Sadness Moving On

After my visit with the Great Uncle G yesterday, I really felt like I could get back on top of things.  I even went out in the evening and had dinner with mom and the Big Dawg.  I had a good time, the food was excellent, the company even better.  I came home, did a little Internet chatting, watched two episodes of “Scandal” and then went to bed.  At that point, I was still feeling very positive.

I had a good night’s sleep last night so I woke up thinking today would be pretty good.  I came out to my computer, where I always go to wake up.  Drank a glass of water, took morning meds, petted the Kizz Wizz.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  I checked my email, no big surprises there.  I checked my comments from yesterday and also checked on responses to posts I commented on yesterday.  It was an ordinary morning, just like any morning.  I could have been getting ready to go to work for as fine as I felt.

And then I opened FB.  Right there on my home feed, was a very large photo of my old English teacher from middle school, along with words underneath indicating her life accomplishments.  Because, well, she had died.

You know, I knew that yesterday and I pretty much blocked it out.  I was feeling too good to let it get to me, but today, vulnerable from just waking up, it was too much.  I scanned more of FB and it was just more drama, more hate, more kids sick with cancer, soldiers wounded in action and suffering, people hurting other people.  Why do people post shit like that?  What does it really accomplish?

So I shut FB off.  I was kinda trying to hang around to catch a friend of mine, but I couldn’t take it anymore.  I just hung my head and cried.  Cried like a big baby, because the world isn’t fair, people aren’t fair OR nice, and there is a website that just wraps all of that up into one package and drops it on your doorstep.  What is the fucking point of that?

And then a song comes on my Pandora that takes me back to that time in middle school, when I was a student of the teacher who had passed away.  She was an English teacher.  She was so patient with me.  She believed in me, praised me for my writing.  More tears.  Just hanging my head and crying.

I guess it’s going to be a crying kind of day, because I cried while I looked at pictures of my nephew, cried when I think back to the screwed up DSB situation, cried when I thought about how I haven’t been a very good therapy participant because I haven’t sent diary cards in two days, cried because my medication was wrong for so long, just cried, cried, cried.

My instinct is to go back to bed, try and start this day over.  Before all of this silly and random crying started, I had things I wanted to do today.  Things I need to do today.  And I do still need to do those things.  And I really am ok.  Just overly emotional today.

Tears don’t mean something is broken.  Tears are just sadness and sometimes joy, spilling over.  You don’t need to worry that I am crying or that today hasn’t been a very good day so far.  This is just another day in the life of the Rosa, and, as always, it does get better.

tears

Every Day the Same

Low, low moments in time for Rosa.  It boggles my mind that I can have such great support and still feel such a wreck.  It boggles my mind that I can feel such a wreck and not let it show.  Sometimes I almost convince myself I feel fine, when I am in the heat of the moment, caught up in things.  It is when I am alone, when the lights are off and the sun has set, that the depression wriggles it’s way back into my brain.

I thought about blogging in the morning, because maybe then I could get a sense of how I feel fresh and new and ok, if just for that little bit.  DSB and I have our coffee, and I am ok.  My house is not a disaster and I don’t have laundry piled up and I have great plans for the day.  I’m gonna ___ and ___ and ___.  And then when I’m done, I’m g0nna write the blog post that will save the world in the most amazing way.

It’s laughable, really, how wide of a spectrum my mood travels during the course of a day.  Happy mornings, irritable mid-days, anxious afternoons, sometimes an easy evening, and then darkness, in the darkness.  It’s actually quite exhausting, and, come to think of it, am probably not getting enough sleep.

I have been staying up reading, addictively, on my new Paperwhite (sorry, I have probably only mentioned it 503 times since Christmas).  It is not holding a charge very well, but I think that  might be because I am using it far more than the 30 minutes a day it mentions when it mentions a “several week” battery charge.  I also leave the Wi-Fi on so I can download books at a moments notice and get updates.  That slows it down, too.  Moving on, no more Kindle drivel.

I know I haven’t mentioned it lately, but I am still not smoking.  I have some incredible stats to brag about:

One month, two weeks, two days, 12 hours, 0 minutes and 54 seconds. 2790 cigarettes not smoked, saving $354.33. Life saved: 1 week, 2 days, 16 hours, 30 minutes.

Yep, I’d say that’s pretty good.  Still with a few slip-ups, mostly one puff that leads to gagging and coughing and saying, “What the FUCK was I thinking?!?”  But I’m not gonna lie.  I miss smoking.  I miss the way it used to make me feel, the way I could hold it in my hand, the way it was a shared habit between me and people I care about.  And now I’m on the outside.  It’s actually pretty hard, more-so over the last several days.

Ok, now I’ve gotten off course.  Or maybe I haven’t.  This blog can be like my mood…up and down and all around.  I think I probably lost people after the first little bit and then they scan through the rest looking for something interesting.  Or, that could be my in-the-hole self-esteem talking.  I don’t know and at this very moment in time, I’m gonna go crawl into bed with my not-fully-charged Kindle and read.  And read and read and read, until it’s not so scary to go to sleep.

Good night and light me a candle when you get a minute.

 

I Asked For More

The past several weeks have been very hard on me and I have been doing my very best to just push all thoughts and feelings to the side.  That is starting to have a negative effect on me and I felt the need tonight to let some things out there.

DSB had surgery on Monday and while the actual surgery went well (kidney removed, cancer removed, all textbook), the aftermath has been hell.  I have never been so close to a person who is in such pain.  My grandpa was in a lot of pain throughout his life, but it seemed like he always put a positive glint on everything.  DSB is struggling to do this, and so I am struggling.

I haven’t slept worth a damn in three days, and it doesn’t look like tonight is going to be much better.  DSB is scheduled to come home in the morning and I am terrified.  Terrified of how I am going to care for him and still care for myself.  Terrified that the house is too dirty and there are too many germs.  Terrified that the dogs will jump all over him and rip his stitches.  Simply terrified.

There are a few things that have kept me going recently and they include therapy and working at my parents’ shop.  I am finding very little joy and too much stress in my everyday activities and yet I know I must try harder.  

I must try  harder to keep up my house and my surroundings.  I must try harder to take better care of myself.  I must pet Kizzie more often and sit outside more.  I must try to come to some sort of common understanding with DSB about so many things.  

I find myself crying frequently over the past few days.  I know it is the stress of DSB’s surgery, but as i said before, I am terrified of what comes next.  And then he talks about getting gastric bypass in the Fall.  It’s not that I don’t support him doing that, in general, it’s just that it’s more.  Sometimes I feel like I can’t take anymore, and then I realize that when I fell in love with DSB, that I was basically asking for more.

I find myself searching for some sort of cosmic wisdom or God or anything out there that I can turn to for some guidance and come up lacking.  I need to find peace in something but it is just so damn hard.  It feels like my life is in flux and I am unhappy.  I should revise.  The three things that keep me happy are love, therapy, and working in a damn bait store.  If i could just go there and count and sort hooks and put them into packages, and do some easy filing, life would be ok, for just a little bit.

I’m just overwhelmed and not sleeping isn’t helping things.  I feel like I have to make decisions between people I love and I hate that.  I should shut it while I’m ahead.  If you pray, say one for me.  If you don’t, throw some cosmic energy my way.  I could really use it.

I Can’t Get Myself to Go Away

Today has been exceptionally difficult.  I was discharged from my partial hospital program today.  While I am relieved, I am now also at a loss because that created such structure, even if I hated every second of it.  It didn’t help that I am just now getting comfortable enough to start sharing some of my issues.

We talked today about how I have a hard time telling people “no” and about how I don’t ask for help.  I don’t really know what to say about those two things right now, so I’ll just say that I also shot around the basketball a bit and that was pleasant.

I was done by around noon today and was just exhausted.  I have not been sleeping well and I decided it was time to indulge in a nap.  I slept from almost 1:00pm – 5:00pm and I still think I could sleep some more.

I am terrified that I am not going back to work.  So much of my self-esteem (maybe all of it) came from there.  As was said in group today, I can’t hear a positive without turning it into a negative.  So, here I am, taking something that could be positive…not having the stress of work…and dwelling on the negative.

I think if it were just me, I would go lie in bed and never get up.  That’s what I feel like now.  Not tired, just not wanting to exist or think or have to deal with anything.  It is some very real determination that has me doing anything other than the minimum required, and quite frankly I am not in some areas doing the minimum required even.

I don’t want to talk with my friends or family, play with my dog, read, or do anything.  I want to not feel this hurting feeling so badly, that its like I think if I sit still and quiet enough, that it will leave my body.  I wish it worked that way.

The tape in my head is very negative and I am thinking of myself in the harshest of terms right now.  My thinking is becoming a bit disjointed now, too, and that doesn’t make it any better because I am constantly mis-perceiving what others are saying and doing.  Just expect the worst.  The worst.

Matchbox Twenty, Long Day

Opposite to Emotion

I’ve gone a long time without a post, even for me.  Without making excuses, I’ve had a lot of stressful crap come up lately and have been drowning doing my best to keep my shit together. 

My godmother, Sondra, died last Saturday.  It was expected, but it continues to baffle me just how much it is affecting my life.  To make it even all the more unreal, her son, Dave, died early Friday morning, the day before she did.  It was completely unexpected, an awful accident.  Words can’t even describe and it still feels just surreal.  We spent all of last week going to funerals and attending to related business.  Completely horrible.  I’ve never been so relieved for a week to be over. 

My physical health has continued to deteriorate.  I had already been somewhat motivated to do something about it and had been eating a bit better, but after Dave died at 39, after Sondra passed, something happened without me noticing it.  I think death sometimes makes you realize that you need to take care of business so that you can live.  And in a way, I think that’s what happened, although there wasn’t any specific thought about it being related, or that “they died so I should _____.”  I can’t explain it.

I started the process of a database physical on Wednesday.  I’m pretty shaken up about all of it.  Filling out this long questionnaire, listing all of these things, all of these “symptoms” that I experience, realizing that it will likely all add up to some sort of diagnosis, probably diabetes, maybe even more, something worse, I don’t know.  It’s overwhelming to think about.  I have abused my body for years and years — I guess I always just thought I’d have “time” to do something about it, and then you’re 23 and then 25 and then 27 and things are at a breaking point.  It’s really ridiculous and I feel nothing but shame, guilt, and fear about it. 

It feels like most days I don’t really know what to do with myself.  I try to really structure my time at work, make sure I have appointments all day, so that I actually get things done.  Then most nights I get home, and all I want to do is go to bed.  I don’t want to blog, don’t want to walk, just want to make myself not feel all of these feelings and all of these thoughts and memories that come up when I am awake and not occupied.  I can’t stand being in my own skin. 

Dr. Love has really been doing a good job at getting me to do things.  We have gone to the dog park for the past couple of days and last night took a walk and did the Bowflex.  My mom called last night and made plans for the majority of the weekend.  It’s good for her, it’s good for me.  Neither one of us want to dwell too much.  Just too fucking painful. 

I hope I can get back to a place where I can put my feelings down here in a somewhat coherent way.  Right now I just have everything so pushed to the side that it’s almost impossible to get in touch with what’s inside there…and I don’t really friggin want to, either, is the thing.  Even though I know it’s making me miserable.  I just keep thinking that I need to buck up, go to work, keep myself occupied in the evening, and do it over and over and over and I’ll start to feel better eventually.  That’s the hope, anyway.  Right now I just feel incredibly disconnected. 

This song means something deep and true to me, something timeless, reminds me of I time I wish I could remember better.  Just enjoy and feel sad that you can’t hear The Wallflower’s version, but this guy is pretty good. 

ChicagoSoul covers The Wallflowers, Josephine

Mercy

If there was ever a time, a desire to be “fuzzy wuzzy” (as in my last blog), it is now.  Right friggin’ now. 

I think I have blogged about my godmother, The Bird Lady, before.  I think when I blogged before, it was about all of the wonderful stories that she would write about her childhood, growing up poor in the South, and then email to all of her loved ones.  Remember now?

The Bird Lady has been in my life since birth.  She has been my mother’s best friend for over 30 years.  She has watched us grow up, and has always been a fixture in our lives, sometimes more than others, but always there in one way or another.  Like a child unwilling to believe, to see, I never thought I would meet a day when she would not be around.  Granted, that day has not come yet, but it is coming soon, all too soon for me to bear.

The Bird Lady has fought a long painful battle with severe osteoporosis and spinal/nerve problems.  She has also struggled with a host of other medical problems, all related to an over 50 year steadfast practice of the eating disorder, anorexia nervosa.

She has been in unbearable pain for the past three or four years, often unable to leave the house for anything other than short periods, at some times unable to leave her bed.  Through it all, underneath it all, she has remained the godmother that I know and love. 

A few months ago, she had back surgery, the details of which I am still not clear on, but basically it was supposed to help her increase her mobility and give her less pain.  She survived the surgery, but has been, from what I understand, from what I refused to hear for quite some time, bound to her bed and home since then.  Her weight plummeted from an already very unhealthy 90 or so pounds to around 75 pounds (she is 5’9, maybe 5’10).  Her heart, already weakened from a heart attack last year and 50 plus years of a raging eating disorder, is failing.  Her lungs, complicated thoroughly from years of smoking, are failing. 

A few weeks ago, she developed a raging infection around her surgery site.  They went in, removed the metal rods that were holding her vertebrae in place, and were planning on putting in longer rods.  They did not.  They did not believe she could take any more trauma, any more anesthetic, so they sewed her back up.  Their initial plan was to revisit the surgery in six weeks.  To make her stronger, to get her weight up, to get her stabilized. 

From there, the details are fuzzy.  A lot of it, I don’t want to hear, don’t want to understand.  Even the aforementioned details are from scraps that I have listened to here and there.  I just don’t FRIGGIN WANT TO HEAR IT.  Because that would be accepting that there is a problem, accepting that she is not going to make it through, accepting that she will leave us soon.

From what my sister has told me, The Bird Lady is done fighting.  She does not want the quality of life that the next surgery would afford her, IF she would even be able to have the next surgery.  From what I understand, the next surgery would be at least six weeks away, if she makes it those six weeks.  From there, it would be IF she survives the surgery, then IF she survives the rehabilitation process.  And then, they can’t give her any sort of guarantee that the surgery would hold, that it would last, that her quality of life would improve.  I believe they are saying that there is a good chance that it would not improve.  

At any rate, she would be in the hospital for at least the next few months, if she were to survive that long, only to go to a nursing home after.  But she is done fighting.  She is giving up.  And I am trying my damndest to understand, to be ok with that. 

At this point, The Bird Lady is going to hospice.  She made the decision Saturday and will check in later today.  Her family is overwhelmed and are doing everything that they can to talk her out of it.  The doctors say that she is of sound mind and that this is not an irrational choice.  She is just done fighting.  Just done.  My sister has tried to explain this to me over and over — she just is not interested, will not accept, the poor quality of life that would be afforded to her if she was to continue fighting. 

And I want to understand this.  I need to understand this, to accept this, to be able to move on. 

But DAMN. 

Up until last Friday, I “didn’t know” that her condition was so serious.  I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, had talked to her on the phone only in passing (and Lord knows that I am beating myself up something CRAZY about the lack of contact, the lack of friggin EFFORT on my part to connect with her).  Apparently things have just been getting worse and worse, and I have refused to hear it, refused to listen to it, refused to ask questions.  My mom says that she was going to tell me how dire circumstances were a couple of weeks ago, but that there was never a good time, because she knew how I was going to react.  I can understand that, from my mom’s point of view.  She was trying to protect me, trying to make sure that I would have the support that I need when it came down to it. 

In my mind, though, I went from believing that Sondra was going to be just fine, to being told that she was not going to be just fine.  In my mind, I believed that this surgery was not a big deal, that she would fight the infection and would be up and working in her flower beds, flying her pigeons, working on stained glass, and playing bridge three times a week again in no time.  I believed this because THAT IS WHAT I WANT.  Of course, we can’t always have what we want. 

I am not in a very good space right now.  I’m trying to come to terms with all of this, but it’s unbelievably hard.  I am still in shock and denial right now.  There is still a large part of me that says that she will change her mind, fight the infection, and wait for the next surgery…and that she will be absolutely FINE afterward.  Unfortunately all evidence points to the contrary, so I am just struggling in my mind and heart with her decision.

My sister tried to explain hospice care to me yesterday.  I think at first (and even still), I didn’t understand exactly what would be the “cause,” if you will, of her death.  People don’t die from back surgery, RIGHT???  No, they don’t.  She is choosing to not fight the infection.  WHAT??  I don’t understand.  Why not?  I just don’t understand.  I can’t wrap my brain around it.  It seems so simple in my head — fight the infection, have the next surgery, move on with life as we know it, just don’t friggin’ LEAVE.  So very selfish on my part.

My sister has also tried to explain to me time and time again, and I am having an inability understanding this, to even hearing this — she doesn’t want to go on, she doesn’t want the quality of life that this would afford her.  But I don’t understand.    And maybe it’s because I haven’t seen her, haven’t talked with her, and just don’t know how bad off she is.  My hope is that I can talk to her and make myself understand what she is feeling, what she is thinking.  I need/want/have to understand so that I can be supportive.  I just don’t know what it will take to get there. 

All I can say right now is, thank God that I have Dr. Love.  He is standing by my side, ever watchful, ever protective, making sure that I am doing what I have to do.  Every minute, every hour that passes by, I realize more and more just how lucky I am to have someone that loves me, that understands me, that cares for me the way that he does.  It is something that I have never had, and I am forever grateful that I found him.  Forever grateful. 

YouTube won’t let me embed this video, so you’ll just have to click on it. 

Joe Nichols, Size Matters