' Are You Reactive: Active; Or Proactive, In Regards Yo Your Own Health Care '

'Are You Reactive;Active;Or Proactive, In Regards To You Own Health Care ? "

 

 

Part I of IV

02/27/12

To my most very, very dearest friends, and ever-constant, loyal readers,<Please know that your "wellness is always very much on my mind, and I would rather you feel good, than feel horrible; and while I know that, for many of us, our conditions are chronic, established, and often treated off-handedly by our so-called, concerned Providers, many of you ( myself included) have often complained that our disease-process intervention is often both ineffective, and dies not-in fact-attend to the lasting effects of our illnesses, I would very much like to share with you a topic fond to my heart.
In doing so-as illustration-I shall be using one of my neighbors, ‘Grace'* ( not her real name), who-at seventy-nine years old-- is too often quite careless in the matter of her ( or her eighty-three year old husband's ) health care; and, occasionally, quite dangerously so.
And it is this which I would wish to address to you, today, in hopes you will avoid the same mistakes.
I have since lost count of the number of times that Grace has come over to the house, with some actually startling complaints and conditions that should have had immediate attention.
1) She was the one who had lined up her pill bottles on the pass-through, from her kitchen to her dining room, and who would take them one at a time, picking up each bottle in turn, taking a pill, swallowing it, setting the bottle down, and moving to the next bottle of medicine to take.
And while I do not know the exact number of prescriptions that she had, any slight interruption, caused her to miss sequence, so that she could not remember whether she might have missed a pill or not.
I gave her a twenty-eight (or four times a day, for seven days ), plastic pill case she could load up a week's worth of medication at a time. I told her to go slowly, with NO interruptions, to lessen the likelihood that she would miss a medication; and an ‘old trick', to turn her pill bottles either upside down, or right side up, upon filling up a week's medications, so that should she be distracted, she would still know where in her bottle line-up she was. Further, that in in thus handling her medications, she would better know when it might be time to refill them.

2) She once came to the house, complaining of severe, upper leg pain, and mentioned that she had a cyst with an apparent ‘core', that had grown so much ( raised and swollen almost six inches higher than on her other leg ), that it actually upset her being able to sit upright. Just the mere stretching out of the skin caused pain; my advice to her was to have her husband take her to the Emergency room, to have it lanced, and the infection drained, as-by now-it had progressed beyond out-patient treatment at her Primary's.
And when finally she did go to the hospital, where the cyst was lanced, the built-up pressure caused the site to literally explode, and the gurney she was in, as well as the cubicle she had been placed in looked like a major crime scene, as you may well-imagine.
By now, there had been established a demonstrable infection, with lots of subsequent draining, which her husband had to clean, and dress, applying antibacterial ointment, as she, herself, took antibiotics; and since the area of infection and selling was very close to her rectum, great care had to be taken so that she would not inadvertently soil the bandaged area. And since it had been allowed to go untreated for such a long time, treatment, and healing took even more time.
3) I also discovered-quite by accident-that neither Grace nor her husband knew how to properly read a glass thermometer. For them, I recommended they purchase a small, digital, battery-run, thermometer, for its ease of use, and accuracy.
4) Usually, both of them would wait until their normal visiting day to their Primary, often presenting her with a specific complaint ( in addition to their regular medical issues ); the Primary would then whip up a diagnoses, out-of-the-clouds, prescribing medications that Grace could not remember what they were for, could not pronounce them, and knew nothing of their potential side-effects.
And this phenomenon is more common than one might think.

This is but an excellent example of ‘Reactive' health-care on the part of the patient; it is a most dangerous posture to adopt, yet, how many of us are guilty of the same things?

End of Part I of IV; Part II of IV To Follow.

As always

I love you dearly,

'Zahc/Charles

' With Sugar And Spice, ANd Everything Nice ': Part III of III

 ‘With Sugar And Spice, And

 Everything Nice ‘

Part III of III

02/22/12

To my very, very dearest friends, I wanted to tell you how grateful I am for your befriending me, and in caring about me, my illnesses, and my near-constant pain; before I had even heard of MDJunction and its many specific groups, and group members, although I live alone, I was-in truth-alone and lonely ( there IS a marked difference ) by myself, with my dear Daisy.

My few friends of decades live so far away, and never visit…though, two of them do telephone me at least one a week; I really have NO family. And the neighbors have their own lives to live; they cannot be bothered to live mine.

And, as I aged, with one illness subsequently piled upon the other, until I am housebound, except for monthly visits to my various physicians.

At first, I did not think MDJ would either help, or interest me; it was the prodding of Roy, who got me to return, to view the site with new eyes, and a new perspective.  I imagine that is how most of us came to MDJ.

I have since made real friends who actually care about me and how I feel.

And I have found new purpose in writing diary entries, and your increasing readership humbles and delights me; it causes me to think that—at last—I have found my Voice, and realized my intent, which was to ‘be there’ for you, to listen to you as you listen to me; and if, from my long experience in the field of ‘health care’, as well as my experience with global pain.

And if I may ever prove to be of some, slight help to you, or to someone you love, rather than to go on and on about my illnesses ( which quickly—as they should, become tedious and a drag to read ), then, my dear friends, I know a rarified joy, granting to my journey moments of quiet satisfaction; for it is my way of helping, to try to ever keep you safe, and to be that Advocate for perhaps many who have none.

Now, you occupy a place within my heart, and would that I but could, I would gladly have your pain reduced to zero; your fearfulness exposed to light; your errant thoughts made whole, again; and all of your depression, panic, and anxiety whisked from you in an eye-blink. So that indeed, ALL of your monsters would be slain for good, to know—at last—a sense of peace.

But before I launch into this day’s entry, Part III, I feel that I must warn you.  And this is most IMPORTANT:

First of all, please bear in mind that I live in Florida, and so, your State’s laws may be different.  However, it does give indication of how the problem is being recognized, and, dealt with by legislative Bodies.

The Problem: “ Doctor Shopping “

During the visit to my Psychiatrist—this morning—he mentioned that, most recently, the Florida Legislation had passed into law, prison sentences for those caught ‘Doctor Shopping’.

This occurs when someone already seeing a medical Provider, and having a script primarily for that class of drugs known as benzodiazepines ( most often Xanax, as it is quickly becoming the most abused drug of choice ), seeks out another physician, to get an additional prescription for the same drug.  And so on.

And while this class of drug—when monitored and used correctly does have benefit as an anti-depressant; anti-anxiety; muscle relaxer; or anti-convulsing, they can be inordinately addictive, especially Xanax.

It is quite one thing to see one or two Providers, to gauge their interest, and to try to establish rapport, to see which one you might like better than your current Provider, which—in terms of patient/physician relationships, and mutual treatment goals, it is quite another thing to self-dose, until one is out of medication too early, or to use it recreationally, or to share them, or try to sell them.

To self-dose too frequently until one runs out of meds too early, is just imprudent, and foolhardy; though many of us ( myself included ) have ‘been there’.

To use them recreationally, or to buy or sell them is, ‘Drug Trafficking’, and has been illegal.

Now—in Florida, at least—anyone caught ‘Doctor Shopping’ will be subject to arrest, and imprisonment.

BTW, this puts greater pressure upon the Provider to prescribe these medications, even to those who most need them.  Pharmacies, as well, will be under great scrutiny, as will be Doctor referral physicians.

So…once again, the ‘few ?’, have managed to make it much more difficult to obtain prescriptions that do work, and are therapeutically necessary._________________________________

‘ With Sugar And Spice, And Everything Nice ‘

With new information, studies, and Pharmaceutical ‘Specific’ drugs being tested all the time, this growing flood of discovery is often quite beyond the purview of many medical Primaries these days, one can hardly hope that a single Primary care-giver, medical, psychiatric, or Holistic physician will know EVERYTHING, though, it is not unreasonable to expect your Primary to be a least familiar with your condition, or conditions; that is why—so often—physician referrals are used, as these ‘Specialists’ are supposed to well-conversant with a particular need or problem.

And why, so often, mental health Primaries turn to their ‘Pandora’s’ box of samples of medications, about which, they often know little more than they were told by the pharmaceutical rep. while employing that most famous, though potentially dangerous, “…well…let’s try THIS to see if it works.

My dearest of dear friends, I find this to be a most slipshod, irresponsible, dangerous form of ‘treatment modality’. To you, this Primary may be only the one of two, or three whom you will ever see.

To them, you are one patient among hundreds, largely faceless, and invisible.

This ‘approach’ is just wrong for so many ways:

1)            It means your Primary has largely given up one you, but who would rather you try something you’ve never had before, rather than your going somewhere else.

2)            It is a tacit admission that your Provider has failed to make you feel better, or to improve.

3)            It is the practice, then, of medicine, ‘by guess, and, by God’, in hopes that at least ONE dart will hit center.

4)            By accepting these samples, you have just become a needy test subject of results, good, bad, or deadly, that he then reports directly to the Pharmaceutical House first, rather than to the C.D.C.  That automatically makes of you a willing guinea pig, to further line the pockets of the pharmaceuticals, whose actual bottom line is: will they manage to recoup the R&D money, they put in to developing the drug ?

5)            Is it just me, or have you happened to notice that the ‘newer’ the drug, the more dangerous the possible side-effect ?  All that is required is one, severe reaction, allergic or not, to send you to the hospital, or, possibly make one blind; suffer potential psychosis, or, as they like to call it, ‘altered thoughts’. And many, many other equally dire side-effects.

My dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, I feel I must tell you then, that the onus of responsibility for your care falls ( as where it actually should ) square upon your own shoulders.

“But wait”, you might say, “aren’t THEY the professionals ?" Yes, my friends, they are, but even though you suffer as do I, still it is YOU who must remain vigilant, for it is YOU who I care most about, not your Shrink, nor your Podiatrist.

In another post, I shall expand upon your responsibilities. But for now, I would tell you:

1)            Make up an ‘up-to-date’ list of ALL your medications, and make sure ANY provider you see, sees it.  Especially include all your allergies to medications, and to everything else, as you medication will interact with food.

2)            Since you—in effect—have to self-dose, I’d recommend one of those ‘four times a day, seven day pill boxes’; loading in a week’s worth at a time will lessen the chance of having to take one pill at a time, each time, and will eliminate your accidental taking of more or less medication than was prescribed.

3)            Keep ALL your medications in one place, AWAY from children, or nosy visitors.

4)            I have found that this little trick helps me keep track of my medications, since I have to take so many: every time you fill you pill box, turn each pill bottle wither upside down, or, right side up.  If you take many medications, this will tell you which have been loaded into the box, and which as yet have not been.  Such frequent handling will also give you a clue as to when it is coming up on re-fill time. You needn’t alphabetize them, as THAT is just a little too O.C.D. for me, but I do keep my psych meds. together, my medical meds together, and, lastly, my supplements or vitamins together.   My ‘pain’ meds., and those medications I take infrequently I keep separate from all.

I just want to see you safe, and hopefully lessen the chance of inadvertently causing harm to yourselves, or others important to you.

For as always, I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

' With Sugar And Spice, And Everything Nice '; Part I of II

‘With Sugar And Spice, and Everything Nice ‘

02/18/12

To my always kind and dearest Friends, and patient, ever-loyal readers: again I would seek to draw you close, perhaps to seek from you some proffered strength, to cling to an offered arm to steady me, and keep me from falling.

Thus steadied, I could look into your caring eyes to tell you how very, very special you have become to me; and how grateful I am to you for your constant and unchanging kindness; your many hugs, and private notes, and comments to my diary somehow—for a magic while—elevate me above my distress, and lighten my usual pain.

As in life, it would seem that there are friends, and then there are friends who, in their natural goodness, and decency, and their effort, seek to sustain this friendship, and never allow it to lapse into obscurity.

For others…perhaps the novelty has worn thin, or else their interests waned, and some, for whom signing up and seeking friendship was somehow made too easy, sealed—not in permanence—but by an almost ill-regard; a random key-stroke, much as in Facebook, wherein supposed ‘friends’ are gathered up like status points: I’ve seen this done, for who can have seven-thousand friends; surely this amassed throng means nothing.

And I regret to say, that, even at MDJunction, scores of friendship applications are clicked ‘yes’, and then are quite forgotten; I know that in my monthly group ‘hug’, how few respond, and from month to month go unanswered, while a few form friendships outside the limits of MDJ, to exchange e-mail, and telephone numbers; I know this to be a certainty, as it has happened quite naturally to me as well.

And while such detachment saddens me, I realize that one cannot properly pay attention to an hundred friends, and while I thank you for finding me to be of interest at one time, there remains for me the friends who have been steadfast, caring, ever interested and supportive,  there are other ‘friends’ who regularly read my diary pages, and to you who have been as loyal readers, I cannot thank you enough, as you gladden my heart, and I am frankly overwhelmed by your growing numbers.

And yes, as any would-be writer would, I most eagerly add up your ‘hits’ each Friday evening, as I hope, in my self-defined role of ‘care-giver’ would continue to try to offer some, small help; to be a Voice, and an Advocate for those who in silence, need one; to only bother you with the details of my illness as little as possible, or to just provide a long, but interesting read.

Whenever I think of MDJunction ( which is often ), I imagine some vast universe, whose planets are as faint, but glittering stars.

And everyone’s a member in some graduated need; those who suffer pain and loneliness, but yet must go on; those whose Past ever reaches out to strangle them; those whose anxiety gives them panic so severe; those who are depressed, and see no end to it; those who feel isolated, and alone, unable to leave their ‘safety zones’ even for the necessary commerce of Man; those who—even now—are damaged, and uncared for, who fail to thrive for lack of love.

I know ALL these, because I AM all these.

And those who are lost, or nearly so, my heart hears your pain, and is truly broken by it.

True unabated suffering knows no hierarchy, no scale, nor list of dominant importance.

Its wearied and unchanging state is Hell on earth, lived out from day to day, second to second, at a speed faster than that of a neurotransmitter.  Faster—even—than the computer at which you presently sit.   

It is fast, because it is limitless; oh, one may argue about the 1-10 Pain Scale; personally, I liken pain to someone walking along the beach beside an ocean, whose vastness stretches-unbroken—at the horizon.

For there is a state of no pain, or, at least unrecognizable pain during anesthesia or deepest sleep; pain, or, the ‘experience’ of pain—if you will—begins with putting the first toe into the water; step by step forward, the water gets deeper, first knee high; then hip high; the waist high; then shoulder high; and finally, over-head high. 

Were it the ocean, that person would drown; likewise, pain increases OR decreases until it either becomes manageable, or becomes engulfing, terrifying, sweat-filled, crying, unbearable.

At that point ( for me, anyway ), there functionally is NO ‘10’ on a scale, only, that which can be bared (or, controlled with medication ), or not; one might as well revise the standard Pain Scale, from 1-10, to 0-Infinity.

And, when all one can see is pain, then depression, inadequacy, fearfulness, uselessness soon follow; these negative emotive States are powerful influences on our lives. And often those in great or greatest pain become the least likely to be able to function successfully as parent; spouse; child; employee; manager; neighbor, or to be able to carry out those tasks of daily living such as grocery shopping, which, to those thus unaffected seem effortless.  Further, they often cannot understand the ill person’s lack of fortitude, thinking it either a rouse, a lie, or a scam.

And this is regrettably true for many medical Providers, as much as it is for the average American, many of whom have had NO pain, ever, or such, tiny, taken-for-granted annoyances, such as headaches for which a couple Tylenol will dispatch.

In their ‘painless’ history, perhaps the only pain they have ever known has been from some, slight, self-limiting injury ( e.g. sprained ankle ), or, perhaps a bout of flu, or a naughty wisdom tooth ( which, while inordinately painful, was ended by a course of Percocet, and extraction.

They cannot fathom what abuse is like; or torture; nor starving; nor depression; nor panic; nor agoraphobia; nor migraine, much less other, auto-immune system dysfunctions such as Lupus; Fibromyalgia; Bipolar II or I, and so on.

But, please ALWAYS know I love you dearly.

End Of Part I of II; Part II To Follow Shortly.

'Another Morning...Another Day...Remarked Only By Their Very Sameness '

'

02/13/12
To my ever dear, and dearer friends whose very Selves-in spirit and in truth always overwhelm me with your singular kindness, as I find in you a comfort and a most reliable pleasure andsurprise, and to my readers, who-slowly-but-surely- in their increasing numbers, humbles me and makes me glad; to those hidden in the cybercloud who-perhaps-in reaching out-- discover some, small help within these lines; to all I give my most sincere regards and, yes... love, after my fashion in acclaiming you; I always, in my furtive, mumbled prayers wish so much for you, and thank you, thank you for tolerating my soaring flights of gladdened thought, and who forgive me, when my soul's waxened wings fail to sustain me in my hoped-for flight away from this seemingly unnatural despair.
I fail, and in free fall, drop past this earth's core to immerge from out the other side...in China ?, as my heart as would a confluence of cosmic rays, pass unhindered through the magnetic magma, proceeding almost into space, again.
II
I awoke-again-too early to achieve what one might hope to be a sovereign sleep, with rest sufficient for the coming day; some earlied time before, the Morphine's every atom was used up, and, yes, it IS quite possible to awake to monstrous pain; anxiety; incontinence; and depression. To find myself, again, far from home base ( which ordinarily would be one's bed ), away from warmth and the reassurance of my little, stuffed zebra, bed companion, which uttered not a sound, having been found lying face-down on the pillow next to me.
III
I dozed off and on at the kitchen counter: why it has become a secondary place to land, and to wake from, I have NO idea; but half-awake, I-like some errant pinball-glanced off different countertops, looking first for pain pills, and from a spare Klonopin, in hopes to ease these rogue feelings of depression, fully admixed with tiny vollies of panic attacks, and stood there, still wet, waiting for coffee to heat up, and meds to work, to do something, as I mumbled out a weird concoction of scattered prayers.
So rushed were these supplications, and so disjointed as would confuse the very Deity to who they were being said.
Can a more merciful God decipher such a litany of confusion, wherein I begged Him to lift my resounding headache, and my chills; my thousand pains, my sadness, and my sorrow ?
IV
I once recall a now lifetime ago, how once I seemed to spring from my morning bed; outside, the air seemed more refreshed, and the streaming rays of morning sunlight scarcely kissed my unlined face.
And I felt strong, restored to juvenile strength, and would throw the covers back with great production, lunging-almost-to my feet, to celebrate-perhaps-the day, and whatever wonders it might auger; and even if the day turned into shit, I had sufficient youthful blustering to conquer all.
V
Now my home bears silent witness to a lesser self; the kitchen lights are too bright, and hurt my eyes.
I reach with a robot's arm and hand, to gather to me all my morning medications, for illnesses and complaints that, even twelve years, ago, I would never thought of; now, they are as natural as my pulse, and to some large extent, these pills scatter through my day, and are as marked as any calendar entry would be.
My fears manage quite well on ‘auto-pilot', though I know that they are there.
I did, finally, change my undershorts, but as this morning is a ‘shower morning' for me, I need to save clean clothes for after.
And...my cousin is due to visit me later in the morning, so, for that visit, I must at least be clean, and in clean clothes, and...somehow, must be more pleasant, not as sleepy or as tired while he's here.
VI
Somehow, my dear, sweet friends, where did that certain sense of happiness go ? Did it simply evaporate from my incontinence, or dribble from my hurting, swollen legs and feet, now swollen a couple of inches above the knee...not good.
Or, did the pounding of my headache scare it off, by drumming it away ? Or did somehow this state of depression, and panic, and anxiety cast a too-dense fog, obliterating the newness of the day ?
And will-tonight-I have to break down, and wear Depends, whose patented crinkles at the thighs cause chaffing, and, since they are made of plastic, feel too hot again my skin; maybe that is why babies cry, from a general discomfort; to that can reasonably added that at fifty-eight years old, I need their presumed protection.
VII
I am so tired, and sleepy, now, though I cannot go back to bed, as soon my C.N.A. will be here, from cold outside, to help me shower, and don clean clothes.
Subject to a change of heart, I promise myself a nap when my cousin leaves around 2:45 PM.
And so, my dearest friends...I suppose I shall close for now, wishing you-if I may-a quiet and peaceful day, free form distress or pain; an afternoon, thus spent in pleasant recreation, and evening and glorious nights...oh, the very night that alarm me, be but for you, a peasant ending to a pleasant day, with a natural tiredness; sung to a blissful sleep by angels
As always,
I love you dearly,
‘Zahc/Charles'

or Cancel

 

''Another Morning, Another Day...Remarked Only By Its Sameness

02/13/12

To my ever dear, and dearer friends whose very Selves—in spirit and in truth always overwhelms me with your singular kindness, as I find in you a comfort and a most reliable pleasure and surprise, and to my readers, who—slowing, in their increasing numbers—humbles me and makes me glad; to those hidden in the cybercloud who—perhaps—in reaching out, discover some, small help within these lines; for all I give my most sincere regard and, yes, love, after my fashion in acclaiming you, I always, in my furtive, mumbled prayers wish so much for you, and thank you, thank you for tolerating my soaring flights of gladdened thought, and who forgive me, when my soul’s waxened wings fail to sustain me in my hoped-for flight away from this seemingly unnatural despair.

I fail, and in free fall, drop past this earth’s core to immerge from out the other side…in China ?, as my heart as would a confluence of cosmic rays, pass unhindered through the magnetic magma, proceeding almost into space, again.

II

I awoke—again—too early to achieve what one might hope to be a sovereign sleep, with rest sufficient for the coming day; some earlied time before, the Morphine’s every atom was used up, and, yes, it IS quite possible to awake to monstrous pain; anxiety; incontinence; and depression.  To find myself, again, far from home base ( which ordinarily would be one’s bed ), away from warmth and the reassurance of my little, stuffed zebra, bed companion, which uttered not a sound, having been found lying face-down on the pillow next to me.

III

I dozed off and on at the kitchen counter: why it has become a secondary place to land, and to wake from, I have NO idea; but half-awake, I—like some errant pinball—glanced off different countertops, looking first for pain pills, and from a spare Klonopin, in hopes to ease these rogue feelings of depression, fully admixed with tiny vollies of panic attacks, and stood there, still wet, waiting for coffee to heat up, and meds to work, to do something, as I mumbled out a weird concoction of scattered prayers.

So rushed were these supplications, and so disjointed as would confuse the very Deity to who they were being said.

Can a more merciful God decipher such a litany of confusion, wherein I begged Him to lift my resounding headache, and my chills; my thousand pains, my sadness, and my sorrow ?

IV

I once recall a now lifetime ago, how once I seemed to spring from my morning bed; outside, the air seemed more refreshed, and the streaming rays of morning sunlight scarcely kissed my unlined face.

And I felt strong, restored to juvenile strength, and would throw the covers back with great production, lunging—almost—to my feet, to celebrate—perhaps—the day, and whatever wonders it might auger; and even if the day turned into shit, I had sufficient youthful blustering to conquer all.

V

Now my home bears silent witness to a lesser self; the kitchen lights are too bright, and hurt my eyes.

I reach with a robot’s arm and hand, to gather to me all my morning medications, for illnesses and complaints that, even twelve years, ago, I would never thought of; now, they are as natural as my pulse, and to some large extent, these pills scatter through my day, and are as marked as any calendar entry would be.

My fears manage quite well on ‘auto-pilot’, though I know that they are there.

I did, finally, change my undershorts, but as this morning is a ‘shower morning’ for me, I need to save clean clothes for after.

And…my cousin is due to visit me later in the morning, so, for that visit, I must at least be clean, and in clean clothes, and…somehow, must be more pleasant, not as sleepy or as tired while he’s here.

VI

Somehow, my dear, sweet friends, where did that certain sense of happiness go ?  Did it simply evaporate from my incontinence, or dribble from my hurting, swollen legs and feet, now swollen a couple of inches above the knee…not good.

Or, did the pounding of my headache scare it off, by drumming it away ?  Or did somehow this state of depression, and panic, and anxiety cast a too-dense fog, obliterating the newness of the day ?

And will—tonight—I have to break down, and wear Depends, whose patented crinkles at the thighs cause chaffing, and, since they are made of plastic, feel too hot again my skin; maybe that is why babies cry, from a general discomfort; to that can reasonably added that at fifty-eight years old, I need their presumed protection.

VII

I am so tired, and sleepy, now, though I cannot go back to bed, as soon my C.N.A. will be here, from cold outside, to help me shower, and don clean clothes.

Subject to a change of heart, I promise myself a nap when my cousin leaves around 2:45 PM.

And so, my dearest friends…I suppose I shall close for now, wishing you—if I may—a quiet and peaceful day, free form distress or pain; an afternoon, thus spent in pleasant recreation, and evening and glorious nights…oh, the very night that alarm me, be but for you, a peasant ending to a pleasant day, with a natural tiredness; sung to a blissful sleep by angels

As always,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

'The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And the Hope '; Part III Of III '

' The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope '; Part III Of III '

Feb 11 2012

‘ The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope ‘
By
Shawn
‘ The Hope', Part III of III
02/11/12But, amid and beyond this evil, I saw a small candle flickering; though it was being crushed in all that hatred and pain-still-its small flame shown.
It was just a candle but it, too, seemed to beckon me. " Just a little farther, Shawn, just a step or two more." It seemed to me that God was that candle, and I began to run faster, ever toward it, saying what prayers I could.
In the light of that one candle, I felt I'd be safe, and in its light, all evil would be banished, and could never harm me.
Beyond that candle came stars in the sky, each one, a blessed soul who would welcome me.
I knew safety and love. In that moment I knew forgiveness and healing, and a joy I never really knew existed.
Echoing voices said, " We love you Shawn, " and a voice that filled the universe at last said, " Welcome home ."
It radiated such love and compassion, that it was too much to bear, yet, I knew I never wanted to leave it.
I was healed and made finally whole. Gone was all the depression and uncertainty. Gone was the pain and despair.
As I move further and further into that light, perhaps one day, I too will shine like a star, and will be able to welcome you, my dear, dear family, and hold you, and kiss you, and tell you how very much I love you, and...will do so for all time.
END
To my dear, dear friends, and constant, ever-loyal readers, who are a pure and undistilled delight to me, for which I am ever grateful, in too many ways to count, and to whom I can never, in near-full measure convey my joy and thanks, I particularly wanted to share with you all three parts of ‘Shawn's note, that I wrote for his family; not for any desire for accolades, nor approval ( as, each of us has our own thoughts regarding suicide, and its effect upon those who must survive its devastation and potential consequence ), nor personal opinion, though you well-know how much your kind criticism and comments mean to me.
Rather, that-in this instance-there was no ‘me' involved; only to the extent of providing comfort to the family, and to, perhaps show, that there is an emotion that sometimes equals Love, or, exceeds it: and that, my dearest friends is ‘Hope'.
For, without ‘hope', even the purest and most steadfast Love might falter.
I think of you so often, my dearest friends, and, even as I wish you well, I remain concerned about you always.
Like so many of you, I-too-have known such bleak and dark depression, that, at times, seemed to close around me, suffocating me in a totality of unbearable pain and despair; and while I am on medication for this, and have been on it for years...still, the depression weighed down upon me, until, all I wanted was escape, no matter what the cost.
Since you, and your welfare have found solace in my heart, still I urge you most plaintively: while sometimes, such vile, and evil depression must run its course, please, oh please do not let it so engulf you until suicide seems the only way out; really, only YOU can prevent it; seek help immediately; seek out friends; clergy; MDJunction friends; professional help, with treatment, counseling, or medication therapy; for you are too precious, far, far too precious to ever lose.
Or, for that matter, someone you know, or someone you are close to, or love.
Don't let them just slip away-like Shawn-without some sort of attempt at intervention.
Please permit me to perhaps put this in another way: I am now fifty-eight years old; and though many of my days are heralded by a hundred agonies, yet, since I yet live, I find singular, sundry, and many reasons to go on: learning something I had previously never known; some sight of rare, and elegiac beauty; some bit of song, or poem, half-remembered; a time to rest while thinking countless thoughts: surely, they ALL do not have to be enmeshed in daily pain.
There are certain, wondrous mysteries that might reveal themselves to me...tomorrow, that might go unrevealed, today.
Something that surely I would miss otherwise.
Now, dearest friends, while I can appreciate that sovereign control that we have, often, in determining the lengths of our lives, and that, for some, suicide remains the ultimate, ‘ Get Out OF Jail Free ‘ card, please also keep in mind that when I ‘wrote' Shawn's note, I was fifty-five, and he was but sixteen, an almost forty-year difference in our ages, that would incline me to believe that-perhaps-a sixteen year old might not have been able ( mentally, or physically ) to fully consider all the consequences of his actions.
But, truly, since I could not ‘peek' inside his, or, really, anyone else's mind, I therefore, cannot determine neither his mood, nor mindset.
Only that, at its most base, although Shawn's problems may have effectively ended when he hanged himself ( ? ), for the questioning, devastated and lost family he left behind, their problems just began, with feelings of guilt, blame, anger, sorrow, grief, and with questions-now-that can never be answered.
And so, my very, dearest friends, please allow me to close by ever wishing for you days of lessened or of ‘no pain'; quiet, beautiful days, and experiences of the wonders of Nature; afternoons of contemplation, and fond regard; evenings free from illness, or loss, surrounded by those who love you absolutely for yourselves, and balmy, quiet, dreamy nights, free from want or despair; blissful, and unbroken sleep...the kind that invigorates and restores.
And, please know I love you dearly,
‘Zahc/Charles'

'The Pain That Was MIne, The Darkness, And The Hope'; Part II Of III '

' The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope '; ' The Darkness', Part II Of III '

Feb 09 2012

"The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope "

‘The Darkness"...Part II Of III ; Part III to follow on 02/11/12 .

By ‘Shawn'

02/09/12

To my wonderfully dear, dear friends, and ever-constant, patient readers,

[ please refer to my diary entry of 02/07/12 for explanation ]

II

' The Darkness ‘

Even as I closed my eyes for the last time and fell into a momentary quiet, even then, the darkness began to gather, and close in around me.

{I knew what I had done, and fully knew that it was through my soul's eyes that I saw it gather.}

I was briefly distracted by the recollection of my old life. It was like a two-second slide show that spanned every second, every year. I saw
events, people, and places that I had previously forgotten: being held by my mother for the first time; elementary school; my siblings; Christmases; my first friend; my first love.

All this was displayed to me as one scene passed into another and then faded from awareness.

In that cold darkness, I felt alone. All alone and yet...not alone. It was not a pleasant feeling, and I began to sweat despite the cold.

Overhead, there was a limitless sky but no stars.

I knew then what it was like to be truly alone. I called and called your names, but the sound was carried away by the chilling breeze.

The ground I walked on became more uncertain. I would have lost my footing many times, on the sharp rocks.

For an endless age I walked. In the distance, the hills and low mountains were briefly lit by fire, but I could not feel any warmth from it. I stumbled on, tearing my clothes.

My path narrowed, spanning valleys that got deeper and deeper. I was lost, and would have given everything I had, or was, or would ever hope to be to return to the safety of my family.

It was then I heard it...a low, moaning sound carried on the wind; it was so
plaintive and full of regret, and I felt sorry for that lost regret.

The sound grew larger, and changed. And got louder and louder. It was the roiling sound of terror, agony, and endless suffering of countless souls.

I would have tried to help them, but knew that I could not.

I froze in icy horror as an evil, laughing voice said, " That's right. Come to us Shawn, we are waiting for you. "

And I began to run, knowing that if I fell, I would fall among them, never to escape. Every pain I had had in life was nothing so much as this.

And the agony of terror began to tear at me leaving bleeding sores that would never heal.

End

of Part II of III

Part III, and comments to follow on: 02/11/12

Meanwhile, my most dear, selfless friends, and always kind, a loyal readers, please allowme to wish for you days of lessened of no pain; freedom from want, or need; quiet evenings, free from depression or despairing; and a night of blissful, and restorative sleep, that gives you strength, and a clearer mind to be as allies to always look to do that which is good...and Just.

And, for all the happiness that your hearts can hold !

I love you,

‘Zahc'

Health Topics: Add topic

or Cancel

' The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope '; ' The Darkness', Part II Of III '

Feb 09 2012

"The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope "

‘The Darkness"...Part II Of III ; Part III to follow on 02/11/12 .

By ‘Shawn'

02/09/12

To my wonderfully dear, dear friends, and ever-constant, patient readers,

[ please refer to my diary entry of 02/07/12 for explanation ]

II

' The Darkness ‘

Even as I closed my eyes for the last time and fell into a momentary quiet, even then, the darkness began to gather, and close in around me.

{I knew what I had done, and fully knew that it was through my soul's eyes that I saw it gather.}

I was briefly distracted by the recollection of my old life. It was like a two-second slide show that spanned every second, every year. I saw
events, people, and places that I had previously forgotten: being held by my mother for the first time; elementary school; my siblings; Christmases; my first friend; my first love.

All this was displayed to me as one scene passed into another and then faded from awareness.

In that cold darkness, I felt alone. All alone and yet...not alone. It was not a pleasant feeling, and I began to sweat despite the cold.

Overhead, there was a limitless sky but no stars.

I knew then what it was like to be truly alone. I called and called your names, but the sound was carried away by the chilling breeze.

The ground I walked on became more uncertain. I would have lost my footing many times, on the sharp rocks.

For an endless age I walked. In the distance, the hills and low mountains were briefly lit by fire, but I could not feel any warmth from it. I stumbled on, tearing my clothes.

My path narrowed, spanning valleys that got deeper and deeper. I was lost, and would have given everything I had, or was, or would ever hope to be to return to the safety of my family.

It was then I heard it...a low, moaning sound carried on the wind; it was so
plaintive and full of regret, and I felt sorry for that lost regret.

The sound grew larger, and changed. And got louder and louder. It was the roiling sound of terror, agony, and endless suffering of countless souls.

I would have tried to help them, but knew that I could not.

I froze in icy horror as an evil, laughing voice said, " That's right. Come to us Shawn, we are waiting for you. "

And I began to run, knowing that if I fell, I would fall among them, never to escape. Every pain I had had in life was nothing so much as this.

And the agony of terror began to tear at me leaving bleeding sores that would never heal.

End

of Part II of III

Part III, and comments to follow on: 02/11/12

Meanwhile, my most dear, selfless friends, and always kind, a loyal readers, please allowme to wish for you days of lessened of no pain; freedom from want, or need; quiet evenings, free from depression or despairing; and a night of blissful, and restorative sleep, that gives you strength, and a clearer mind to be as allies to always look to do that which is good...and Just.

And, for all the happiness that your hearts can hold !

I love you,

‘Zahc'

or Cancel

' The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope '; ' The Darkness', Part II Of III '

Feb 09 2012

"The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope "

‘The Darkness"...Part II Of III ; Part III to follow on 02/11/12 .

By ‘Shawn'

02/09/12

To my wonderfully dear, dear friends, and ever-constant, patient readers,

[ please refer to my diary entry of 02/07/12 for explanation ]

II

' The Darkness ‘

Even as I closed my eyes for the last time and fell into a momentary quiet, even then, the darkness began to gather, and close in around me.

{I knew what I had done, and fully knew that it was through my soul's eyes that I saw it gather.}

I was briefly distracted by the recollection of my old life. It was like a two-second slide show that spanned every second, every year. I saw
events, people, and places that I had previously forgotten: being held by my mother for the first time; elementary school; my siblings; Christmases; my first friend; my first love.

All this was displayed to me as one scene passed into another and then faded from awareness.

In that cold darkness, I felt alone. All alone and yet...not alone. It was not a pleasant feeling, and I began to sweat despite the cold.

Overhead, there was a limitless sky but no stars.

I knew then what it was like to be truly alone. I called and called your names, but the sound was carried away by the chilling breeze.

The ground I walked on became more uncertain. I would have lost my footing many times, on the sharp rocks.

For an endless age I walked. In the distance, the hills and low mountains were briefly lit by fire, but I could not feel any warmth from it. I stumbled on, tearing my clothes.

My path narrowed, spanning valleys that got deeper and deeper. I was lost, and would have given everything I had, or was, or would ever hope to be to return to the safety of my family.

It was then I heard it...a low, moaning sound carried on the wind; it was so
plaintive and full of regret, and I felt sorry for that lost regret.

The sound grew larger, and changed. And got louder and louder. It was the roiling sound of terror, agony, and endless suffering of countless souls.

I would have tried to help them, but knew that I could not.

I froze in icy horror as an evil, laughing voice said, " That's right. Come to us Shawn, we are waiting for you. "

And I began to run, knowing that if I fell, I would fall among them, never to escape. Every pain I had had in life was nothing so much as this.

And the agony of terror began to tear at me leaving bleeding sores that would never heal.

End

of Part II of III

Part III, and comments to follow on: 02/11/12

Meanwhile, my most dear, selfless friends, and always kind, a loyal readers, please allowme to wish for you days of lessened of no pain; freedom from want, or need; quiet evenings, free from depression or despairing; and a night of blissful, and restorative sleep, that gives you strength, and a clearer mind to be as allies to always look to do that which is good...and Just.

And, for all the happiness that your hearts can hold !

I love you,

‘Zahc/Charles'

or Cancel

' The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope'; Part I Of III

' The Pain That Was Mine. The Darkness, And The Hope "; Part I, ' The Pain That Was Mine'

Feb 07 2012

To
my very, very dearest friends, and wondrously kind, and loyal readers, I can
truly never in near-full measure, ever thank you enough for your encouragement,<support, and love; nor can I ever than you sufficiently for be-friending
me. It may have been but chance that I
came to MDJunction seeking what, I knew not of, though in my secret heart I
cannot ignore, nor disallow a gentle push by angels; for I was lost, hurting,
and quite alone.

I
really did not know quite what I'd find, but what I found were soon friends who
really cared for me, and understood, and-in spite of my frequent moodiness, and
agitation, while, for the most part pain-driven-yet you have continued to care
about me, and for my welfare. And while
amazed at your kindness, yet I know your feelings to be true, as I hope mine
are true as well.

I
must tell you that you are quite unlike any single, or group of friends that I
have ever had; and my heart in its gladness, could only try to fashion for you
a mirror of my true regard.

And
how your reading of my diary as you know, brings me great joy, as your
evidenced increasing readership has shown.

I
must confess to you that-in general-for you, as well as for myself-I labor long
and hard to bring you entries that I hope might interest you, or prove, somehow
to be of some possible help.

Usually,
although such things cannot suffer the intense scrutiny of being thought of as ‘usual',
I try to write a diary entry at least every-other day, which, in between,
should give me better time to marshal my errant thoughts to put to paper.

This
time-however-owing to the nature and the gravity of the work, I have decided to
divide it into three parts, over five or six days; so, following a needed
explanation, I shall enter ‘Part I; tonight.

But,
first, I have a story I would like to share with you.

My
dear friend, Joan, who is disabled, and legally blind, has lived at a
too-expensive ALF for three years+ now.

One
of the nurses there ( Kelly ) had become friends with Joan, and so-of course,
Joan learned about Kelly and her family.

Almost
two-and-a-half years ago-now-at Easter, Kelly and a couple of her daughters
were out shopping for a few, Easter-related things; they had had a most
enjoyable afternoon; the weather was Florida perfect, and Kelly had the day
off; her husband was still at work.

When
she and her daughters arrived home, some hours later, though, they found her
sixteen year old son-Shawn-- had committed suicide, by hanging himself in his
bedroom.

There
apparently had been no previous indication of how her son felt, nor of why he had
done what he had done, and, in an heartbeat, the family's world was torn apart.

Immediately,
Kelly took leave from work, and then was reassigned to another position. The parents blamed themselves, and had bitter
fights; the other children in the family were equally as dumb-struck.

Shortly
thereafter, my dear friend Joan asked me if I would please write some kind of
piece that hopefully might help to console the family in its unimaginable
grief.

My
dear, dear friends, I worked for hours and hours, and hours on that note: one I
thought that Shawn might have written to his family, were he to have left a
note.

I
can tell you with complete honesty, that that note was the hardest thing I've
ever had to write; at fifty-five, I had to try to assume the mindset of a very
troubled sixteen year old boy, AND, in trying to do so, explain in his voice something
that I most sincerely hoped would help deflect some of the blame the parents
and siblings had apportioned on themselves.

By
the time I had finished it, the nurse has already left the facility to work
elsewhere, and so, the ‘note' lay dormant for almost three years, and by then,
I had misplaced my copy and notes and copy; Joan had the only copy left.

Ten
days ago, Joan ran into Kelly at the ALF, attending to another patient.

By
act of sheerest Providence, Joan stumbled-across her copy, and told Kelly about
it; apparently, the family is still broken up about their son's death, and Joan-again,
as do I-hope that the note might help ease their continued suffering. And hopes to give Kelly the original next
weekend.

As
you may well imagine, after almost three years have passed, the note has again
become an emotional powerkeg.

And
while I have NO idea of your beliefs, as I often have scarce idea of my own, I
think it-somehow-important to share ‘his' note with you.

While
it may be unkind of me, I actually did not write the note for the boy at all,
but, rather, to the family, in hopes of saying that which should perhaps have
been said some time before.

After
nearly three, long years, in which I have seen both Joan's and my health decline,
with often days of unbearable pain, I find the note upsets me greatly still.

And,
I would ask for your patience, your kind forgiveness, and, should you be so motivated...your
considered comments, please.

Please
know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc/Charles'

" The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope "

'Welcome Back, Old, Old And Sweet Melancholy, My Old Friend '

01/29/12

In grateful dedication to, among others: 'River'; 'mabri'; 1magicman'; and, 'DenverCowboy'

My dear, and wonderful friends, and ever kind, and loyal readers, for you are as one in the same, I cannot ever thank you for befriending me, and pausing to read and contemplate oft times, my illnesses, complaints, and selfish sadness; for in my heart, I know that you hurt as much as I, and often more.

And were I able, I would you have no pain, sickness, or despair. I would that you become much as you were before such dire ailments had changed you, limiting your actions, and disrrupting all the aspects of your daily life.

I often pray, and wish for you, my dearest friends no pain, and a return to ancient normalcy, when illness was unknown, and never thought of; and that you and your families know no need or want, or sleepless nights of worry and concern.

And, were I so able, I would erase from your minds and faces, all the lines of care, mind fog, and dissapointment.

Would that you be strong, again, and free to frollick with your children, ( or, grandchildren ! ) laughing, running, playing games of 'hide-and-seek', and to further enjoy more quality time with your understanding spouses.

Of getting out, without fear, or dreaded anxiety, to go where e'er you so desired, free from the strangulated, and unnatural limitations of Agoraphobia, so that you never would feel trapped, nor compelled to stay at home.

To rise from the cold couch, to find new energy to further make of each day, a gladdened, new-found puzzle piece to add to that mystery of a Future filled--not with fear--but of satisfied anticipation, instead, as Life inexorably, yet fleeting passes.

To my dear friends who are Bipolar, I would ever seek to take the sine wave that peaks with mania, and bottoms out with depression, some better median find; perhaps, not at just 50%, but at a more pleasant 75%, and so, have your shifts and cycles level off.

And, of my friends who cannot breath on their own, I wish a calmness, and an end to labored breath, to find some ease of spirit, there; with lungs that thus reject the infiltrete, and fuction as they were supposed to do. For it is truly fearful, having such labored breathing; that it--alone--exhausts, and makes sleep difficult.

And if I could someway work my will, my heart would hold carefully to itself, all who have PTSD, and have been abused, for that is an evil thing, and I would ever stand by you, in complete safety and protection, help slay ALL your monsters, sending them ( and I am not afraid to say this, for fear of censure ) to the deepest spots of Hell, there to remain, to never, ever, ever hurt you, again.

Forgive me, my dearest friends, for I still hurt in a thousand places, and have been--most lately--in a phase of darkest depression. Even as it slowly lifts, a bubbled-up, and oily black remains, as some heart-ache's debris, and, even as I work my way back to the surface, a sadness, and sweet melancholy fills my empty shell.

By now, I know it well, for this has happened over and over again, choreographed like some mechanical ballet.

And for a time, this 'depression hangover' leaves me listless, and bereft of higher intellect; so routine it has become, yet possessing such a lingering power, that I can actually feel this stage of depression settle o're me, like a cloud, that fully takes its time to disperse, in leaving me.

During it, for it lasts some days, into a week or more, I feel a deep, and sweet melancholy; a sighed tiredness, and a looking back to all that might have been.

Sometimes, this phase causes me to become angry, distant, easy to made angry, and with a grumpy disssatisfaction for all things; I am often glad that I am--perforce-- alone, so as to not inflict my choler on someone--perhaps--who does not merit it.

And, in passing, I am left weakened, just a little more than last time, as it seems to take so much from me.

And all happiness has fled, reluctant in its return.

And I am duly made aware of that which I can no longer accomplish, or even care to try, if that makes sense. I see my part-remodeled home change to an almost unrecognizable pit of dirt, and dust, and accumulated trash, and dishes in the sink; of whisps of shed Daisy fur...everywhere.

And so, I asked my dear C.N.A. to come out on her day off, for two hours, just to try to return the house to one of human habitation. I thank God for her, and for her kindness, as she's a wonder, and knows my habits. And can--in two hours--take at least the rougher edges off the house; of course, I cannot pay her now, but she has agreed to wait until I have my two showers this week, plus the laundry, so I can write her one check that then can be safely cashed, although, it will shudder my frail SSDI.

This depression 'aftershock', is so severe, my friends, and makes me tired, that today, while though it is a quiet Sunday, with absolutely beautiful weather, outside, I shall--again--stay in, and soon will try to lie down for a much hoped for nap.

For, now matter how strong, and durable the cup, should it develope but one crack, then it is, in whole, made useless, no matter how intricate the design, or pretty, the colored glaze.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, I shall close for now; my entire body aches with a dullness, and all I want to do is nap, wherein, hopefully I will sleep.

I am sure that--as I lie there--trying to compose myself, mind and body to relax--that I shall think of you, and of your aggregate kindness and support; your caring, and...your love.

And as I close my tired, and blurry eyes, I shall say a prayer for you for a day of lessened, or of no pain; of quiet, free from consternation, free from want; as I would most willingly awake, and rouse myself, to dry your honest tears.

Please always know, that I love you dearly,

'Zahc/Charles'

or Cancel

' When Even Pleasant Prospects, Their Cost, To Dear To Pay '

02/04/12

To my very dearest friends, and ever-loyal, constant readers,

How often do I think of you ? And wonder how—despite near-constant pain—how you manage to conduct your lives, with its daily upheavals and surprises, good and bad; how you either can or cannot step past your ‘safe zones’, and what a never-ending struggle it must surely be to fight pain, loneliness, depression while still raising children, attending to spouses ( either sex ), and their needs, to caring for your pets.

To running households, and paying bills, and—in general—being fully as responsible as even those who know no illness.

For you, dear friends, who have multiple conditions, the world does not stop on its axis for your needs; and, even those these daily ‘chores’ prove fully a 1,000 times more difficult to bear, still…they must be borne by someone.

And for those—like myself—who live alone, except for dog, that void of being unable to cope, or to function is gladly given over to ‘so-called’ neighbors, ‘so-called’ friends, to do all those necessary things one no longer do oneself; whether shopping for groceries; doing laundry; keeping the lawn mowed, and the hedges trimmed; or, simply trying to keep the house clean-enough to avoid complete embarrassment.

Long gone, regrettably, are the days of friendly, helpful, kind neighbors, or even friends who would ever offer help, hope, and support; stopping by the store on the way home to pick up some need prescriptions; mowing the lawn, whenever it got a little rank; offering to throw in a load of laundry with their own, or pick up the gathering mail, because it was considered, if it was considered at all, to be just a part of Godliness, and neighborliness.  These people brought a pot of soup when you were sick; and, maybe—while they were about it, picked up the house a little, knowing that you couldn’t, and that—somehow—it was just the right thing to do.

But times have changed.  People have changed.  Society has changed; so that nothing is ever done out of mere kindness, but done as a convenience that implies obligation.

There are so many things that they no longer remember to do; as when they do, they fully expect payment for it.  And as this is how the world goes now, compensation for ‘things done’ usually involves payment in cash, ( or, sometimes, at the grocery store, payment for services rendered is often paid in like kind ).

How often have I said, “ If you go to the grocery store for me, and take my list ( as often, I am out of so many things ), I will pay for whatever you and your family want for supper .”

Having been disabled since 2002, and of subsequently having other illnesses added on, there is so very much that I can no longer do.  And so, for those things that I cannot do myself, and must—therefore—have done, I am quite used to payment for services rendered.

I realizes that I am taking up a neighbor’s time, trouble, and expense, especially, gasoline these days, and so, I have to make the ante sweet, just to get them to do things for me.

And since their time and expense varies, these ‘commodities’ too vary, from that which is more or less reasonable, to that which is plain usury.

I know that I no can no longer work, and, having been adjudicated as disabled, now receive SSDI benefits, once a month.  Now, this sum is—for the most part fixed—and, frankly, is about a third of what I once earned, when bills are paid, and groceries gotten, and utilities and taxes taken out, it is gone….it is gone…it is gone…..there won’t be anything coming in until next month.

And while I don’t quite understand this part….since I do not work, nor do I punch a time clock, and stay home 98% of the time, for some, strange reason, my little SSDI is viewed—by some—as a little piggy bank, with them holding the hammer, and somehow, they—in think this is ‘free’ money, also think of it as endless money, ready to be used by me for them, whenever they come up a little short, and they are ALWAYS coming up short, somehow.

Their very reasoning, if it could even be called that, completely baffles me. 

Maybe ‘cause I own my home; how many times have they come up short on their mortgages ?

I do not have a car, nor do I pay car insurance; but how often is their insurance late ?

I have mere cents in savings; apparently, they have none at all, and so often, are overdrawn at their banks.

I can only imagine that, in their desperation, a little light bulb goes off above their heads, and they say to themselves, “ Oh, I know what I’ll do, I just hit Charlie ( for the requisite amount ).”

And so, in addition to the bazillion things they would never offer to do for free, they think up stuff, so that I will have to pay them.

But dear friends, having been disabled since 2002, now age 58, although pain, depression, and other ailments fill my calendar, I have not exactly lost my mind, so that I can see-through their more transparent bids.

Of course it hurts my heart; of course it makes me inordinately furious.  It also pains, and disappoints me, thinking that these were ‘my friends’ ?

I know that functionally I am trapped here; and from long practice and negotiation, do not expect a free ride in life.

But, having been so one more than one occasion, I do not think that I should have to be gouged, until my last penny is gone for the month.

For some while—now—I have been wanting to go to the local, “Hobby Lobby”, just to look around, and see what’s there, and maybe—if I could afford it, get something reasonable, maybe, for Daisy, or the house.  And being horrifically Agoraphobic, thought any journey out would be most welcome.

My neighbors know this.

Yesterday, a neighbor called, and said that, since neither she, nor her estranged husband would be working today, that they would be happy to take me to the “Hobby Lobby” for a while; and here’s the sneaky, transparent, effects of their greedy, little minds at work:

In return, all I’d have to do is put some gas in their van (translate, a LOT of gas ) for them, and then, on the way home, “treat” them, “to Hungry Howie’s Pizza, as,” they, “hadn’t  had pizza in a long time.”

Now, granted, with age, and mind-fog, and disrepute, my math skills are lacking, but, as my jaw hit the floor, from the utter “ballziness’ of this idea, several things did occur to me:

1)  Since neither of them were working, today….no income coming in.

2)   They had an otherwise ‘free’, and unstructured day.

3)  I would—in effect—be buying gasoline for them for this next week.

4)  After, say, an hour and a half ( as I could probably not tolerate more ), upon dumping me off at home, what better way to watch the football game tonight, than with provided, free pizza ????!!!!!

In truth, I have not been feeling well, and hurt, and too nauseous—almost—to even consider food; and so, it was not an entire lie when I told her I did not want to go, but to maybe check back with me in three weeks ( I still have NO intention of going anywhere on those terms ).

I am ashamed, and sad, and sorry to have had to discover that these ‘neighbors’ are not friends, but USERS, who, at their convenience, would gladly ‘pick me clean’ whenever they can.

And this, I most regret, includes their 25 yr. old son, whom I’ve known since diaperhood, and thought he was my friend.

There’s a marked difference between ‘paying one’s way’, to being intentionally ground into powder, or, to put it another way….’Sucked dry’.

And this is the same neighbor lady I pay $100.00 a month to for one, hot meal a day.  That’s how I learned to love baked Ziti, after I had had it for seven day’s running.

I just no longer know; my ‘neediness’ makes me a leech after all, so, I guess, we’re using each other.

Funny how Life turns out, huh ?

Well, my dear sweet friends, some lessons are not easy to learn, nor nice.

But, in closing, I would ever wish you days of lessened or of ‘no pain’; wonderful days, peaceful days; evenings of quiet contemplation, and nights…ah, the nights, filled with blissful, and untroubled sleep, free from worry or care.  And safe, from the users, and abusers of this world.

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’