget
that we ever wanted at all.
We start to pretend
to try to be friends
with a world gone empty and cold.

6-28-06 - 6 minutes of pure b.s.

So everything was fine with the shrinkette until she started this inner child shit. "Take your inner 4yr old into a safe room and give her a nanny to take care of her and all the toys she wants." This is, of course, all a mind game. The "inner 4yr old" is a metaphor for my repressed emotions. They are repressed because I am not ready to deal with them. SO - I took the inner 4yr old by the hand and I lead her to a nice room and I gave her a nanny. Then I walked out of the room (my outer 38yr old did anyway) and, with an evil laugh, I locked that fucking door behind me.
Inner 4yr old and all repressed emotions are securely locked behind a nice, imaginary, 4 foot thick, steel vault door. So there. Freaking metaphors.

Yes, I get that this is not "healing" me. But if we're going to imagine stuff, I'd just as well imagine that all those nightmare images from October-December of 2005 can no longer invade my sleep. Can I trick my subconscious? Isn't that the whole point of inner childism? To connect with and to soothe the repressed parts of your subconscious? I really don't know.

Three things:
1. The Eagles said "I want to find your inner child and kick it's little ass." That's how I feel about that.
2. What are we doing with my 38yr old, jaded emotions while we're playing around with the imaginary child?
3. If I had any clue how to nurture a 4yr old emotionally through something like this, I think my subconscious would already be doing that.

Maybe I'm done.
Maybe this is as good as it gets.

On a sidenote - I have come to loathe my friend. Every conversation in the past month has been 20+ minutes of her telling me in great detail (prefaced by "I don't want to worry you.) about her severe digestive issues and her sciatic nerve problem and her "narrowing of the spine". (all ending with "but I don't want to dump my stuff on you) 20 minutes of not dumping.
I was wrong about her taking too many drugs. She should take more.

Indifference. The opposite of love. I find that I do not care about her pain. I am annoyed by it.
She should be admitted..........or committed.
I wish I knew how to say "go away until you're healthy".

4-20-06 blog

I accidentally ran across my sister's blog. I knew she had one but I kinda thought it was all in fun for her.
There are posts there that I can't read (blocked). They are titled "Where is he?" "Everything sucks ass" and "It still hurts."

I don't want to read her posts because I want her to have her own private thoughts. To view them, with her knowledge, will edit her future thoughts. I suppose, just like me, she needs a place to lay out the most painful parts of her life - without discretion.
But she is my baby. I can't stand her pain a thousand times more than my own will ever hurt me.
Oh hon. If I could make it better I would.

Sadder than anything, I am part of a family who doesn't speak of their pain to one another. I can't even figure out how to start that conversation. I suspect if I did I would be met with the same reaction I would give them. "Oh, I'm fine." We don't burden each other. We wear our masks.

I wish I had the ability to pour so much love over us all that we would never feel a minute more of this loss.

I love you baby. Hang in there.

3-6-2006

"Elizabethtown" was a good movie. I want to own it and watch it over and over until I stop crying.

The world has graduated to "He would wants..."
"He would want you to be happy."
"He would want you to laugh."
I'm very clear on what he would want. Aside from me being happy, he would want my mother to not hurt, my brother to be successful, my sister to be well....and a few other things.
Mostly he would want to be here with us.
Mostly he would want to not be dead.
Just like the rest of us.

I realize, quite clearly, that I am sinking into a sea of depression.

"It was Sorrow like cholestoral, and if you think that's funny or weird, be grateful."
"I had lost my place in things and couldn't find it again."
"Your basic thousand-yard stare. Want the truth? You look like someone who's caught on something and can't get loose."
Stephen King's "Bag of Bones."

Yes, this hideous, indulgent self-pitying sees no end. I loath it in myself and yet wrap myself in it's ugly shroud. Only there do I find comfort.... comfort?
Only with the warmth of tears sliding down my cheeks do I feel relief. Each one seems to offer hope of passing the pain.
Only the tears seem right in all that is wrong.

I know I am allowing myself too much grief.
The idea was to "choose a time and place" and do this daily. 5 minutes. Write it down and put it in the box. Don't let it be an all day affair.
And that seemed hopeful. I bought the box. I bought pretty paper.
I bought candles of sandlewood to comfort.
And I tried. Twice.
But then Saturday came and my five minutes went on for two days.

I can't think of any good memories.
I know there were billions. We were a happy, fun lot.
I feel like laughter died with him.
Real laughter anyway.

I want to call him constantly. I want to hear his voice and I ache...ACHE...from the reality that I never will again.
His voice in my head isn't enough. His voice in my head is the sound of his last three months. Whispered, strained.
I wonder if he had more to say...but couldn't. In the end he could barely speak and could no longer write. He had trouble just telling us what he wanted to eat. "Better" beef patty. B E T...we couldn't read what he was writing.
We were all so fucking helpless.

I can't remember anything but the last three months of his life.
I can't move past that.
"Your father is not going to survive this!" she screamed.
and I said flatly "I know."
but hope still held when I said that. I didn't know. I certainly didn't fathom.

His hands lay curled, dry, old. 40 years older than they were. His skin was yellowed...unrecognizable.
I held his hand and he let me....for as long as we could.
I miss my father's hands.

I've stopped calling my family. Not out of any dislike for I worry about them every second. I worry about them more than myself.
But when I call them....the pretending is just too hard.
"I'm ok. You ok?"
"Yeah."
and then on with the smalltalk....TVs and phone calls and friends that came by.
I think "what if they are feeling like I'm feeling" and I think "they probably aren't" and I think "I'm the one who always talked us through pain." I can't help this time.
If she takes a hundred sleeping pills and we find out later, that will be my fault. I haven't taken an interest in her suffering.
Only my own.
That's a sin.

"...but I hadn't the energy" I'll tell St Peter. And then I'll kick him in the nuts.

2-22-06 Insult to Injury

...and salt in the wounds...

Dear Psychiatric Community,
You are not there for us. There are 9 million websites where I can share my pain, write little poems and help others with their grief.
As you can see, I do not need your website to do that. I have my own.

I have found that "resource" links generally lead back to the aforementioned websites like some sadistic circle. Rarely do they give names of therapists, locations of group assistance or even a phone number for assistance.
Most phone numbers are linked back to the APA in Washington, DC where, for the next 20 minutes, I can push buttons on my phone until something tells me to go to www.grief.net. That is a very cruel thing to do and someone should be punished for it.

Furthermore, I have spoken to my own insurance company who graciously offers 3 free sessions with a therapist of their choice...who, by the way, is booked solid and cannot see me for more than a week and then only during work hours. All other options have the same limitations as the above only they are somewhere across town, adding drive time to the missed work hour.

I am suggesting that psychologists work between the hours of 3p.m. and midnight only. I am suggesting that you put YOUR phone numbers at the end of that 20 minute recording and I am hopeful that you find a way to actually help people in the future.

Sincerely,
Jumping off the bridge and blaming it on you.

PS The above rant is a result of frustration. Psychologists proabably have one of the worst jobs in the world and who am I to say they should do it differently? And, I am not jumping off of any bridges, but I will blame them for things just because I have lot of misdirected anger.

2-22-06 Phoning it in?

I just called in "sick". I'm not sick. I'm overwhelmed. I'm incapable. THIS is the biggest clue that it's time to get help, right? When the grief affects your ability to function normally one must seek help.

See, I should have been a psychologist.
But this just makes me sad for psychologists. How depressing it must be.

Regardless, the second I took the committment of facing the day off of my shoulders it was "RELIEF". I feel less sad and more hopeful. And all that just from calling in sick.
How odd.

The saga continues....

2-22-06

I understand the process of grieving.
I really get that what I am feeling is "normal".

I also very clearly understand that I need help.
I see that I am not moving forward. I see that I am "stuck".
I am seeking therapy.

Compounds:
I am sad, compounded by the fact that the only people I have to talk to are
a) more depressed than I and
b) compassionate but helpless
compounded by the rest of my family wearing the same mask as I,
compounded by my embarrassment to show this to strangers,
compounded by the pain of others and my inability to be compassionate to them,
compounded by not wanting to "dump" on people to the point that THIS becomes all we ever discuss
compounded by worry about the rest of my family
compounded by a serious lack of funding toward therapy
compounded by my unwillingness to accept God just now.

I feel helpless.
Yesterday I was thinking of how therapists all say "you can choose how you feel and how you react." They are right. I can choose to be happy and friendly and fun.....for most of the day. But I cannot choose to not feel this pain. It is inside me ALL THE TIME. It is behind the happy, fun, friend. ALL THE TIME.
I CANNOT choose.
I cannot figure out how to release it. (release myself from it)

Am I suicidal. Absolutely not!!
...but don't think that I don't want the pain to end any way it can.
And then I worry - If I am feeling so very wrapt in pain, what must my mother be feeling? What is my sister thinking? How is my brother handling it?
Of course, they all look fine on the outside. Is it just me then?
I don't think so.
What if they are suicidal?
The phone rings and I fear. What if Mom just took a lot of sleeping pills and decided she had to go be with Dad? I sure wouldn't blame her...but the thought hurts like hell.

Damn. I just can't figure out how to accept that life is without him.
I just don't know how.

And all those caring people ...the ones who have been here and survived...they say "It never goes away but you learn to live with it."
My heart goes out to each of them but I cannot even concieve of "learning to live with" this gaping, bleeding wound.

I'm looking for a therapist. Someone who specializes in grief counseling. Someone pro-bono.
But if they say, "The seven steps of grieving are...." or "your feelings are normal" I'm probably going to explode.
I don't need my feelings "validated".
I need them stopped.
I need this undone.

2-20-06 some notes

Mom's perspective is one-sided, angry and unchangeable.
I feel like an outsider.
I miss "can't wait to see ya" the excitement Dad and I always had about seeing each other.
I can't believe that will never happen again.
I want to fix us but I can't even fix me.
Too many "how are YOU doing?"s. All sincere, but what does one say? "Well, I suck actually and I wish someone would lock me in a quiet place for about two months and pay my bills in the meantime."
I hate that I suck...and they have each other. In me it's all "stuffed down".

The hub is gone and we're all just spokes spinning away.

2-8-06

I should talk to her more often but I don't.
I think of her every minute but I don't call. I feel helpless to her.
I feel like I'm nothing but a reminder.
I feel so much sadness after we talk.
It isn't her fault. It is all in my head....I suppose.
But I worry about her endlessly.

I cannot think of my own sadness without exchanging it for hers.
I think, why am I crying? She is suffering so much more than I.
She is alone.
Her space has no voice to respond to her thoughts.
There is no validation.
She must hurt terribly all the time. I would, were I her.

I heard it in her voice last night.
She still laughs and jokes but she is caught deep inside her mind and she feels broken and lost.
I ache for her and want to heal her...but do I have an answer? Do I even have the strength?

To me, he was the answer for her....and she for him.
She has strenghts...and so did he.
And weaknesses, of course.
They balanced (counterbalanced) one another.
I hear her changing for lack of him.
I wonder if....
I know that....
I'm sad that she will not be the same.
I'm sad for who she will be.
I hurt for her more than for me.....but I hurt for losing her too.

2-3-06 5 Fridays

Friday nights are the worst.
I don't know why. Nothing to do I suppose.
Winding down is literally DOWN.
I feel loneliest. I feel most tired...most uninspired.
I feel that hole bigger than it is on any other day of the week.

And it has just come to me why.
Friday night is work.
Everything I do on Friday night is specifically done to keep my mind OFF of....that which I can no longer speak of/think of.
(She said "He wants you to focus on his life and let go of his death." To think of him at all is to think of his suffering. OUR suffering. I'm not past that yet.)

I will watch a movie...to focus on something else.
I will fractalize or blog...to focus on something else.
But it is so very deliberate on Friday nights that I'm not really focusing on something else. I'm actually focusing on not dealing with my emotions....and it isn't working out so well.

"It's the end of the world. The Apocalypse."
I can't explain that except to say that it keeps fitting into my thoughts about the state of everything.
It's not like me.

Nah...it's just Friday night.
It will pass.

1-30-06 A few sidenotes

- I am not giving back enough. I want to but I seem to be so very internal that I can't concentrate enough to empathize. This is not me. I have never been this deeply into "MYSELF". It's driving me mad and I think "I'll get past it." "It's still early yet." - but tomorrow is the 31st. 31sts are not going to be easy for me. Am I going to start over?

- My friend tries to understand what I'm going through. I try to explain, but I can't. She says, "when I lost my grandmother" and "when we lost our friend" and I know those things were difficult. I've lost both before...but it just isn't the same. This thing NEVER stops. There is no distraction great enough to overcome the gaping hole. It is 24/7, worse when I'm alone, all consuming.
It will change. Am I just holding on to the sadness? Am I normal? Am I grieving "correctly" or is this taking over my life instead? I don't know where I am on the scale......is there a scale?

- I am now reading 3 books concurrently. Each of them, in some way, about death. Two are fictional. I read them all in 1 page intervals. The thing is, I'm not INTERESTED in them. I am escaping into them. 1 page is about all I can concentrate on before my mind just wanders off again.
The books are Tuesday's With Morrie, Bag of Bones(Stephen King psycological thing about a man who sees his dead wife) and something John Saul wrote 10 years ago or so. John Saul writes horror novels (not tremendously well) that generally have a pretty high body count.
Morrie is helping. The other two are less than inspirationl.
I saw the movie "The Interpreter" and it really hurt to watch it. It wouldn't hurt anyone else.

- Lunesta gives me an odd taste in my mouth about 20 minutes after I take it.
I am getting way too happy about that taste. That taste means I will be asleep in 5 more minutes and all the above will be set aside.
Lunesta is non-narcotic but totally addictive. Go figure.
Oh well, I'll run out eventually.

- I'm afraid I'm working too hard at avoiding my feelings. To be honest I don't freely emote unless I'm alone. I can't decide if I'm alone enough. (I'd damn well like to be alone on a beach!)
I used to blog when I was alone.
Now I just cry.

- It will get better. I need Springtime. (but will Springtime only remind me of the things I can't share with him anymore?)

There was something else. These are the things I think about. These are the things that troll endlessly across my brain. Shouldn't there be something productive up there?
There was something else but I can't remember what it was. I'm sure it will come back..again and again and again.

1-22-06 The first dream

Through very fitful attempts at rest, I did have one dream.
Saturday night was the first time since that I've dreamt of my father. I wanted to remember it here because it was not a bad dream.

I dreamed that I was walking through the hospital and Mom and Dad were standing at an information board with their backs to me. They were reading the board and I walked up to them and opened with some corny joke, as we always did. Dad replied and we giggled. (I don't remember the joke.)
At some point Dad and I ended up walking down the hall together. He wasn't terribly sick. He had a bad cold or a flu because his nose was red. That is all that was wrong with him. We were chatting and I remember knowing that he as annoyed that he was still at the hospital...but I also knew he would be going home the next day.
That was the overall feeling of the dream...that the hospital was very temporary and that he was getting better.
There was no sadness or anger. We were just together like always. We were just walking and talking like we were out shopping or something.
I didn't awake from the dream missing him or sad about things. I wasn't elated or overjoyed for having dreamt of him. It just simply seemed like a "normal" thing.

I can't say that I ever dreamed of my father in the past. To be honest, I'd like very much to do it again.

Lunesta gets me asleep enough to dream. I'm going to try to get some more pills. I need to dream. I feel as though my subconscious needs to work through some things and isn't getting the chance.
I feel as though I'm not dealing with a lot of things on a conscious level yet either.
Maybe it would be best if I dreamed of him for a while.

1-20-06

I cannot make a fractal of my sadness.
I cannot sketch my confusion.

Most days are...tolerable. I've had one good day since.
Beyond tolerable is this huge hole of ache.
Some days I'm ok. I can get by. I can not think.
Other days I cannot think of anything else.
Today is one of the other days.

I never know when I'm going to have them. Maybe it's hormonal. I don't know.
I know it doesn't matter the cause because the reason for the sadness remains.

It remains. Those words are so foreign to me.
I can't wrap my head around "forever gone". I can't get a grasp on "never again".
I miss him like he's gone on a trip.
I miss him like I'll wake up from this nightmare.
And then I realize that this is my mother's nightmare.
Oh if we could just wake up to find it was all some horrible thing now put back right.

Today started in the shower getting dressed for work. No background music. Nothing to stir the emotions from my still heart.
The word "forever" crossed my mind and I was consumed in grief.
I read Morrie last night. I read that his mother died when he was a child, some 70 years prior...and he cried for her even then. He cried for feeling alone without her. He said it never stops hurting.
Nevers. Nevers of never again and nevers of never stopping.
Nevers are bigger than forevers.

Most days I cry on the way to work. It's a short trip but it's "alone time" and "music time" and the music usually overwhelms me.
I change the disc to something that won't make me think of him....but the words get me anyway. This morning I put in an instrumental CD thinking that would save me.
But "The Last Goodbye" was on it. I'd forgotten it was there.

Usually I'm back to being me once I step off that elevator and put on the mask.
Today that mask wasn't enough. No one else could see but I just couldn't think of anything else. Nothing but nevers.
I am in my gray funk today. I hope to sleep it off, if I can sleep at all.
I want to be a part of the world again...but it isn't the same world and I don't know how yet.

I cry an enormous amount for Mom.
All of the paperwork, certificates, financial worries, health insurance worries, tax worries.....I can't believe there's so much. I can't comprehend how overwhelmed she must be. I can't fix it for her even though I really really want to.
And all that technical/administrative BS that she's going through....while she's hurting like she never has.
I can barely think of Mom's pain it aches so badly in me. Oh if I could take it away.
Of if we could just wake up from this nightmare.

A million words...an no way to say them now.
Ouch.

Dad is gone.
I don't know how to do this.
WE don't know how to do this.

12-31-2005

There are a few things I want to remember. Not all of them good.
I have been deeply hurt by the selfishness and coldness of people I like. People I never thought would be so incapable of giving. I will forgive them in time because I know they simply cannot relate. It is an un-reality to them. One day, it will not be. I will hurt for them then, because I will understand.

I am afraid of what I will walk into when I return to work. That sick corporate entity has actually discussed cutting my pay. Could anything be more wrong than that?

I guess time off is just time off, no matter the circumstances. (I'm salaried you morons!)

On a better note:
I have been deeply moved by the kindness of strangers. Some who do not know what I am feeling still came through with the nicest of thoughts.
Steve, our new CFO, took a moment just to stand next to me and to say "I want you to know how grateful we are to you for being at work this week. I know it must be very hard for you to be here. I know your boss is grateful too."
I needed desperately to hear those words and they mean a lot to me still. That office was seeming very cruel and uncaring until then.

To Carolyn and Aaron and Diane, who took a moment to talk with me, give me a hug and ask if all was well - Thank you for that.

A billion hugs and thanks to my best friend Dino - who came through for me completely. She is a blessing. I love her dearly and pray for her health too.

And my dear husband...I have never loved you more than now. You have been so kind and so giving. You brought me lunch on your day off and you've held me close when I needed it.
I wish you could come with me to Houston but I know that's not possible. Heaven knows I don't want to lose another life and that is what would happen if you left Pooh alone. Stay and keep him safe for me.

Finally - and not at all least - all of these incredible and amazing internet friends. I have no words to express such deep gratitude for perspectives, hugs, caring, kindness and hope.
I will remember always the soft place you kept for me to land.

***
No one knew in October that a man had only three months to live. To me, that is amazing and astounding and absurd.
I will miss, already miss, so very much sharing.

12-29-05

Dr. Katherine M. Pisters, M.D.
Professor, Thoracic/Head & Neck Med Onc
713/792-6363

I would like to know her batting average.
She was the "team-lead" in our little Shakesperean Comedy of Errors.
HE was her responsibility.
I would like to know just what day she wrote my father off as unsalvageable.

Our "family meeting" was lead by Dr.s Suresh K. Reddy (Associate Professor, Palliative Care&Rehab Med) and someone named "Yano" who doesn't appear in the directory. Maybe I have his name wrong. He was VERY middle-eastern.

These two are part of the Palliative Care group (a sort of nursing-home facility). They spent the better part of two hours telling us that the cancer had advanced two to three weeks ago, is outside the lung, is into a bone and is "agressive". All of which was news to us. (and by US I mean my mother)
We asked why they are letting my father starve and they said something like "the cancer uses all the nurishment he takes in so feeding him would only feed the cancer". They told us an NG Tube or a TPN intraveneous drip would "not extend his life".
They told us there is no hope at all.

There is a voice inside my head that asks: Who made the decision to send my father to palliative care? Why did they make that decision? Why now and not three weeks ago?
Here's the big questions: What if he was sent there by mistake (it would not be the first)? What if these doctors ONLY deal with those where there is no hope and because someone (we do not know who) sent him to palliative care, these doctors assume he is past salvation?
What if they are wrong?
What if they read his charts and images differently than previous doctors simply because they are in the palliative care field?
What if it's "all news to us" because it isn't even correct but an assumption?

We've only ever been told that the cancer is contained. Stage III at most. Non-small-cell - which shouldn't travel and isn't agressive.
Radiation didn't even start until 12-16.
Never have they attempted to FEED my father. Never did they try to NOURISH him.
And I asked "HAVE YOU TRIED FEEDING HIM? WE HAVEN'T TRIED SO HOW DO WE KNOW IT WON'T HELP!"
And I was told "We've done studies that show....."
And my mother didn't want to argue so she just said "It's not about the nourishment."

What if they're wrong?
We'll never know that.
I realize I'm holding on to some kind of hope or some kind of denial but they've made so many mistakes so far....why couldn't this just be another?
One day in ICU he was made to sit in a chair, move around and encouraged to eat. The next morning a nurse came in and my mother said "aren't you going to try to get him to sit up?" and she said "His chart says he's bedridden."
My mother said "NO HE'S NOT!"
See? Every shift change we had a different opinion. WHY??

In the end, it doesn't matter anymore. They will do nothing but make him comfortable and wait for him to die.

A friend, who has two children that were born with lukemia (and are now almost teenagers) said "This is a high-stakes crapshoot. You try everything."
I can't get them to try anything.

MD Anderson murdered my father. Dr. Pisters led the charge.
When I am sane again, they may very well have to answer to that.

12-22-05

Yesterday was our first good day in a very long time. Sheri Ford, the best "sitter" that ever existed, gave us our first glimpse that there could be a future. She also gave my mother her first peaceful night in 3 months.
Thank you Sheri.

But Sheri is home with her kids today. And she should be. It is ALL about family. I really is.
Unfortunately, no one else has been good for us. Today was a bad day. The roller coaster continues.
Today he was incoherent. He doesn't know why we keep pushing him to do things he doesn't want to do. He is very angry. He doesn't really know who we are either.
Yesterday he did. Today, he didn't.

Since this began, everyone said "Be the squeaky wheel. Be you're own advocate." My poor mother is a)exhausted, b)too tired to fight or even think clearly, c)hurting beyond comprehension, d) too close to the fire to see that it might be overcome.
Today, she gave up.
Tomorrow she may not. We don't know from one minute to the next.

I told her I wanted her to stop taking all the responsibility on herself. Let us do some. We'll come up and feed him. We'll stay in the room while she naps down the hall. We'll keep him safe for her so she can regain strength.
This she completely misconstrued as an attack.
We told her she needed to push the staff to feed him, bathe him, move him. She said the staff "is all so great and they're doing all they can and they have so many other patients to attend to." She also said I'm not in Houston so I don't know all the things she's had to do.

Maybe I'm not but I know for certain that they tell my mother what he can eat and she orders it and she begs him to eat. And he says no until she gives up. And no one is tracking what he's not eating. I read the folder. I READ it.
They allude to him having no appetite but they don't say, "He had less than 5 bites of food in this 24hr period."
They notate his albumin and protien levels.
Then the shift changes. Nothing else changes.

The shift that came in this morning wholly believed my father, who was out of bed yesterday and doing quite a bit better, was to be entirely bedridden now.

Anyway, I squeaked to the staff. I told them they cannot expect my mother to feed him or bathe him or move him or verify that my father is doing his hourly lung exercies. The staff would have to take those responsibilities in house!!
I told my mother to ask for help and to tell them what I did......but....that made me the enemy somehow.
Now I'm the bad-guy.
I don't want to be the bad-guy. I want us to be a team.
She has us blocked out though. She won't let us sit with him. She has decided that he is HER charge and we cannot possibly make good decisions for his care.

He is hers. His life is hers.
Oh dear God, she will live the rest of her days saying she "should have done..."
My heart aches from loss, from sadness, from care.
Mom...you just don't know how sorry I am - for everything you're going through.
I told you I'm sorry and I'm not mad...but you'll never forgive me. I know better.
I just want you to be stronger, healthier, safer and not alone.
Why do you have to do this alone?

It is wrong that I want to flee home, but I do.
I want to lay in my own bed and cry my own tears and not be a burden to anyone in the middle of this....tragedy.
You said to me tonight "You're father is not going to survive this."
A second later you say "when he gets home we can get a physical therapist to pick him up three times a week and take him to therapy"

I don't know what to believe. I hold this tiny little glimmer of hope so deep inside me...but you said it. Maybe to hurt me. Maybe to shock me. Maybe you think I'm in some kind of denial.
I'm not.
I'm in the same pain you are in. You've been married to him 41 years. You've never ever been on your own.
But I've known him all my life. I've never ever known life without him.
He's my father.
He's MY father.

I love you both more than there are words to describe it.
Don't shut me out.

12-19-05

I spoke to Dad on the phone on Sunday. At first he thought I was Mom and said "I'm waiting for you. Where are you? Why aren't you here yet?" So...I had to explain and then I asked where Mom was. He said she'd gone home to do some things (laundry) and he needed her back up there. He was hot. He needed ice. The nurses put a robe on him. He said, "they put this damned robe on me and that's not right."
I told him to push the nurse button and ask for some ice chips. I said "They'll bring it. They can do that. And you need to tell them what you're feeling."
(Why won't they tell the nurses and doctors what their problems are?? Why do they suffer in silence?)
I hung up the phone and called the nurse's station and told them to go take care of my father. They said they were already on the way.
My poor Mom. He's acting like he can do nothing without her. That's just too much pressure.

I spoke to Mom on Saturday. She wouldn't say much at first. Then, suddenly, 10 minutes into the conversation she says "Ok, I can talk now. The nurse finally left."
She then proceeded to tell me every detail of the past few days. None of it good. All of it trying and tiring.
And again I said "You have to tell THEM all of these things. Every detail. It is their burden. They are paid highly to listen, observe and act."
I do not understand my parents.

The latest:
From: Sister
Sent: Monday, December 19, 2005 10:17 AM
To: Me
Subject: Dad update

I just talked to mom shortly, Dad is doing fine with the radiation but they have him on some medicine (not sure for what) that has him slurring his speech and makes him drool. He's very unhappy about that and I really can't say I blame him. He had fever twice lastnight. She didn't say how high but it wasn't a good night. I didn't get to talk to her long but she did say there was a physical therapist in there which is good, he needs some movement. Love you guys!

*****
Why don't the docs check the side effects before handing out the meds? Are they giving him too much? Should they stop with all the meds?
Questions. Nothing but questions.

12-15-05 Cancer + 4,728

The days are a billion minutes long.

Wednesday 12-14-05 9a.m. e-mail from my sister said Mom took Dad back to the hospital on Tuesday afternoon. He was too weak again. He was delirious and halucinating.
The E.R. kept him all day. Fluids and breathing treatments.
They finally found a room for him at 1a.m.
Mom never sleeps anymore. It's a wonder she's not halucinating.

Dad sleeps. In between rants and insane desires to urinate (every thirty minutes, all day and night). I wonder now if Dad has any idea what is happening to him. Does he have any moments of clarity?

6:30 p.m. Wednesday 12-14-05 My sister called. She said "please call Mom. Aunt Donna called and said Mom's at home and she's just crying uncontrollably and I know Mom won't tell me what's going on." (My sister is the youngest and my parents tend to "protect her".) I assured her that Mom is very likely needing a good hard cry. She's tired and frustrated and I'm not at all surprised.
Of course, I called to check.

I was right. Mom just needed to go off about what is going on. Or not going on, as the case may be.
She told me Dad was seeing famous people in the house. (Lucious someone...used to be a boxer.) She told me things that I will never ever relate to another person out of respect for my father and of my own memories.
I listened and I did my best to console and to tell her she's doing all the right things.

Mom told me that she has finally reached a point where she wants answers and she will not shut up until she gets them.
Good. It's time that happen.

Mom and I both wonder where the hero is. I've heard so many stories of cancer victims telling about "that one nurse or doctor or therapist that motivated them to live and to fight". We've seen none of that. No one has even said "let's talk about this. Let me help you shoulder the burden. Let me reassure you." No heroes.
One of the "nurse practitioners" DID take the time to research the medicine that they had my father on (to regulate his heart so he could have surgery). Turns out there's a very remote possibility that it could cause: swelling, confusion, halucinations. Imagine that. The doctors SWORE that wasn't what was causing the problems.
He's off the meds.

THE NEW PLAN: is to start radiation to shrink the tumor. He wouldn't survive surgery. (He would have 3 months ago - but not anymore.)
It is presumed that the tumor is blocking his airway enough to cause this insane inability to breathe. Shortness of breath and all.

My mother told them that they HAVE TO TELL HER WHAT TO EXPECT! She said "When will we know if it's working? One treatment?"
They said "It will take about 5 months to shrink the tumor."
My mother screamed "THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH. WE DON'T HAVE FIVE MONTHS LIKE THIS!"

Cancergiggles commented that cancer "is not about you. It is about all the people who care about you and care for you."
I really did think it was about Dad. Now I KNOW it's about all of us.

I'm going to lose my Dad.
No wishes are going to stop that. I'm done wishing.
Mom and I are just resigned to waiting, watching, and hoping he will have a few moments of mental clarity to realize we are here and that we love him.

I should be there. But I don't know how.

I lost my mind this morning.
I was listening to the radio loud in the truck on the way to work.
Too loud. Hurt my ears and block out my thoughts loud....and I screamed "I never meant to FADE AWAY." and then I screamed again. Louder and harder than I have ever screamed in my entire life.
I scared myself. And then I split off. I became two.
I am Agnes' joyful facade.
I am Agnes' screaming madness.

So where were you

When all this I was going through?!

You never took the time to ask me

Just what you could do.

I just needed someone to talk to

You were just too busy with yourself

You were never there for me to

Express how I felt

I just stuffed it down

Now I’m older and I feel like

I could let some of this anger fade

But it seems the surfaceI am scratching

Is the bed that I have made

I never meant to fade away!!

12-12-05 Shattered

You sorry, self-pitying schmuck. You dare tell me "I don't know what you expect me to do." and then pour gasoline on the already charred remains of my soul?
You tell me you feel bad about Mickey too but "what do you want me to do?!"
You have the nerve to go off on me about MONEY!! MONEY!! As if it somehow became MY responsiblity to provide YOU with the lifestyle YOU'RE accustomed to??!!
Pony up! You want to get out of debt, how the hell is it my responsibility to do that for you? Is it your responsiblity to pay the loan I took out for my sister's wedding?? Of course not. I would never ask you to.

You want to know what I expect you to do? I expect you to have some goddamned EMPATHY! Show some FUCKING COMPASSION! Realize that we are supposed to be a team! We are not roommates! This is 12yrs of my life. MY LIFE - not just yours. My father still has cancer. My cat is still dead. I am GRIEVING! I am without hope. I am in so much pain inside that I want to tear my skin from my bones so at least I'll understand why I hurt so much.
Could you look at anyone else but you?? Could you maybe decide that this isn't the time to bitch about your sad situation?

Fine - I will go find another job. I'll give up my short commute and my better days and I will go back to the life that made me miserable. We'll rarely see one another. I'll be on call 24/7. You'll start accusing me of seeing someone else again. But MAYBE I'll make enough to pull us up from the dungeon you believe we're in.
I will resent the hell out of you for it. Every fucking day.
I'll pay off your bills. I'll pay for everything. Our bills. The groceries. Everything. Don't sweat it. I will just let you tilt the responsibilites over to my side again.
As long as there's extra money, you're happy. I get that. And I love you so I want you to be happy.
And in time, I'll learn how not to hate you for it. Maybe.

(Oh, and a footnote; You said you went to North Carolina with only $150.00 and that's why you didn't spend any money. Well isn't that sad? I can't remember the last time I had $150 in the bank at any one time. What would you do if I said "I'm sick of being poor and going into debt YOU need to make more money.")

12-5-05 I don't understand

I saw you three weeks ago Dad. You could walk then. Now you look like a ghost. You're afraid to stand, and can't do that on your own. I don't know what is going on inside you. I don't understand how this one little tumor has taken so much out of you - and keeps taking. I'm afraid you won't last the week.

You held me and said "Whatever happens I want you to know that I love you." And there were a thousand other things in your voice. So much more you wanted to say. But you don't need to Daddy. Because I know already.
I said "I know and I love you too. You keep fighting. I really need you to fight."
You said "I'm trying."

On the phone last night I said "I'll be back for Christmas. Three weeks." And you said "I love you." but that one sounded like you won't be here then. I feel like we've said goodbye.

I will forever be angry at the medical community. They are not doing enough and they are not doing it fast enough. How can you be wasting away like this? How can they not be doing something about it?

And I see my future. I see me where you are. No one will take care of me like she takes care of you. No one.

Daddy. Please don't go. Please fight.
Oh god, please win.

12-2-05 I miss you like hell

I have the sense to recognize
that I don't know how to let you go.

10-9-05 Cancer +9

I do not understand.
His fever is 104+ in the evenings. He is weak. He is hungry but cannot eat. He has trouble breathing and panic attacks. (Does he think he's dying?)
Mom is losing it. She's "deep cleaning" the house. It's nervous energy and fear and her way of coping. (Does she think he's dying?)

MD Anderson gave them an appt for NEXT WEEK. "Oh, it's ok. You can wait 7 more days."
WAIT??? I don't understand "WAIT".
They went to MD Anderson ER in the middle of the night via ambulance because he couldn't breathe.
MD Anderson released him.
I don't understand "released him".

His job called. He has no vacation or sick time.
They want him to decide if he's going to quit or if they have to put him on "Family Medical Leave". Family Medical Leave means he won't get paid. It means he'll have to pay in full for his insurance. Not much different than being unemployed.
16years at one company. 2 years from retirement.
I don't understand corporate buracracy or insurance.

They're fast running out of money. Savings and Money Market accounts are going away fast. They may make it through Christmas. They will need to sell the old house next door. But it is really in no condition to sell. And it isn't much. About 1,000 sqf of rotting wood and tired floorboards.

I want to give them everything. But I have nothing to give but emotional support, and althought I won't let on, I'm in no condition now to offer that.

I'm learning my lessons and they are far too late in coming.
Hoard. Hoard every penny.

Everything about my heart is broken.

10-30-05 Cancer +4

Be positive. Be hopeful.
And I try and try so hard but I'm neither. I'm angry and I'm so very very sad.
I don't let on. I can't do that to my family. My husband doesn't see or understand or empathize.
I didn't really empathize when his parents had it. I should have been more supportive. I didn't realize these emotions. I really really didn't get it.
Man. I'm so sorry about that.

I looked it up. His symptoms match lymphoma. I'm hoping for quick surgery but I know there will be radiation and chemo. I know my father will become frail. He already is. He's so weak. He's out of breath. I have this panic in my head and in my heart that he will die in the night and I'll just be told that he's gone. "Oops. We should have done something sooner but we were in the middle of all the testing. Insurance, you know. Gotta go step by step. Gotta TAKE FUCKING FOREVER to react!"
And I cry because of the suffering he will go through. My father, with his beautiful, wavy thick hair will go bald. He will hurt. He will not be able to eat. He will vomit. He will feel like every nerve is on fire. He will be frial.
I will not be able to save him from this. I will only be able to watch.

Make this stop. Make him better.

10-27-05 Cancer +1

To think that only yesterday
I was cheerful, bright and gay
Looking forward to who wouldn't do
The role I was about to play
But as if to knock me down
Reality came around
And without so much as a mere touch
Cut me into little pieces
Leaving me to doubt
All about, God in His mercy
or if he really does exist
Why did he desert me
In my hour of need
I truly am indeed
Alone again, naturally

It seems to me that there are more hearts
Broken in the world that can't be mended
Left unattended
What do we do
What do we do

Here it comes. Here are the tears. Just over the edge.

I have an image of the grim reaper standing outside my father's hospital room. He's leaning back, smoking a cigarette, biding his time. Bored with our lives. The bastard.
I have an image of beating his ass off with a broom.
I have an image of begging him to leave.

I am wracked with fear. I think of things in the future.
I worry that my father will miss those things. I know he worries more.
He's not ready to be done with this life. He has grandsons to watch grow up. It would be wrong for him not to be here. It would be wrong for Riley not to know Dad like Nancy didn't know Jack. Jack loved her like he loved none of us...for six months. Maybe Jack was trying to hold onto life by holding that little baby.

I think of the last movie Bubba watched. 8 Seconds. Nothing after that. She's seen none of the movies since then. The last book she read Lauren Bacall's biography. She said "I didn't know Lauren Bacall was Jewish.
No books after that. No new songs. No new stories.

I don't know how to do this. We can't lose him but I'm so afraid to hope. We hoped all week but that got us nowhere. In fact, all the hope and prayers and we lost the gamble completely. What will we hope for now? If we do - will we lose?
It isn't fair. That sounds like the cries of a child.
Doesn't this make us all children...wandering lost in the unknown?

I can't see life without Dad. This can't be that bad. This has to be cureable.
He CANNOT be a victim of this fucking family curse! Make it stop! Leave him here with us.
He quit smoking. There's no reason for this! He's supposed to beat the curse!

What would Mom do without him? How would she survive?
He hasn't even retired yet. He's worked that pain in the ass job for 12 fucking years. He tolerated that idiot Don. Shouldn't he get points for that??!!
Why don't my parents get to retire? Why don't they get to be together and travel and not be burdened by work.
He's only a couple of years away. Don't fucking take THAT from him! This isn't right! SOMEBODY MAKE THIS RIGHT!

10-11-05 Suicidal Thought Level: Orange

It's midnight on a Tuesday. I should be sleeping but I'm up sick, worried over you. For the record, that makes me angry. And it breaks my heart at the same time.

You sent an e-mail to your co-worker today. It was in response to her best efforts to get you off of your self-pitying ass and go hang out with the girls. You sent the letter to me so I could see. Why do you do that? (Psycho-drama?) I replied that the letter was "Not ok." It contained way too much personal information and it sounded like a suicide note. (and you wonder why you don't get raises and exemplary reviews?? You're simply too much work for an employer.)

I love you. I resent you.
You replied that you were feeling as if you're on the brink of "suicidal thoughts" again. I wanted to shake you and scream "STOP IT!"
I am tired too, my dear friend. So very tired.
I am tired from lack of sleep and from constant worry. I am tired from fear of picking up the phone and hearing your daughter's voice sobbing "Mom's dead." I wait for it and I dread it and I don't pick up the phone when she calls.

You said you keep your daughter and me and your parents in your heart and mind and that keeps you from doing it. You say that you know we love you so you wouldn't go through with it.
I say you have it backward. You should love us enough not to do it. Not to even think it.

Don't go telling yourself that I don't understand! I get it. I am as manic depressive as you. I have my suicidal thoughts on a monthly basis. Like clockwork. I have had my share of good hard cries on the bathroom floor. I understand despondency and apathy and weariness and dull, droning sameness.
I suspect your problems are hormonal as well. We will never know that will we, what with all the chemicals you're downing every day.
You told me last week that the "good news" was that you used to be taking about 300 pills/month but that's now up to about 400.
FOUR HUNDRED PILLS. 13 pills a day on average. How is that good news?? Were you being sarcastic because that didn't come across?

Some of those are for the hepatitis. I understand that. How many? I'm betting it's about 6-8 tops. Probably not even that many. The rest are for the imaginary things. Zoloft - maximum dosage multiplied by abuse. Valium - 10mg multiplied by abuse. Ambien, Sonata...Vitamins. Vitamin self-injections! ...what else? I have a list here somewhere. I have a list so I can give the names to the paramedics when they need to pump your stomach.

You are considering paying $1,065.oo on your credit card to get the remaining few month's worth of that hepatitis medicine. EVEN THOUGH your blood work has been fine for the past four months. That idiot doctor of yours has sold you the idea that you have to continue taking it "to make sure it's gone" and "to prevent a relapse".
But every person is different. Who the hell says 12 months is the absolute? Your insurance company has cut you off because there is NO ABSOLUTE. He needs to retest. He needs to be SURE. There is no way on earth that I would stand for that. If that damned doctor believes so much that you need it, he needs to figure out how to get it for you. This is WRONG!!!
But you just figure out a way to keep taking it. Are you addicted to it too?

And for the record, not that you would ever believe me, Valium CAUSES diarrhea. It does not cure IBS. I want to tell that S.O.B. that gave you an open, lifetime prescription for Valium that he is negligent and I intend to hold him to that negligence if you ever take your life. I want to make appointments with your doctors (who are obviously not speaking to each other). I want to scream at them that they took an oath. The oath says "DO NO HARM!"
I may very well find an attorney who will take that case.
Won't that be a grand, legal lesson for your daughter? She can write her doctorate on it.
(But what if you are manipulating them? Is that possible? Are they writing prescriptions to get you out of their offices?)

The massive amounts of chemicals are not working and they are very likely counter-acting one another. You are 47 years old. You look 75 and you look feeble and frail. You have lost so much weight that your skin hangs from your overly visible bones. You will not eat and claim that you cannot eat. If you eat in the presence of another you feign such misery that you are impossible to be near.
You have not worked a full week this year.
You no longer have the capability to process information. I have conversations with you now that are painful just in the time it takes you to gather words.
Your sentences are barely coherent. You repeat entire conversations as if you never had them with me....on the same phone call. And you are oblivious to it. You are an addict.

And I - I have distanced myself from you. My husband, the recovering addict-21years sober, refuses to have anything to do with you or to even allow me to discuss you with him. He has no tolerance for you. He tells me that I shouldn't either. I am setting myself up for heartache and failure.
I am left to internalize this insanity. Damnit! He is right though. I cannot fix you! I cannot allow you to consume my life. I have to live my life and resolve my problems.
But your other friends have disappeared too. So I cannot go away.
And I do not want to.
I want to hear you laugh again. I want you to heal.
I remember Six Flags and Wet and Wild. I remember long visits and long talks about OUR lives. Not just your life.
I remember your daughter's dance recitals. I remember how useful you felt when you were working with that young girl in the hospital. I remember believing you were about to find your calling.
I remember that we laughed when short pants came back into style and you told me you just didn't have the body style for them. You tried them on just to make your point...and you were right.
I remember watching Blue Collar Comedy Tour with you.
I remember laughing at your story about taking Jess to the race and the rednecks all over the place.

You have the nerve to complain about your sister's Meth addiction and to say that she is selfish and she is killing herself. And that makes you a complete hypocrite.
I have lost you to the drugs. You are 18 again and starting the cycle all over again.
I miss you so much.
Can't you love US enough to be healthy again??

9-27-05 no one to talk to

Realizations - When the chips are down I have no one to talk to.
When I am confused or conflicted, the closest thing I have to a shoulder
is a group of strangers - and I don't want to burden them with my
internal confusions. I want to play to them. I want to act as though I am fine.

I got a job offer. I sent my resume. I considered it. I became troubled by my decision to acknowledge
the offer.
I like my job. I like it a lot. It's close to home. It's non-intrusive. I don't hate waking up every
day. This is a good job. BUT it doesn't pay the bills and I am drowning. DROWNING!!!!

I told him "I'll just have to get a second job." his response was "Whatever" like it was a dare.
(Yeah sure, you won't do it.) But I don't have a choice. We are broke. We are backsliding deeper into debt.

We have NOTHING to fall back on. (unless I sell his crap- but that income won't pay OUR bills. I pay our bills.)

If I told her, all I would hear is (oh yeah, well my problems are so much worse than yours.
I'm dying from the inside out. I'm one big mystery ailment.(hypochondriac))

My Mother thinks I should go back to the old life. "You were so good at it."
It was killing me. It gave me ulcers. It took most of the joy from my life. It took most
everything from my life. I don't want it back.

My Father would just agree with me - or maybe he would agree with Mom.
My brother thinks money comes first.
My sister doesn't work and doesn't understand.

How to stop smoking

Both of my parents smoked when I was young.
My mother quit at 33 or so. She quit because we didn't have the money and she just decided she didn't need them. Cold turkey.
Oh, how I wish I could do the same.

My father quit a few years back. He required Wellbutrin to do it, but he was successful and has not smoked since. Go Dad!!

It is my turn. It is high time. I am obsessing about the need to stop.
Here are my reasons to quit: (aside from the obvious health issues)

#1 - $4.04/pack * 365 packs = $1474.60/26 paychecks=$56.71 per check or $122.88/month.
#2 - I hate the smell on my clothes and in my house.
#3 - Imagine the money I'll save on tooth whitening products and air fresheners.
#4 - I'm just plain tired of them.
#5 - The lungs regnerate once a person quits. I've heard that in 3 years the lungs are completely new. Oh to be rid of the cough.
#6 - I do not want my voice to change to "gravelly old woman"
#7 - I don't want to feel so tired and winded all the time.
#8 - I would like to taste food again....like it should taste.
#9 - I've been embarrassed by it more than once.
#10 - Choice of restaurants.
#11 - My muscles will ache less.
#12 - Going outside to smoke at my family's houses.
#13 - Influencing my nephews.

There are more reasons. I should make myself come up with 20 or 30.


EXCUSES why I haven't quit yet (things to overcome):
#1 - I do not have a replacement habit, and that cannot be food. And it must be something socially acceptable so I can have it anywhere.
#2 - My hubby smokes. (that's a hard one to overcome - they're too available)
#3 - Stress
#4 - Breaks at work (I need these for the stress.)
#5 - Triggers (coffee, beer, food, toothpaste, bedtime, stress, boredom)
#6 - My doc refuses to give me any type of medical assistance for this. I once thought, "Dad used Wellbutrin so I'll just go get some". Doc was all, "Nope. Too bad. Do it without assistance." What's up with that? I'm not a drug addict! SHEESH.
#7 - I will not use The Patch because I saw it kill a man.
#8 - All the other assistance substances are nasty. Tobacco gum. Ptooie. What happens if I get addicted to tobacco gum? Besides, I swallow gum. Wouldn't that be awful?!

Men do not see dust

Why can't men see dust? Are they genetically deficient? Is their eyesight somehow unable to take in the color variation caused by the light haze of a coat of dust?
Do the commercials for Endust and Pledge just confound them to no end?
Are they, possibly, comforted by the dust? Does it make them feel as if they have ancient antiques about them? Are they somehow "richer" for it?

When Swiffer came out with the Swiffer Duster I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I can dust things ABOVE MY HEAD. Things I cannot even see. How great is that??
My husband thought I was insane. He remarked, as he often does when I go on cleaning binges, "You've gone crazy!".
This concerns me.

By no means am I an efficient housewife. I dispise cleaning, regardless of my obsessive-compulsive need for everythings to be disinfected. I am, however, entirely repulsed by the ability to write my name on his nightstand with my finger. AAAAaaaaa! That's disgusting.

Men, if you want to turn your woman on, buy a Swiffer Duster and CLEAN SOMETHING.

Missing work

There are 52 weeks in a year. A standard work-week is 5 days.
52*5=260 days
There are 7 (or so) standard holidays in a year.
260-7=253
Paid vacation days usually total 5 to 10 days/year.
Let's take the high-side for the purpose of the following discussion.
243 days/year a person is expected to work.

People who miss work annoy me. I can understand if the missing is caused by a legitimate illness. I am not unsympathetic.

HOWEVER, I know a number of people who abuse the system. One person I know misses EVERY Monday. So much so that her supervisor made the comment "She won't be in today. She never feels well on Mondays." Furthermore, she will then take a day or two the same week to attend a function that her daughter is involved in. Do schools really schedule functions during the workday? This makes no sense to me.

Another girl that I know has not worked a full week this year. Every time I turn around she has taken another day for some fictitious ailment. Every headache is a migraine. Every tummy ache is an ulcer. Every pain requires a battery of tests that require more days off or more leaving early.

I once had an employee who missed more than 3 months of work. None of it consecutively. Most of it for false reasons. He was a great employee...when he was there. To add insult to injury, his kids were his excuse to stay home. Top that with the fact that his wife did not work. She was home with the kids.

All of these people rant about the review they never get because they expect raises.
When they get their reviews they are shocked that their employer doesn't see them as an exemplary employee. They are shocked that their raises, if any, are minimal.
SHOCKED!

I have never met one of these people who had any idea the impact of their absence.

I am that diligent worker who takes up the slack. I am the one who is always there. I am the one who feels guilty when I take one day off because I worry about my co-workers having to shoulder my load.
Trust that I hold a grudge.

I have also noticed that the younger set has very little work ethic when it comes to time off.

And another thing, the younger set doesn't seem to have much sense. (Is this me getting older?) We've gone through a number of temps who do not know how to FILE.
What's up with that? What kind of common sense do you have to lack for FILING to be confusing? "I'm not even going to think about what they're NOT teaching you in school."
Sigh. That's a whole different rant!

Twisted Word Verification

WTF is the deal with the twisted word verification? I wholly get the idea that random letters eliminate spam from my website. I do not, however, understand why they must be twisted. Is it possible that spammer programs do not have the ability to read these letters as long as they are distorted?

It's good to know that all the legitimate commenters are crosseyed-squinters like myself.
Furthermore, I invariably get stuck with the long ones. 8 letters or more. I assure you that I have fouled up more than one attempt.
Dyslexics - you have my deepest sympathy.

The photo is about two years old. I'm dressing up my baby sister for her wedding day. She's the pretty one but you can only see the back of her head. lol

Second Job

How the hell am I going to work two jobs? I get off the first one at 6p.m.
Will I work from 7p.m. until Midnight?? What will I do? Bag groceries? Drugstore?
I don't know. All I do know is that I'm going to be very, very tired.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I'm so angry about our economy. Not just the hurricane, not just the war. The whole political, bullshit, unbalanced, recession economy. I'm sick as all hell at the DENIAL of it. I'm sick as hell of George W. Bush dodging and ducking and a billion or so people still standing behind him. He looks and acts like a badly handled puppet.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs until I'm out of breath. IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS. IT NEVER DID.

Shhhhhhhhhhh....I'm not supposed to talk about it. I'm not supposed to have opinions. I'm not supposed to FEEL it.
I'm supposed to be sympathetic to our causes.

I CAN NOT find the middle ground in any of it. It is personal and it is NOT personal. It is SO not about me or us or ANY of us. It is so fucking about him and them! I dare the man to walk a mile in my shoes. I DARE ANY OF THEM. We are backsliding so badly that I am awaiting the moment of seperation. That second when the middle class is entirely split into rich and poor. Think food stamps. Think food LINES.

Am I crazy? Am I extremist? I sure as hell hope I'm just being pessimistic. We'll see.

Regrets

I'm giving up dreams again. I had the money. I found the drawing table of my dreams. I watched it slide right through my fingers too. There are too many things between it and me. Too many things that must be before silly, selfish wishes can be fulfilled.

Let it go. Again. (THAT brought me to tears. I guess I didn't realize how much hope I had for it this time.)

There are other things I wanted; Plane tickets for my hubby so he could go home for Thanksgiving. A new belt for the truck and maybe a tuneup so I can go see that beautiful nephew of mine.
A phone for the house that won't die in the middle of a conversation with Mom. That 80 gig hard drive Dad and I talked about. A catpost that will allow the cats to climb up and down from the bed without fear of breaking a fragile old ankle. The ability to drive to my friends house and back without fear of an empty tank I can't refill. There are other things.

Amassing Debt

We have not been in debt for 11 years. All bills were paid...in full...every month. I am struggling so desperately to keep us...what? To keep us from scratching each other's eyes out, I think.


This is what it looks like today:
Removal of Lymph Node (January) $2,000+ (paying to multiple entities, all currently in arears)
Emergency Root Canal (July) $600 Every penny going on the only credit card with room on it.
Vet bills (September) Pooh's tooth - I had $263 in my bank account. The bill...$265. It went on the card too. We've got to eat. The surgery will be much more. What to do??
Birthdays (September) His and mine. He says "I don't want anything." but I've never NOT gotten him anything and we really only have each other. I will scrape up some money, somehow. I will not let the gift slide.
Family None of our family lives here. I have no idea how we're going to see them for the holidays this year. I can't send him home to NC. I can't drive to Houston to see my family with gas so blasted high.
And Speaking of Gas Both credit cards are well over $700 each. I can barely pay the minimums at 28% interest. We're paying cash for gas now...in $20 increments. I should invest in a bike and ride to work.


Of course, there are a lot of other problems. I have a loan I took out a few years back. I'm still paying that. We both have car payments since his car literally died and mine broke a front axel. Necessity. (and we were damned frugal with the new cars!)


I want desperately to consolidate the whole mess under one loan. Problem: No collateral. None. We own nothing. There is nothing to refinance. We are living on a cash only basis.

Things I must do: Quit smoking this week. Get a second job. Pay everyone off.
Christmas is gonna suck, huh?

Trust that I kick myself for worrying about this constantly. Who am I to complain when so many have lost so much. (But stuffing it down only makes it grow. It's becoming such a freaking monster!)

Subcutaneous Fluids

"The cat is diabetic. That's why he's lost so much weight. You can choose to give him insulin twice a day for the rest of his life or we can put him down for you. That'll be seven hundred dollars."
That's what the vet said five years ago. I said "For seven hundred dollars, the cat will live." That vet was a schmuck. Degrading and rude and somewhat heartless for a man of his profession. It matters not.
We panicked. We read. We learned. We restored him to kitten-like health and we have watched every morsel he has eaten ever since. We attempted home glucose readings. We learned about charting his levels. We learned about meds he can't take and the effect of everything on his liver. Everything, including the ingestion of bugs. Not kidding.
We boarded him once, to nearly disasterous ends. We have not taken a vacation together since. One of us is always home to inject twice daily. Our plans ALWAYS include 12hr time-frames.
I love that cat. I love him deeply and wholly and unconditionally. I have no regrets. I've gained five years so far.


Now he is ill. He is 15yrs old and he has a severely abcessed tooth. (puss...ack!) He will not eat or drink. He is in pain.
We took him to the vet. We had a good visit. Antibiotics and pain meds and plans to have the tooth (and probably a few others) removed under general anesthesia. Bloodwork was required....and then something new. Something I have NOT researched or prepared for. Subcutaneous fluids.
This is a bizarre thing. The cat is dehydrated. Fluids are injected under the skin and the body slowly absorbs them. No drinking required. This causes a large "balloon" of liquid from the back of his ribcage to his neck and down one leg. And the vet says "it doesn't hurt him". How do they know this?
It can't possibly feel GOOD. Poor kitty.

Well, regardless, we are learning how to pop pills and liquid antibiotics down the throat of an animal who thinks we are doing nothing less than torturing him while he feels like crap. He's fighting every move and hiding from us. I don't sleep for fear he'll react badly to the meds and I'll need to rush him to the e.r.
C'mon kitty...give us 5 more years. OK?