"When Silence Is A Goddamned Liar"

“When Silence Is A Goddamned Liar”

 

 

08/23/14

 

 

To my ever, dearest friends, and kind and loyal readers,

 

 

Last night was a typical one full of inescapable nightmares of being chased by monsters, unresolved exhaustion and, too-frequent awakenings.

 

I one read where it was thought therapeutic—during nightmare—to turn, and confront whatever might be chasing you; but the one time I was able to do this, when I turned around to find that I was looking at myself!

But this was a strange and evil self, feral and cunning that grinned at me with huge, gleaming, pointed teeth that caused me to awake in a sweat of fear.

Is it just a savage play by the subconscious, or can one truly destroy oneself? 

 

When I awoke, it was with eyes that snapped open, like window shades; all I wanted—then—was to fallback asleep for an hour…or two…or…for  forever.

It was—though—a gathering and rising agony of pain that was the engine that too-soon drove me out of bed to stumble-down the hall to the kitchen for pain pills.

 

Soon, I had a migraine that throbbed with every plus beat, like ice picks driven into the brain by a sledge hammer. I can hardly see which way I am going; all I can think of are opiates.  Opiates to somehow dull the pain, and—at least for a little while—soothe-away the unbearability of the pain.

I have medications for all these things and more: to quell the mounting anxiety, and to try to mitigate the despair and the depression.

I pour all my morning pills into a cup and— with shaking hands—try to swallow them all at once.  Sometimes a pill will slip out of my hand or— in my hurry—fall from the side of my mouth to bounce on the kitchen counter, or to fall on the floor.

Of course with my impaired vision I cannot see these forgotten medications; perhaps, later, my kind neighbor will help me find them.

 

I do try to say my prayers even though my thoughts are repetitive and cloudy; ill-focused, and selfish.

Instead of offering copious thanks, my prayers are full of whining and neediness.  I do have so very much to be thankful for; my precious friends at MDJunction for one.

 

I can have coffee right away, and cigarettes immediately; but food interests me not at all.  Usually I am much too queasy to even consider food until middle afternoon.

 

My thoughts are is such disarray that I hardly ever turn on the computer until later—if at all—in a day.  The computer might as well be just a big typewriter to me, as poor as my skills are.

 

The house is quiet, yet it is not quiet; my oxygen concentrator hums-along; and I put a large box fan out in the dining room for the breezes it can provide to help cool a fevered brow.

 

I spend so much of the day sitting in my desk chair out at the kitchen counter; there, I can rock—slightly—back and forth, or lower my head until it is just above my crossed arms.

I sit there minute by minute, hour by hour; eyes closed, trying to lose myself in the relative silence of the house.

The same four or five seconds of a nonsensical tune will play in my head over, and over, and over, and over again.  Sometimes I keep time to this, ‘music’, by gritting a couple of my front teeth until my jaws ache.

 

Lightening startles me, and the close sound of thunder scares me out of my reverie.

 

How very different my life once was.  Now I mourn the loss of my earlier self.

 

Yes, my friends, there is pain that makes me cry, and a further, and continued level of pain that I find so unendurable that I wonder if this is what life has become, whether it is in any way worth going further.  I now require assistance with so many areas of my life.  It wearies me.

Two things stop me.  One, my scattered, religious beliefs, and the prohibition about self-harm.

The other one is easy.  Even as much pain as I am in, depressed, agoraphobic (I have not left the house—this time—in almost two weeks), I am afraid; afraid of that which may or may not lie beyond.

 

In the uncertain quiet of the house, I think about these things.  But the silence brings forth no insight, no opportunity to explore, to discover, or, re-discover that which has been lost, but that which may have been best.

I do not trust the silence; it does not whisper truths to me.  It somehow only magnifies the emptiness within, and without.

 

 

My dearest friends, I wish so much for you to have no pain, or—if it must be—then certainly much lessened, and more controllable pain.

May you be surrounded in full by family, friends (and, pets!) who genuinely love you, and care for you.

I wish that you have enough so as to not know want or despair.

For days, evenings and nights that are peaceful and serene.

Most of all, I wish you all the love your kind hearts can hold.

 

And, please, please always know that I think of you so very often, and, that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles