"Another Goddamn, Useless Night, And Empty Day..."

“ Another Goddamn, Useless Night, And Empty Day: A Bitter, Angry Essay, As—Soon—I Shall ‘Celebrate’ Ten Years Of Failing Disability, And, For What?  “

05/18/12

My wonderful, and ever-dear, and constant friends, and patient, loyal readers, I remain ever grateful for your having befriended me, with all my obvious faults, and lack of character; it is obvious that you—in your kindness, and caring  see something that I cannot see; and I truly thank you for ignoring all the glaring flaws that I CAN see, and detest in myself.  Yet, in your support, and of staying by me, I know I could not stand alone.

Each of you is precious beyond pearls in your own ways, and I seek pardon from you, even as I seek forgiveness from a God I sometimes think has in full abandoned me when you have not.  So many times—now, through the course of another night of agony, migraine, depression so deep, that I cannot see the bottom of it into days that pass in languid despair—it is YOU who, made in flesh and sinew, have become the Angels that I ask for.

You help sustain me, when in utter disgust, I cannot sustain myself; you are as tiny, welcoming stars in an otherwise bleak and blackened firmament; your calm, welcomed, and reasoned voices help stay my hopeless rage, when all that I can do is rock in a pain severe-enough to make me cry and cry in sadness and in pain no one should ever have to endure…and yet I know you have your pain too, and so I love you for making room for me within your hearts.  And part of your families, when I am so awfully alone.

And so I have pledged to be ‘there’ for you, and by your side, to help protect you, and should any, little, well-intentioned part of my entries prove to be of any help to you, then—my most dear friends—my lonely heart is made happy.  I am both gratified and thankful to you when you read my diary posts, and I treasure every comment you may care to make.

I—for the most part--am pleased with my entries here at MDJ, and hope that I have not become so tedious with the frequent repetitions of my ailments, which seem to grow and grow larger with each year.  Soon, my friends, I shall have been ‘disabled’ for ten years.  And in that decade have watched as both mind and body have slowly but inexorably been torn apart.  Each year, it seems my collective ‘conditions’ find me less and less able to function, mentally, or physically, until now, when I often want to do nothing at all, save stay in bed, and keep well-medicated.

But it is not my want to thus toss-away a day, ‘though darkest, deep depression will cycle in, and must be endured until it wanes; and—even then—it leaves me in a fog, dull-witted and heavy headed, and bereft of purpose or of action as the ensuing, ‘depression hangover’, slowly leaves my system.  I find that migraines do the same thing.

And with each bout of pain, despairing, or depression, I feel—somehow—a little piece is jaggedly torn from me, not unlike ripping a coupon out of a magazine.

Few and fewer things now give me purpose, or direction, or hope, or pleasure, or reason to live.  I have little family, and none of us are close; I have no spouse, nor precious children to hold near my heart. I fully know that I am indulging, now, in rampant self-pity, for which I apologize.

“ A Not Untypical Night… And How Was Your’s?  “

05/18/12

I am beginning to just give up, as some lost cause, any regulated, and reliable sleep; if a bathroom call does not disturb me, there’s always a ‘Reader’s Digest’ stack of saved nightmares to wake me up.  Maybe, Daisy will want out; perhaps my sleep is too shallow to maintain, despite the sleeping pills. Granted, there are those among you who—especially when so medicated—could fall asleep while standing up (I actually saw this once, at work!), it seems I could swallow half the bottle just to make my eyelids heavy.

Any errant noise—outside—will startle me awake, as will the beginnings of an early morning storm.  At that first, precise crack of thunder is followed by the shock wave that ‘bumps’ at the house, I am awake and out of bed.

Two nights—ago—somehow my inner alarm failed to wake me to the bathroom, and, some time after 3:00 AM, I woke to find myself drenched, disgusted, and mad as hell.  So now I have to wear ‘Depends’, lest I ruin a mattress I cannot possibly afford to replace?

Infants wet themselves all the time, and nothing is thought amiss; my idiot cousin in Kansas (and may he, and his sister always find of it a better clime!) wet the bed, until he was thirteen.  How he must have been embarrassed, especially on a rare, sleep-over at my Aunt’s house, when—after looking at a late night, double feature horror film we shared the same bed, when—voila—his tiny bladder would be as empty as his tiny skull, and he would wet us both; I awoke to find the sheets wet.  He would snooze through it, only wakening when I reached over and punched him…at least once or twice.

Of course, (and this is only PART of why I so dislike him AND his sister) the little bastard would start to cry, waking his mommy and the rest of the house, where there then began a routine worthy of the Marx brothers, as mommy sat on a dry spot on the bed to dry his ‘widdle tears’, while looking at me with daggers drawn.

Sheesh, no wonder I couldn’t stand any of them, though they did have one, remaining grace: a swimming pool, with all the pool toys in existence, and an actual, real, genuine, be-damned juke box that didn’t require money!!!! How many times—that summer, and others—did I listen to Nat King Cole’s rendition of: “Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days Of Summer”!  I still think that having one’s own juke box to be as bathed in fortune, and ‘High Fidelity’.

But I digress, as so often I do nowadays.

By the time I had changed out everything, with mind still full of champagne and cobwebs, I was too awake to fall back into any semblance of sleep; and so, I lumbered out to the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee.  By now, it was something-past 4:00 AM.  Again, I sat out in the kitchen (now, my ‘second’ bed), had a cup or two of coffee, and fell asleep from six ‘til seven, or so.

I telephoned my dear friend Joan, who was just getting up; my dear friends, although I love her dearly, she can go to bed, and fall asleep in five minutes or less, says she doesn’t dream (or, at least does not remember any she may have), and can wake to hit the bathroom during the night, and then fall back instantly to sleep. G-r-r-r-r-r.  AND, get this, without any sleeping medication whatsoever!  Maybe it’s a ‘pay-back’ blessing from Providence for her generosity, her openness, her kindness and radiance of spirit, and tender, sweet, forgiving heart.  Not like me, folks, for sometimes I suspect that the nightly devils that I fight are ones of my creation, in part payment for my being such an ill-tempered, stubborn, and sometimes just an old, evil-minded jerk who must have—of necessity—frequent, little chats with my Creator for some much-needed course correction.

And while I don’t think I ever set out to hurt anyone (I could’ve socked my rat’s ass cousin harder, really, than I did), the list of things for which I seek atonement easily rivals, now, the list of all that I am truly thankful for.

We each must find our way; make our beds (mine, twice!), and lie in them.  Thank Heaven I have nothing that warrants my attention today as well, and providing Daisy isn’t sound asleep in doggy dreamland I have vowed to set her upon anyone who disturbs ANY kind of rest I may be able to salvage, today.

For my poor eyelids are as half-drawn as old window shades.  And I’m tired, besides.  Brother…what a way to start a weekend; otherwise, every day is a clone of the other, so that ‘calendar’ time is just a place to write upcoming appointments on.

And should the constant intake of pain medication save the day, then—perhaps—I’ll find some needed rest, by and by.  I hope.

And so, to all my dearest, dearest friends and readers, can I still wish you ‘goodnight’ if it is almost 10:00 AM?

Please always know, I love you 24/7!

‘Zahc’/Charles