Tag Archives: death

It’s Been a While

Why am I even here? I just as soon slink into non-existence if I could.

Depression. It always seems to find me right around this time of year. Sure, before I was on a less than working treatment. But it still hits hard, like a slugger deciding it’s a homerun or bust.  My mom died a year ago. A year and two days really. Again. It was on her birthday. Facebook made sure I couldn’t forget that.  It hurt. I don’t want something to remind me to wish her happy birthday, she’s fucking dead.

But what do you do? I grimaced. I was getting ready for school, I couldn’t falter that early in the day. That was two days ago. I also accidentally stumbled on my text thread with her on my phone. A lot of “Thanks mom”. She would write awkward reminders to tell me to do something or that a package arrived. “Thanks mom”.

But when she was here, we were constantly fighting. I tried to justify a lot of it. Some of it was valid, sure, but me and her were both broken. Especially when February came around. Because that’s also when my dad had his accident. I miss him too. Now he’s actually dead and I am actually relieved in that respect. I think I fucked up my childhood somewhere. I can’t see stuffed animals or children’s toys without feeling some weird sudden obligation to cry.

And oh yeah, there was that whole engagement thing I did in February. That was supposed to infuse some positive emotion to the month.  7 years or something like that, and it spiraled out so suddenly. Don’t get me wrong. I’m better for having moved on from that relationship, we weren’t right for each other at that point. I think we both saw that. We wanted the other to be someone we weren’t. But that still makes a wonderful pang when I think about it. It hurts. I don’t know how long til that goes away.

Oh and I thought I did okay a couple days ago when I came home from work, only having cried a little during the day. But then in the night I got sick, I think I started running a fever. I was convincing myself to not throw up because I needed my meds to stay down for a number of reasons. But chills shook me violently and painfully between 11pm and 3am. They finally died down and I felt incredibly sick and not rested yesterday. I forced myself to go to school anyway, like a good student, to just get attendance. I don’t remember much for doing that either. Still haven’t eaten since Monday evening. I feel like shit warmed over.

But then I get up today, this morning, determined for it to be better. I start off the day early with an interview for a job I really want, and I’m super grateful that I’m feeling mostly better. Then I’m slightly dreading work after school because it’s inventory at my job and I have to be there very late, when I have to be up very early tomorrow and my sleep stuff is still not figured out.  Some point during the day I get a terrible pain in my back, still have it, just came out of nowhere.

But I make it home regardless to let my awesome dog out of captivity (we’ll get there in a second). Blow for blow, this day is going okay. Then I get to my room and remember, for some reason last night I pissed my bed. As an adult. I had zero awareness of it until it was time to get up and I was even doing that late. So I just dressed up, locked the dog in the crate and took off. Now I am back home in my room and I can smell the piss. So I have to move everything off the bed with my hurt back, remove the sheets and put new ones on, which is harder than it sounds because I can’t actually just go from one side of the bed to the other, again I strain my back, but I remind myself it’s okay, you don’t want to remember later on, you piss your bed at night.

So yeah, that happens, I magically get my necessary homework done, watch some anime, take off to work. Work hurt me further, but that was okay, it was money for it, but I was really looking forward to getting off work.

Right before I get off, I get a notification of what my dog did for damage. I apologize for her and promise to fix it. I thought she was in my room where I left her. Turns out my roommate/cousin/landlord felt more comfortable placing her in the crate. That’s totally cool, that’s why we have it, and she’s more restrained there. She is a problem dog that we have been working on trying to figure out options.  But yeah, breaks out of the crate, no signs of where she moved it or how, just outside. I don’t want to lose her. But having done what we’ve done and it not work, I think there’s not any other option. So not only has my week been shitty, but every time I was willing to see positives, I get bitch slapped by Reality, reminding me that I’m his whore to do with as he pleases.

Too long didn’t read? TL:DR? Fuck life. Not only is this week particularly shitty, this is turning to just force February into my cursing vernacular. There’s nothing good here. I feel fucking exhausted, bawling my eyes out. And I can’t fix it. She’s gotta go. I don’t have much to lose, but every time I think I’m okay, shit like this happens.

 

On The Topic of Loss

I lost my mom in February. It’s been tough, but I made it to where my days didn’t consistently have reminders that she was missing.  Christmas hit in the stores, decorations, wrapping paper and music. I can’t look at them. They hurt to look at. Last Christmas was one where I made an effort to decorate for my mom because she didn’t want to for herself. And then she died on her birthday the February after. I can’t stand the thought of Christmas time as I make my rounds through the different aisles at work.

Then Saturday happens. I wake up groggy to the urgent concern about my father’s health. Rapid breathing, loss of oxygen and increased heart rate.  They give him some painkillers to combat it. He’s suffered a traumatic brain injury 15 years ago and kept beating the odds. He couldn’t say he was in pain. He couldn’t have a conversation or see, or do the things that lots of people do. All we could do for him was tell him exciting things and give him music and food. 15 years of slowly degrading health, requiring 24 hour round the clock care. When my mom passed, it became even painful to visit him. To be reminded of the things she did and that I was not getting anywhere close to completing or even taking on such daunting tasks. So when I get a call Saturday and I get to the nursing home and find him still beating the odds. I visit for a bit. He’s not responsive. Not too atypical as of late. I hang around til it seems things are leveling out. We are waiting on someone to come do suction. I get hungry and need to go as well as have an online test to take. I leave. Half an hour later, I get a call. He’s passed. And all of the moments of the past 15 years culminate in this. And as I told myself that my mom would have to go at some point and no time is easy, I too remind myself that my father isn’t immortal. I comfort myself with the thought of him being his whole self with my mom in Heaven.

Then today gets to be a bit hard because we go to the funeral home and start working things out. Turns out it gets to be another night of tragedy. As my uncle too releases his mortal coil. The man who has supported me in trying to lift me up out of my depression. Offering me resources of which I would not be able to ever have otherwise. He loves in a weird way, in an almost middle class sort of way. In that he sets high standards and goals and does what he can to help you meet him. He has certain ideologies in which he expected me to also identify. But his love was never truly conditional. And now I feel left reeling. No mother. No father. No supporting uncle. I have my fiance and her family. And a very unstable ground on which to walk.

Nevermind the other losses recently. Other uncles and aunts, my brother. This is the one in which I see no way out. I’m certain there is one. There always is. But it doesn’t take to my heart. I don’t see the way out. When my mom passed, I saw the way out through my dad’s brother, the one who passed away tonight. When I learned my dad was very sick and was placed on hospice. I only hoped that I would be given support long enough to recover on my own. When indeed my father died 2 days ago, I prayed that God protect my family. And now there’s this. I turn to God and I don’t know what to ask. I cannot expect anything. For everything I expect goes foul. I thought last year would be the worst year for a while. When I tried to take my life. I suppose it is only well that was last year. I’m now being treated for bipolar disorder fairly well. And if I wasn’t. I can’t say I wouldn’t be trying to take my life again.

I know others out there have it worse. But I just need a fucking break.

 

The Curse

My mom once said our family was cursed by God for some great atrocity someone a couple generations back committed. She lost a lot of siblings. Had bipolar children, one who became a drunk and occasionally hurt his wife and kids. Then my dad had his accident.  Then my mom broke her leg. Then when I moved away and the only companion my mom had was my dog, my dog got cancer.  Then my brother died. She could still hear him sometimes. Him and one of her sisters. Now she’s gone too. And my dad is in the hospital again. For like the 18th time.

The reality of the situation is that the numbers tell me my dad will die. My thoughts tell me he’s a tough guy and he’s gonna make it through. Reality does tell me if he lives, his quality of life will drop even further. I’m almost ready for him to die. I want him to be with my mom. I prayed in the temporary trauma unit that if God was going to take my father, make him go painlessly and know that my mom would be there to welcome him if he had any fear.

But now I’m at home, just having finished an assignment and trying to convince myself that I do need to go to work tomorrow, especially with it being a new job and all. But fear and conflict has taken hold of my heart. When my mom was in the hospital before she died, I knew she lived through the worst and was gonna be just fine, she was getting better and everything. One night, the fear of losing her seized me entirely and I fell apart, only to wake up the next day and everything was good. It was the day after that though shit hit the fan.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to expect right now. Certainly feels like a curse. Throw my bipolar in just for funsies and you’ve got everything you need for a turbulent life. I used to minimize the amount of trauma I’ve endured, convincing myself it wasn’t really bad because it could get a lot worse. Now I’m just starting to feel broken.