“
A Composition Composed Of Vague Musings, Errant Utterances…And My Most Sincere
Apologies To Those On S.S.I., or S.S.D.I., And All Who Must Try To Survive On
Deficient Incomes “
05/06/12
My very, very precious friends, and ever-loyal
readers, how many times have I devoted much of my diary entry space, whenever I
felt some news or information might prove—somehow—useful to you; on so many
occasions, it was to help you? Or with
short vignettes and poetry, instead of eternally complaining about my illnesses,
or of a compendium of pain, and lack of volition, agoraphobia, nightmare, or
dread, because—frankly, my dear and wonderful friends—we ALL have psychological,
or physical conditions that are as varied, even as ‘we’ differ from each other;
and were I to strictly dwell on that, I would soon become (if I have not—after
some 190 entries— already done so), become tedious, and too dreary as to make
of it not worth the bother to even read them.
And I could not blame you for becoming disinterested
and bored, causing you to cast wide your nets elsewhere, for frankly, I would
too, beyond a backwards glance, or sympathetic remark.
Quite understandably you would run like hell, when
the incontestable fact remains that—many to most of my ‘conditions’ cannot be cured,
but made more tolerable by taking a boatload of medications, supplements, and
vitamins, and still—like some hobbling Narcissus, kneel achingly to espy within
that reflecting pool, to see there—not perfection, by any means—but, rather,
some dreary doppelgänger of a mind and body, now riddled with agonizing pains,
and lines of care, and …age; an image I could scarce believe myself, and yet,
there it is, a compendium of pain, and loss, and, sadness. While knowing it will not improve with time,
but worsen little by little, here and there, until that viewed self is no
longer me; how can it be?
My diary entries, and your most kind comments and
criticisms are what now makes glad my heart. And I have always been amenable to
suggestion as to what I may write next, for these entries are for both of us;
but I need you much more than you need me.
For without your kind readership, I would never find my ‘Voice’, nor
anything even remotely like it. It is
you who give me direction and purpose, and a reason for being.
Since finding MDJunction one again, in time I’ve met
so many fascinating, caring, wonderful people, who—in that caring and kindness
welcomed, and befriended me. My
gratitude still knows no bounds, and I can never in near-full measure ever
thank you enough for accepting me for who I am, in spite of all my flaws and
limitations.
And, yes, I often rage over that which reason says I
should understand, but that my heart cannot comprehend as real; sometimes it
seems some monstrous joke, whose ‘punch line’ inescapably eludes me.
I know a little of what my many medications are
supposed to do, but have no comprehension of their action at the base, cellular
level. What parts of thought, and mind, and memory are twisted out of all
recognition when—for example, the Seroquel I must take (and have for years) is
a ‘serotonin, re-uptake inhibitor’, which—with other drugs—play ‘hop scotch’
with the neuro-transmitters I have left; what can the others be doing?
One would have to be a molecular, biochemist to
answer that. I had to stop taking
Lyrica, (used for Fibromyalgia), because it made the edema in my feet and legs
swell horribly up to my knees; the Plaquinal my ‘Rheumy’ wanted so badly for me
to take, lists complete blindness as one of its potential side effects, and I
felt that trade-off just too much to risk.
And that—besides a handful of medical medicines—and
a few long term psychotropics, leaves palliative treatment of the Lupus, and
the Fibromyalgia by opiate drugs, that only briefly assuage my pain. Shoot…unless I am mistaken, the Ambien I take
at night to sleep, somehow causes me now to lumber out to the kitchen, to fall
asleep at the counter, where I did—indeed—awake there, a few mornings ago,
before 5 AM, and then spent the majority of the day wanting to take a nap,
causing me to be too tired and too disinterested in really doing anything at
all.
And so, the day drags by. But such were the cards that from illness,
accident, injury, or plain genetics were dealt to me. And the ‘odds’ always favor the House.
The second topic I would like to touch upon was—to
some degree—motivated by guilt. I had
penned, some time ago, a ‘four-part’ series, on how to manage your money. And was quite stern with you for your
financial situations; and while it was borne out of love and concern, I
probably outlined programs that may have been impractical; all I do know, and
will—here most readily concede—is that ‘my’ bill day was on Thursday, when my
little S.S.D.I. check was direct-deposited into my bank.
I must have, by then, written-out five or six budgets for the month of May, and
frankly, friends, ALL of them sucked.
Sometimes, no matter how very careful one tries to be, on S.S.I., or S.S.D.I.,
too often there arises the question of, “ Bills or Food? “, and, although I had
allotted some little fund from it to purchase food, I’ve had—perforce—to limit
that grocery list severely. Particularly
since I often cannot get a neighbor to shop for me; I have no car; and cannot
drive, anyway, from the Agoraphobia, and Panics, that to have the store shop
for me, and to deliver, costs another $30.00.
I would ask you, dearest friends, as I live alone
with dog, Daisy, just about how much food can I get for $70.00? And, how long will it last me? Through the month? Of course it means ‘no meat, and no
treats’. And when that self-imposed
limit is affected by the need to purchase toilet paper, or maybe a gallon of
whole milk for my coffee, and kibbles for Daisy, even hamburger was too high. And so was chicken, for that matter.
It has probably—now—been well-over three years since
I had steak. And, lobster has become
almost a masturbatory dream.
Not when a trip to ‘Red Lobster’ for four or five
necessitates taking out a second mortgage on the house. And the real killer is that I live in
Florida, midway down the west coast, which is a narrow peninsula, surrounded on
three side by water which should be (if not fished to extinction!) teeming with
lobsters…and crabs.
Neither should citrus cost so very dearly, when
oranges are almost everywhere, yet—like strawberries—it all gets shipped
abroad, while grocery stores sell oranges from California, and our avocadoes
come from Peru, or some like place.
What the lamentable reality is: is that S.S.I., and
S.S.D.I are insufficient for one’s needs.
It doesn’t matter if you throw one carefully planned and organized
budget at it or a million, shortfalls are bound to occur. And BTW, for those of
you who may have been wondering, Medicaid, in its staggeringly inept
computation, grudgingly gives me exactly $16.00 a month in Food Stamps. Fortunately for me, the unused amount rolls
over, so that—maybe—once a year, I can use them to buy a load of
groceries. I actually use my E.B.T. card
so seldom that I always forget the PIN, and have to have my neighbor telephone
Medicaid to retrieve it.
And so, my dear, sweet friends, I shall close for
now, to ‘ponder’ the imponderables’ of life.
I ever wish you pain-free days of pure delight; and afternoons of quiet
thoughtfulness. I always wish you have enough, and know no want, or need. And evenings free from care, with friends and
loved ones by your side to love and care for you.
I wish you evenings of quiet contemplation, rather
than constant worry. And at night,
without rancor or fear, know a gentle tiredness, enough to softly drift to
sleep, with lambent dreams no nightmare can ever enter in. Always attended by blessed angels to watch
over you, and keep you safe and well.
Please
always know I love you,
‘Zahc’/Charles
