Last night was one of my worst. Physically, mentally, emotionally and
spiritually, I was a mess. All I could
think about was all those pills, silently beckoning me, taunting me, daring me
to take them all. I actually starting
calculating how many it would require to get the job done. Permanently. What’s ironic is that the fear that often
makes my pain spike is the fear that keeps me from exiting out of this
nightmare. I often listen to Eben
Alexander’s journey (according to him, of course) to Heaven and back, but last
night I started to really investigate him, something I’ve never done, and now
the doubt and embarrassment at my own gullibility took center stage and everything
that ever left his mouth or graced the pages of his two books flew out the
window of my soul, if indeed I have one.
My struggles with G-d are often epic, fraught with the same
questions anyone else asks when faced with the challenges I face and dosed with
the usual campaigns of proof based on the state of the planet and those who
occupy its deteriorating landscapes and
unbreathable air. I cried, screamed and
planned until I finally fell into a restless sleep that woke me every few hours
no better off than when I first slipped into bed, hoping it would be my last
time. I was a mess.
When this happens, all my “tricks” for staying present and
unafraid scurry off and I am left defenseless, just waiting for it all to
pass. All. To. Pass. I try hard to think of things that are
reasons to keep on keeping on.
Family. Friends. The lunar eclipse that’s tonight (though in
Seattle, seeing it will be a miracle in its mostly cloudy skies) and my soon to
be cataract-free right eye. Reading
again should be something to celebrate (after four weeks of three, four times a
day eye drops).
But is it enough?
This is the constant question I torture myself with. Heck, I don’t even blog like I used to. I feel I have nothing to say that’s new,
nothing to share that’s relevant or helpful, nothing to add, subtract or make
clearer. Oh, my new pipe came and it
works. I could tell as soon as I looked
at it that a piece had been missing, which is why it leaked. So I’ll be dosing before my appointment
tomorrow since they won’t be giving me anything due to all the drugs in my
body.
I don’t blame the doctor for being a bit freaked when he saw
the list of meds. And CBD doesn’t make
you goofy like THC (the part of cannabis, or as we call it in the states,
marijuana, that makes you high). They
can even sell it online as a supplement now.
Wonder how long that will last.
The US is so screwed up I’ve lost ways to count how much so. Our prison system, our gun “laws”, our
denial at what’s in front of our faces.
I am so saddened for anyone younger than 30. Which includes my nieces and nephew.
And I wonder if indeed my family would prefer it if I checked out; not for them, of course, but for me. My sister often tells me "she could never have lasted this long if it were her". I know she means it as a compliment and a way to let me know she would understand if I took matters into my own hands. It would not bode well with me if she tried to convince me life is worth living no matter what. The conversation itself was taboo for many years after her first husband took his life. For reasons no one could fathom. And the truth is, you don't know what you can and cannot handle until you're faced with it. If someone had told me this is here I'd be 10 years ago, I may have ended it then.
And I wonder if indeed my family would prefer it if I checked out; not for them, of course, but for me. My sister often tells me "she could never have lasted this long if it were her". I know she means it as a compliment and a way to let me know she would understand if I took matters into my own hands. It would not bode well with me if she tried to convince me life is worth living no matter what. The conversation itself was taboo for many years after her first husband took his life. For reasons no one could fathom. And the truth is, you don't know what you can and cannot handle until you're faced with it. If someone had told me this is here I'd be 10 years ago, I may have ended it then.
I just pray it’s me and my mindset and that there is
hope. Hope for those with NF and all
other diseases and disorders, hope that our food and water sources are somehow
saved, hope that our air becomes breathable and hope that I get off this planet
and onto some other realm that offers a pain free existence. I saw this short piece the other day. Who knows if it’s true. But I liked it:
When Gandhi was studying law at University College, London, a
professor, whose last name was Peters, disliked him intensely and always
displayed prejudice and animosity towards him. Also, because Gandhi never
lowered his head when addressing him, as he expected…there were always
arguments and confrontations.
One day, Mr. Peters was having lunch at
the dining room of the University, and Gandhi came along with his tray and sat
next to the professor. The professor said, "Mr. Gandhi, you do not
understand. A pig and a bird do not sit together to eat."
Gandhi looked at him as a parent would a rude
child and calmly replied, "You do not worry professor. I'll fly
away," and he went and sat at another table. Mr. Peters,
reddened with rage, decided to take revenge on the next test paper, but Gandhi
responded brilliantly to all questions. Mr. Peters, unhappy and frustrated,
asked him the following question. "Mr Gandhi, if you were walking down the
street and found a package, and within was a bag of wisdom and another bag with
a lot of money, which one would you take?"
Without hesitating, Gandhi
responded, "The one with the money, of course." Mr. Peters,
smiling sarcastically said, "I, in your place, would have taken wisdom,
don't you think?" Gandhi shrugged indifferently and responded,
"Each one takes what he doesn't have."
Mr. Peters, by this time was
beside himself and so great was his anger that he wrote on Gandhi's exam sheet
the word "idiot" and gave it to Gandhi. Gandhi took the exam sheet
and sat down at his desk trying very hard to remain calm while he contemplated
his next move. A few minutes later, Gandhi got up, went to the
professor and said to him in a dignified but sarcastically polite tone,
"Mr. Peters, you signed the sheet, but you did not give me the grade."
Gandhi
Who am I today? Gandhi, or the Professor?