And I don’t want to be any of those things.
But there’s no changing any of it.
And I don’t want to be any of those things.
But there’s no changing any of it.
Along comes the lightning to show me the truth.
I should know better by now, hunh?
Things were looking up, I was looking forward… so of course, I didn’t see the bus coming up behind me that had plans of rolling over the top of me.
I’ve been sick for about 2 weeks now… starting with the flu, it morphed into an upper respiratory infection. Snotty bobblehead in extremis, I’ve been coughing, fevered, exhausted, stuffed up and generally miserable for a while.
Ok, so far, I’m still able to deal… so here comes the kicker.
Thursday night, I went to bed early. And woke up an hour and a half later with extreme chest pains, located directly behind my sternum.
Thinking it was probably just acid reflux, I took some meds, thinking – ok – 20 minutes or so, and I can go back to bed. Right?
Woke up at 12am – still in extreme pain at 1:30 am. Feeling like someone was attempting to yank my heart out through my back, I decided I’d best get a professional opinion.
I’m not waking up EldestDaughter. She’s got the toddler, so she’d have to get him dressed, drag him along at Zero o’clock, and sit and wait with the baby in a waiting room for godknowshowlong. No. OnlySon has school in the morning too, and has been sick, right along with everyone else in the house, so – no.
So, I drove myself to the emergency room.
Drugs, tests, more drugs, more tests… they talked about a possible pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung). Let’s do an EKG, shall we? Ok, no blod clots. So far, so good. So why am I still in excruciating pain?
Well… let’s do a CT scan, really up the game, here, hunh?
God-awful freezing cold room, with a dye test that makes you feel as though your insides are on fire and you’ve peed yourself. Good thing I’m so tired at this point and so full of pinholes from IVs and blood tests that I no longer care whether I’m some mad scientist’s latest class project.
Oh, at this point, it’s approximately 4am, and I’ve been in the ER for about 2 hours, still in pain, going on an hour and a half of sleep, and all alone.
CT scan over… they roll me back to the ER, and back behind my protective curtain. Wavering in and out of consciousness, between exhaustion, fear and drugs, I wait to hear back from the doctors, wait for a glass of water from a nurse that I can hear.. just on the other side of the curtain… playing FAMILY FEUD with her co-workers.
Hey! Let’s do an ultrasound, shall we? Just for shits and giggles?
Fine. I no longer care.
Lucky, lucky me, I have a hiatal hernia – AND a super nice collection of gallstones.
At 6:30am, I’m desperately trying to reach my work before my phone goes dead. I need to let them know that I’ve been here, in the ER, and won’t be in to work today. I’m still in excruciating pain… the pain meds they’ve given me only last for about an hour, then the pain is back, shinier and sharper than ever. But… it’s not a heart attack, so it’s all good, right?
Here. A pack of papers telling you that you need to talk to a surgeon within the next few days. Take some acid reducers to help with the GERD (gastroesophageal reflux disease – super-duper heartburn) Change your diet, don’t drink pop (haven’t had pop in months, thanks, stop looking at me like that).
Ok, here you go, get dressed and see ya later!
A never-ending series of ironic shifts, twisted plot lines and WTF moments.
Only way to go from here is forward. It’s a good thing I’m resilient. (Read – too stubborn to stop)
I’m tired of people who think that they have a free pass to comment on my life, and that they have any right to try to tell me how I should live.
Don’t tell me to “get out there and meet someone new”. I have someone. Whether you approve or not, doesn’t matter to me.
If I ever require your advice – I’ll ask for it. Until then… Remember how I don’t talk much anymore?
There’s a reason for that.
I’m burnt. Burnt out on the guilt trips. Stop making my silence “my fault”. It’s not me trying to punish, it’s me – Wanting to be left alone for a damned minute or 5. I so seldom get time, to myself, to do what I want – Take Garbo’s words and apply them to my latest profile pic.
I WANT TO BE ALONE.
I’m so over being the bad guy all the time. Just because I’m not picking up all the toys scattered throughout the house; the clothes (size 3t), left lying wherever they were removed; not doing all the dishes all the damned time. I’m tired of having to be the one who has to say “no” to everything, & the one who gets the dirty looks when I ask that others chip in and CLEAN THEIR OWN MESS. Sick a fork in me – Cause…
I’m done with men who think I’m only good for “right now”, but not good enough for keeps.
I’m tired of people who just walk out of my life without so much as a backwards glance, then think they can just pick up where we left off and it’s not going to affect me.
It was like being drunk, the way he made her feel.
That giddy sensation of happiness and lightheartedness, the ability to forget about the troubles and worries. The buzz and tingle that followed his touch. The floating glow that came after imbibing to the fullest.
But it didn’t last. It never lasted.
Because, as long as she was drinking… it felt great; she – felt wonderful.
But she wasn’t allowed to keep it.
No matter how she felt… no matter what she did, or said – or didn’t say.
He didn’t want that.
He told her from the start, he never wanted forever. It wasn’t part of who he was, and he couldn’t give her that.
She knew it, deep in her bones.
But it didn’t stop her from feeling the regret when the giddy drunkenness wore off.
That hangover of what could have been. What they could have had.
It took her forever to accept it, that it would never be.
That you can lead them to the water… but you can never make ‘em drink.
And she turned out the light as he walked away – again – for the last time.
Anniversary. The word that means to remember all the days gone past. To celebrate the triumphs, large and small. To stand in witness to the sad times, the bad times, and realize that, somehow, you made it through them all.
You’ve survived. You’ve learned and grown from all of life’s lessons, so far. And – you’re still here.
And what am I doing?
I’m lying, awake, at 1:30 A.M., realizing that my blogging anniversary happened 2 days ago… And I missed it.
5 years, WordPress tells me. 5 years since I started down this path of self-expression. And WordPress speaks softly in my ear…”Are you done screaming into the darkness of the internet yet?”
And the answer is no. I’m not finished.
I’m still here. And I still have more to say.
For 5 years, I’ve shared both joy & pain with you all. I’ve watched people walk both into, and out of, my life. I’ve bared myself, time and again, trusting that what I had to say might touch someone out there. That my words might have meaning. That I would be heard, and understood, even if only by one.
It hasn’t always been easy. It’s a delicate process… Opening up, sharing. Never knowing till after the fact whether I was going to be accepted or ridiculed for what I had to say.
But, the WordPress community has always been supportive.
I’ve made some dear friends, some who are still in my life today, and some who followed different paths, fading back into the mists of the web.
It’s been a strange and wonderful ride. And I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Thank you, WordPress, for giving me this forum to “scream into the darkness”. And thank you, all of you readers, for sharing the journey with me.
It’s not over yet. There’s more ’round the next bend.
And another anniversary waiting up ahead.
Some days, I’ll be up. I’ll talk, & laugh, & joke around with others. I’ll be goofy and sarcastic and the life of the party.
Some days, I’ll be normal.
Or as close to it as I ever come.
Other days, I’ll be quiet.
I won’t talk much to anyone, if at all. I’ll keep my head down as I pass you in the hall, and have a “thousand mile stare” on my face whenever you see me look up. I’ll avoid eye contact as much as possible.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul.
It’s not you- it’s me.
Inside my head, there’s almost always a whirlwind of activity going on. About the only time this stops is when I’m deep in sleep… Or when I’m concentrating hard on a project.
Days when I’m “on”, that whirlwind is tossing me one-liners and jokes at rapid-fire pace, and the world glitters and shines in my eyes like sunlight on water.
Days when I’m “off”, that whirlwind is howling and screaming in my ears, telling me I’m all wrong, not enough, too much, every negative thing I can imagine about myself and the world around me. It pins me flat to the ground – and I clutch at the grass beneath my fingers so I won’t be sucked up into that whirlwind and thrown miles from where I need to be, landing broken and bleeding.
It’s not you- it’s me
There are times when the anxiety and depression are so thick, I can practically reach out and swipe a fingerful from the air, much like stealing evil frosting off a cake. On those days, I retreat into myself. I don’t want to talk, don’t want to interact. My heart pounds behind my ribcage, my chest tight, restricting my lungs to shallow breaths. Shaking hands and clenched teeth, I perch on the edge all day long, waiting for that moment that will tip me over the edge into tears.
And then, the medication kicks in, finally loosening my chest, slowing my heart rate… And for a moment, the anxiety is quelled.
It’s not you- it’s me.
And on the good days, I greet the sun with open arms, eyes smiling, head tipped back, gulping deep breaths of oxygen into myself- knowing that tomorrow is a toss-up. That I never know what the sunrise will bring with it.
So, I grasp hold of those good days, shaking them for every drop of joy I can wring.
Because – honestly, it’s not you.
But it’s not all I am.
I’m tired of people pushing me.
Tired of being “expected” to be someone, to do something, whatever it is they want from me.
I’m sick of feeling like the bad guy all the damn time.
I’m tired of never having time to be alone. Never truly left to do whatever the hell I want.
I haven’t had a day off in weeks.
Work all week, babysit all weekend… The only time I get alone is late at night, after it’s too late, and I’m too fucking tired to do anything, anyway.
And yet, I’m still expected to do all the work at home.
I’m just the bitch who pays the bills.
Don’t mind me- I’m not allowed to be anything else.