Monday, November 19, 2012


I wish that there was someone I could just sit down with in real life and tell just how scared I am. I try to be strong for the sake of Steven, but my fears just keep coming out in the form of frustrations he does not understand. He doesn't deserve them, either. I just feel so weak sometimes, and terribly frightened. No one is around enough to learn about what my son needs, so what happens when I'm gone?

I know that those around me would say that I speak of my mortality too much, but outside of my son, my life has not been one that I would say is worth living. I've had enough disappointment, abuse and pain. I have buried enough dreams. I have stifled enough tears. And I could care less about what people would have to say when I'm gone, because I'm here...and I don't hear you. Nor do I see you.

I think that the loneliness is the hardest part of this whole situation. During the weekday, when everone is gone, I sit here and think about the world passing by outside my window. It's a bit easier when I actually have somewhere to go, and something to do, but most days are not like that. And I feel judged by those who watch my "drama" unfold. It's like I have leprosy, too many issues, too many problems for anyone to want to come close.

In the past I have tried to hang onto my spirituality to keep afloat, but that part of my world has been rather empty as of late. I understand that rain falls on the just and the unjust, but I can't help feeling like I'm being punished for some mistake that I don't realize I've made. And I get irritated with the people who try to tell me that my situation is not all that bad. You are not here. I'm not saying that my problems are the worst in the world, but they are prolems, and they do burden me.

I must admit that deep inside of me lies the hope that one day, even if it's just one person (and that's all there ever is), someone will look and actually see me. And in spite of all my shortcomings, wish to stay around longer than a few minutes. Because I honestly feel like I will be crushed by this situation sometimes. Since it's not just me that depends upon me anymore, giving up is out of the question.

I'm only human, though. Has anyone ever thought about that?

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Apparently it's not all in my head.

For most of my life I have avoided crying in front of people. It wasn't something that my mother looked kindly upon, especially when she was beating me. But don't mention that to her, we're not supposed to talk about all of that. The subject of my parental limitations is definitely to be brought up, but the years of systematic I live amongst people who seem to think that goodness and wisdom come from age, rather than from lessons learned in a positive way. Oh well, I give up on trying to address that. It no longer matters to me whether or not these people acknowledge what I feel.

So it's been three weeks since my doctor told me to see a shrink (and that my current one must not have been doing a good job). Had I not cried in that office, I probably would not be on the verge of a legitimate diagnosis. What I do know is that the issue is an autoimmune disease. It seems that my body is destroying my red blood cells. I ache with every movement. It's no longer just "you're fat," or "you're depressed." Um, you're damn right I am! You would be too, if you felt like this!

I went from being just another hypochondriac to being "my dear" and "my friend". All of a sudden I'm treated with solicitousness. I don't know whether or not to be scared. I do know that what I'm about to learn is going to change my life. Especially as a parent. I just hope that I can be independent in spite of all of this. I'm going to try. I honestly believe that living alone (with the boy in tow) would be good for my health. If it is true that suppressed rage causes illness, then I need to separate myself, because I'm quite angry with the world around me. I might as well go on and admit it. I don't dwell on it a lot, but I am angry at the people who have used me as a target all these years, as well as those who have come to snap judgments based upon their own shallow nature. I will not stop holding both myself and those around me to a higher standard when it comes to how to treat people. I am a human being. Treat me like one. My pain, my illness doesn't lessen the fact that I bleed just like you when cut.

I fear for my boy. Who will care for him when I'm gone? Because I accept that I will not be an old lady. People always tell me not to speak that into existence, but I feel that this is just a form of denial, one that I wish those closest to me would not fall into. So far, only two people have actually sat and listened to my concerns or need to make plans. I will not be blindsided by this. While my prognosis might not be death within a few years, there is a good chance my son will be young when I go. Can I please go knowing he won't be alone and confused?

At least today I know that it's not just depression. The blood work says that a heart attack is imminent. It says that my disease is chronic, and it's destroying my body. It says that what I've been trying to get someone to see for years, is actually there. I haven't been lying. I'm not a drug seeker (though they do work...shoot me).

I am ill. And I didn't make it up. I just wish I had a support system nearby. The love of my family that is distant keeps me going on the darkest days, but it is very hard knowing how many people are right up the road, who don't pay me a single thought. It's like I'm not worth anything to them.

I'm tired of being ignored...

I often tell my therapist that one day I'm going to write a book. I no longer write in journals, because it just seems like I am doing little more than talk to myself. I only do it these days when I feel as if I'm going to explode.

I'm just baffled at the level of insensitivity that seems to pervade society these days. Are we that selfish? I try so hard not to be, but it's like I don't really exist anymore. From what I'm reading, it's a by-product of chronic illness; you lose the life you once had, you lose friends. Problem is, I feel like everyone walked out of my life, with the exception of those who make me even more ill by being around. It would be nice to have a friend come visit. But they're off living their lives. I don't mean to sound bitter, but I tried to be an asset to my friends before I got sick. You would think after all I've done, I would be worthy of some positive attention.

But no, I'm the drama queen. I attract trouble. Never mind the individuals around me with their own issues, who feel that it's okay to press them upon me. I want nothing more than to simply live a peaceful life, but I'm surrounded by adult children who don't want to deal with their past issues. Hopefully one day soon they won't be a part of my life anymore. I don't deserve to be abused by you, I don't care what happened to you. I have not taken my grief out on you, don't take yours out on me.

I don't get that, this idea that when you are having a bad day, or a difficult stretch in life, it's perfectly okay to walk around with a chip on your shoulder. Most of my life has been full of abuse. I didn't fight back, I internalized it all, and had to eventually un-learn all of the negative messages that were given to me. It was a long journey, it was terribly hard. I still flinch at times when I reach out, and it's like I'm totally ignored. But there is a peace that comes with not basing your self-worth upon the opinions of others. Sure, plenty of people in the world say they don't care what other people think, but if all of those "other people," their friends, family members and colleagues walked away, they would be crushed. I've had that happen to me, and I'm still here.

I'm tired of being ignored. I'm tired of being written off. I'm real. My story is real. My pain matters. Just because it's immense doesn't mean that I deserve to be left alone. I have yet another burden to bear, finally a diagnosis for what has been plaguing me for years. No support system for my son should I die, because there is none for me. Yet I still keep going. Wondering what will happen to my boy when I'm not here, because I cannot channge what will be.

And all because society is too fixated on pleasure to deal with the inevitability of pain. I am to be ignored because all I've ever known, with the exception of the joy that is my son, is pain.

I do not see how that is fair. And I hope that when I'm gone, judgment is heaped upon those who have been too busy having fun to notice me.