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I’m sitting here at work on a Saturday and its my SO’s birthday. And I don’t feel guilty, I actually feel relieved.
It’s become such a pain to get something unique for occasions now. SO has everything wanted and has moved into that range where I wouldn’t even dream of trying to get something for his collections…
Still screaming inside. But made it through the night. Still waiting for another episode. I wonder how people who take chemo or get series of shots, deal with it. Chanting in their heads, “This will make me better.” The whole time their heads are screaming, “Noooooooo.” Their bodies turning into one big knot of tension.
I cant imagine getting rabies shots over and over and over again…
Life goes on,
Ciao
I’m screaming inside. I’m shaking with cold and I’m tired of feeling every little twinge in my body as if I’m about to throw up. I don’t know which is worse: getting sick or the damn medication Doctor keeps prescribing. The more I take, the more awful I feel. The Dr has no idea why this is happening. I’m pretty sure that the first round of meds probably caused all this and now they can’t figure out why it keeps happening.
When I feel better, I have this voice in the back of my head saying, “just wait, just wait.” And when it happens all over again, it’s there yelling, “you’re gona’ die.”
Maybe I’ve been in the house too long. But I cant afford to not work, so working from home is it.
Now if I could just get through till Monday, when the test results come in, to see what the hell I’ve got. Now I’m worried there won’t be some big red glaring thing and they will put me on yet more meds to make me sicker.
Sigh… Ciao
Shredding my mom’s papers. There are still bad feelings from the relatives some 8 years later after my mom died. They hate me for “slapping her in a nursing home and just watching her die”. They forced their way into her funeral arrangements. They demanded that I go against my mom’s wishes for disposal of her remains. I wasn’t torn up enough. I just didn’t meet their expectations of what a grieving daughter should act and be like. What a bunch of hypocrites.
She had cancer. She couldn’t take care of herself. My sister was several states away. I had to make a choice. I often wonder if she thought she was in purgatory or some hell that she couldn’t escape those last few months. The cancer had gone to her brain and through some strange quirk, she outlived her hospice care. She was delusional, in great pain, heavily medicated, incontinent, and dying by inches.
My sister told me a few years later Mom would call and ask what she had done to me to deserve this. I wonder at my sister’s motives for telling me this so many years later. It wasn’t like she was ever around for the hard decisions. Maybe guilt? Anger?
The relatives all wanted me to do something. To be there for my mother. They still to this day, think badly of me, because I didn’t have that lovely relationship they all wished we had. I didn’t seem to have the right reactions. Before Mom went into the nursing home, each aunt would schedule time, connive to get us isolated together somewhere, so we could ‘just work it out’ because they knew that we were just too stubborn for our own good. My mother abused me. They never knew. Little did they realize that I had already made my own way and peace with it.
There is no law that says you must like your parents. I believe self-preservation is a must. Why do we follow our instincts with anyone else but family? Why do you all let the ones that raised you treat you like dirt? Sometimes the only way to stop the bleeding and heal, is to cut them off. If that means you move on and detach from the situation, then do it. If it means not allowing yourself to play into the emotional blackmail, then do it. Do what you have to do to be right with yourself.
So now that the papers are shredded and the last physical vestiges of my mother are shredded, I still wonder if anyone will understand?
I kept waking up last night. There was this darn train effect going on and on. Somewhere in my mind, I knew it was the wind. But it was so loud. Constant noise. Another part of my brain, kept waking me up with ‘what ifs’. Like what if one of those lovely trees you insisted upon keeping, does you the favor of falling on the house? What if a big branch lands on the truck? What if the recycle bin your SO insisted wouldn’t blow away is in the next state by now?
Thoughts of an Old Fart 