"Euripides Just Might Be On To Something Here”

 

 

05/29/13

 

 

 

“Quen deus vault perdere, dementat prius”

                                   Euripides, ancient Greek

                                   Poet, and playwright.

                                   Approx.. 480-406  B.C.E.

 

(‘Those whom the Gods would destroy, first they drive mad’)

 

 

To my very, very dearest friends, and loyal readers,

 

 

The ancient Greeks lived—for the most part—uncertain, and unsettled lives.

 

 

There was—of course—near-endless warring among Greek City States, plus occasionally having to ward-off attacks from the Persians, the Babylonians, and an assortment of other, ‘mongrel hoards’.

 

 

For their defense, they relied upon the Greek warrior nation of Sparta, who could be a handful all by themselves.

 

 

For further confusion, the ancient Greeks believed in a wide and highly specified Pathology; for every event in daily life: births, deaths, the success of the harvests, etc. Offerings were given-up to whatever God was appropriate; so one can imagine just how important (and crucial!) it was to choose the correct God, in hopes of not offending the others!

 

 

For the ancient Greek Pantheon was filled to bursting with Gods who were mercurial, vicious, vengeful, and given to frequent adolescent rages.

 

 

 

To them, the Greeks were as mere playthings for Gods who—frankly—couldn’t seem to leave them alone.

 

 

These were powerful Gods who regularly sought after, and enjoyed all the delights of mortal flesh, but without any of the approbations.

 

 

And when angered, were quite capable of nasty, little tricks inflicted upon the Greeks.

 

( I give you: Arachne; Caliban; the Medusa; and—last, but not least Polyphemus, the son of Neptune! )

 

It would seem that more Greek citizens were turned into stone, rather than into lovers!

 

 

 

About three-some-odd weeks ago (as the crow flies), I was spending a fairly pleasant Saturday evening I front of my computer

 

I gradually became aware of feeling some light sensation of pain in my left eye; this quickly turned into blurry vision, accompanied by a dull headache. Soon, my eye became watery with objects like horse’s tails floating across the surface.

 

 

It was irksome, but because the hour was late, I decided to close-up shop for the night, and lumber-off to bed, thinking—really—no more of it.

 

 

I awoke—next morning—to discover that I had no sight in my left eye.

 

After visiting two eye doctors, one, a ‘Retinologist’, it was determined that the retina in my left eye had detached, leaving me functionally blind in that eye (all I had was vision from the right eye, which has always been my worst).

 

 

We humans have long become accustomed to our have binocular vision; we use it to determine sharpness, distance, balance…LOTS of things. So that when we suddenly no longer have it everything seems to come as a surprise, everything’s a shock.  And the whole misfortune sets life on its ear, and then kicks it in the ass.

 

 

I would ask of you my very dearest friends to try this experiment: simply place a gauzed bandage over either eye (not too tightly), just enough to block out most of the light and then try to conduct affairs common to your situation.

 

 

And then—if you might be so kind as to leave your experiences in the comment section, below.

 

 

Now…my dearest friends, some of you will doubtless say, “Well hell, how much bother can it be, no more than a prolonged blink of the eye?”

 

With only one, ‘bad’, eye to fall back on, I have become so unsteady that I have begun to take falls in the house again. Quite a few of them; I now feel as if I have re-fractured every rib fracture I ever had, so, even trying to lean over the kitchen sink merely to wash a dish has proven to be an utter agony.

 

 

I constantly clip corners, and bump into furniture sending books and, ‘knick-knacks’, flying to the floor.

 

 

Along with unsteadiness comes nausea, with a, ’mal-de-mere’, that causes me to sometimes lose my food.

 

 

Sleep has always been difficult, now, it is with only the greatest of luck that I can find a side to sleep on, without howling in pain; and yes…I sometimes cry, too.

 

 

My Retinologist, Dr. Minowsky believes that some of the vision may yet be saved, and that—in time—I might only require much stronger lens on my glasses.

 

 

For now—anyway—extreme in heat or cold threaten the eye, as—strangely enough does wind, or intensely, bright colors.

 

_______________________________________

 

 

So in addition to my, ‘Daisy worries’, (who—by the way—seems maybe to be gaining weight slightly), my ever-present, ‘money worries’, and all the rest of life’s problems which indeed have never left, is this one—as yet small concern.

 

 

And that is… when I was seen by my Primary, this morning, she said that was not much else she could so for me, except…authorizing my admission into a group A.L.F.

And that—my very, very dearest friends--scares me ever so more than even would the permanent loss of sight in my left eye.

 

 

I cannot more firmly avow, my precious friends:

 

Always cling most tightly to those who love you and care for you; please do not for one idle instant to disregard them or take their love for granted, for—in the shattering of time as brief as that of an eyelash, heralding blindness, or a thousand, other assorted, nasties—what may remain of your safe, ordered, and secure world can be obliterated, leaving you lost, alone, and cold!

 

 

My dearest, dearest friends, please know that I think of you often, and love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"YOU Are The Wonder, YOU Are The Light !"

 

 

“YOU Are The Wonder, YOU Are The Light !”

 

 

05/09/13

 

 

 

To my dearest and ever supportive friends, and constant loyal readers,

 

 

Upon due consideration, I found that the majority of my diary entries were nothing more-really—than an over-wrought mosaic of monstrous  pain, loneliness, and despair, disappointments in life,  Often I have written of need, of isolation, and the mindless subjugation of both mind and body by unending illness seemingly immune to lashers of medication.

 

Frequently, I have touched-upon the vagaries of, mind fog’, panic, depression combined with severe agoraphobia has—for the most part—caused me to feel trapped; a prisoner within my own home.

 

Then there are the nightmare, sleepless nights, bone-weary fatigue and the complete lack of energy or volition  that make the nights seem cold and long, and the days to be empty even of promise.

 

When I now speak of Daisy, it is with a palpable sense of grief and impending loss; I do try to keep her as comfortable and as pain-free as possible.  And—as you well know by now—she has been my faithful and loving companion for over thirteen years.

 

My precious friends, I have often written about financial insufficiency, of doubt, and of religious uncertainty.

 

All the while—dear friends—I realize that you suffer too; that your lives are full of pain and despair, fully as great, or greater than my own.

 

You, too, have been further hurt by the inconstancy of family members and friends; of not being understood, nor loved for who you are.

 

Doubtlessly, you have struggled-through my uncertain poetry or tortured prose.

 

Yet—my very special friends—you have remained so wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind.  Forgiving too, especially when I should need that above all.

 

For all these things, and for so very much more, I can never—in near-full measure—convey to you my most grateful thanks.

 

I must confess that few things bring me any sort of happiness, something special and real that genuinely makes my heart happy.

 

My diary entries help me to establish a voice so difficult to find and sustain; your friendship, and your patience in reading them and so kindly commenting on them helps me to find some sense of purpose.

 

I cannot tell you how very much this means to me.

 

On occasion, I go back to read entries (and their attending comments) I submitted months and months ago to try to find some continuity and meaning.

 

And—in reading your most thoughtful comments, particularly if you may have found something of use, or of help therein—that—too—makes my heart so very happy.

 

I am so grateful to you for your abiding friendship, and for your understanding, care and concern.

 

And…whenever you may have a good day, or are in much lessened pain, or have accomplished something by way of personal triumph, my heart sings with quiet joy!

 

You cannot imagine just how important and wonderful you are to me, and I sincerely apologize that I do not thank you enough.

 

I would—therefore—hope to put before you a poem written just for you and dedicated to you only which—in its interpretation may engender some kindred sense of delight which I hope may make your heart happy too!

 

You occupy a pace of refuge within my heart.

For all these things and for so very much more…I thank you.

 

 

 

“YOU Are The Wonder, YOU Are The Light !”

 

 

 

You are the wonder, you are the light

that chases the gloom of each lonely night.

 

 

You are the matches that light as they burn.

You are the porch light that waits my return.

 

 

You are the beacon that shines through a storm.

You are a fireplace, welcoming, warm.

 

 

You are the flashlight that lights up the dark,

Or, like the glow from a fireflies’ spark.

 

 

You are the nightlight, whose glow reassures

that no, dreaded nightmare will ever endure.

 

 

You are the neon that lights up a sign;

or lights up a clock, to tell me the time.

 

 

You are the streetlights that brighten the alleys.

You are the traffic light, when traffic rallies.

 

 

You are the window lamp, seen through a curtain; YOU light the pathway, lest I fall, for certain.

 

 

You are the sunrise that heralds the day.

You are the candle we light when we pray.

 

 

Yours is the beam that shines through the night.

Yes…YOU are the wonder, YOU are the light.

 

 

End

 

 

 

Please know that I think of you so very often, and that I love you dearly !

 

 

‘Zahc’

 

“Hurting...Hopeless…Helpless…Hollow”

 

 

 

05/03/13

 

 

As always to my very friends and constant, patient loyal readers,

 

 

 

 

I

 

 

Hurting…Hopeless…Helpless…Hollow.

Illness adds to constant pain uncaring,

until the soul cries out past all despairing.

Suspicious of the many pills that I must swallow

waiting—always waiting—for some benefit to follow.

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

Wanting...Won’dring...Worried...Waiting

for a medication that will dry my tears,

calm a fevered mind and soothe all fevered fears;

ever hoping against hope that illnesses and searing pain will be soon abating.

 

 

 

III

 

 

Sleepless…Sweating…Suff’ring…Shamed.

Too familiar is that old man’s sweated smell

that makes my clothes and linens stink as well.

I no longer know what should be blamed;

Some lapse of character—perhaps--or the savaging of agonies, untamed?

 

 

 

 

IV

 

 

Silence…Sleepless…Saddened…Stressed.

My poor, poor Daisy’s sick as well, and suffers too.

Exhausted, neither of us know what to do.

In pain and chills, I hardly have the strength now just to shower, and to get dressed.

I pray—Oh Lord—to heal us all, and grant us rest.

 

 

V

 

 

Pardon…Prayers…Petitioned…Peace,

oh Lord, for dreaded pain, and panic’s end.

Please send Your blessed angels to attend;

protect, defend, and ever grant us ease.

Oh please oh Lord let joy and happiness in full return,

I pray make all pain and illness cease.

 

 

 

End

 

 

Please know, my very precious friends that I think of you so very often, and that your pain and distress and sense of loss truly hurts my heart.

Conversely, whenever you may have a good day, are in lessened or no pain, I welcome it with gladness.

Further, I wish for you safety, security, and that you need never know want, and can better enjoy life.

I wish so much for you easy, and untroubled days, peaceful afternoons, and nights of blissful and restorative sleep.

Most of all, my dearest friends, I wish you be in full surrounded by family, friends (and pets!), who love you for the amazing and special person that you are (and…have always been!)

And please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

"Nocturnal,'Omissions', And Other Ironies"

 

“Nocturnal Omissions And Other Ironies”

 

 

 

03/30/13

 

 

 

As always to my very, very dearest friends, and constant, loyal readers,

 

Beginning some three years ago, I found myself most willingly giving up any possible hope of maintaining any semblance of a regular schedule.

 

This did not happen overnight, but by hours lost, confused, or mislaid here and there, and, why not?

 

Neither my father nor my mother are still alive to care for.  In becoming disabled, I no longer had a job, nor any need to keep, ‘business’, hours. 

 

When I could no longer drive, and gave up my car, daytime and nighttime hours gradually blurred into one.  With the exception—still—of my having to keep doctor’s appointments (which I must mark upon my calendar lest I forget them!), what remaining, ‘schedule’, I had—in dosing times for my medications—slipped into a kind of twenty-four hour/seven day existence.

 

I ate when I could no longer ignore the distraction of hunger; I went to the bathroom whenever I felt compelled to do so.  Of course, I do not smoke in bed, but do anytime I am awake and roaming the house.

 

Yes, I tried very hard, to retain a, ‘sleep-at-night’, pattern, as I did not want to drift-into sleeping all the day long, and then lying in bed—uselessly—sweating-through my clean pajamas, tossing and turning making a complete disarray of my bed linens.  And all the while preoccupied by silly, stupid, ranging thoughts as the hands on the clock moved as slowly as did the glaciers.

 

All this does—my dearest friends—is to make me fretful, uncomfortable, and quite unpleasant to be around.

 

During these endless, sleepless nights, I would find myself sitting out in my office chair at the kitchen counter, too fatigued to make any kind of plans, and—of course—smoking cigarette after cigarette until—finally, somewhere around 6:00 a.m., both blurry-eyed, and wuzzle-headed—I decided that the night had been killed deader-n-hell, and that I might as well make a pot of coffee or two, my face as grey as the dawn.

 

 

Living alone—as I do—doesn’t help, either, as I have no one around me with regular hours to keep.

 

I try—now—to avoid taking naps altogether, lest they manage—in some way—to despoil any chance at nighttime repose.

 

 

But this has proven to be a failure as well.

 

 

March has been an awful month.  After having been wearily ill from—really—the middle of February, my Primary finally diagnosed me with chronic, bronchial pneumonia, Lupus set on overdrive, 3+pitting edema in both calves from knees to toes (imagine looking down at your legs to find your calves and feet easily three times their normal size, bright red, and with feet that look like misshapen blobs.

 

Not only is this horrifically painful in itself, but is an agony and a refusal to want to bear weight (which means I fall…once, on the second step down the back deck, which threw me into a grand arc out into the backyard, covering me with dirt and leaves).

 

I simply cannot afford to lose my ability to stand, and to walk; the consequences are absolutely unacceptable. Even if I have to crawl to a chair or table to gain my balance, ANYTHING is preferably to being placed in some shithole of a nursing home.

 

A side-effect of all the medications I must take is that they—singly, or together—have markedly altered the taste of food…there goes one pleasure left to me. I really hate having to try to cook for myself, anyway.

 

I have become too unable to withstand the pain, and so double-dose the opiates that I have, plus the ones prescribed for me by my Primary; and, is it enough?  It HAS to be enough, dearest friends.

 

Often, I have considered the awful and unrelieved symptoms of fibromyalgia, with its associated pain, and terrible vacuity and absence of contemplation, and any higher thought processes.

 

And so, this, ‘mind fog’, troubles me throughout the day, but is especially severe at night; somehow, I find the hours from 8:00p.m. to midnight are almost completely lost to me, until I can no longer recall when (or if) I have retired to bed, nor whether I have slept, until I usually find myself out in the kitchen—again—there dozing on and off until I can make myself go back to bed, or to stay awake until morning.

 

 

And my poor, poor Daisy seems to be alive at the cellular level only; I keep her medicated for pain, and—at nightfall—give her just enough tranquilizer to help her drift off into some kind of peaceful, canine realm.  Still, when I slowly, and agonizingly get down to the floor to hold her, give her, ‘little, doggie kisses’, and scratch her ears, telling her just how beautiful she is, and just how very much I love her, still, she will look up at me, and slowly wag her tail. And that—alone, my precious friends makes my heart both happy and sad.

 

We both are in some hell of a state: Daisy can no longer much control her bowels, and neither of us can without difficulty go down the steps of the deck into the yard.  I am afraid that she will fall, or that I will fall (unless I sit down upon the steps, and push-myself down, one step at a time).

 

 

And as I have mentioned so many times before, my S.S.D.I. is no longer able to take us through the month.  Have you ever had a credit card with an available balance of only $25.00 before being maxed-out?

 

 

About three weeks ago, during an appointment to see my, ‘Shrink’, even though it was still morning, I had had a shit day all the way around, was angry and frustrated, and—frankly—had had quite enough.

 

I was incautious, and let slip the, ‘S’, word (that rhymes with, ‘try-and hide’). I knew he had perked-up his ears when he asked me if I had a, ‘plan’?

 

Oops, my friends…time to backpedal like hell, for with scarce a blink of an eye—and with one, telephone call—he could have had me shipped post haste to the nearest loony bin.  Like THAT would help, sweet Jesus!

 

When I told him my, ‘plan’, was to jump out the first floor windows, only to find myself entangled and swearing into the shrubbery below, he sat back, and actually laughed, telling me it was the best joke he had heard all week.  And truth be told—my very dearest friends—it is a joke, all of it is a joke, a joke from start to finish.

 

 

No hospital on earth can mend a broken heart.

 

 

Of course we all have fantasies; that usually begin, “If I only won the Lottery…”

 

Even still, with tax-free millions at my disposal, I have never thought of being—somehow—younger, better looking, or…well.  Those are the miracles that reduce the chances of winning the Lottery to those less the toss of a coin.

 

For nothing can wash away the sorrow, refresh the tired mind, or ease-away incalculable rage.

 

 

What will take away those cold, empty, and forgotten hours from eight ‘til midnight, and—instead—restore some sense of meaning, or of purpose, or of joy?

 

 

I think that what I miss most (in its most innocent, and untroubled sense) is someone to kiss me goodnight.

 

 

 

 

Oh, my dearest, sweetest friends, and constant readers, please, please forgive me for the absence of my posts.  I think of you so very often, and wish so much for you no pain, no lasting or lingering pain, or certainly much lessened pain. 

 

I wish no never need know want, but have more than enough to enjoy what life has to offer.  I wish you freedom from despair, or loneliness; I wish you calm and pleasant days, and quiet, serene nights of blissful sleep.

 

I wish you full—surrounded by family members, dearest friends (and, pets, too!), who love you for the most wonderful person you are!

 

And most of all, I wish you all the joy and happiness that your kind, and thoughtful hearts can hold!

 

Please know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"Its Two: Three-Four A.M...."

“Its Two: Three-Four A.M….”

 

 

03/10/13

 

 

To my very, dearest friends, and constant readers here at MDJunction,

 

 

 

 

I

 

 

 

“Its two: three-four a.m., and I could use a friend

to—perhaps—sit quiet with me here

until my shaking stops, and all of my most recent nightmares end;

and pause, to wipe-away a tear.

Or, was it just a leg cramp and a migraine that drove me out of bed

to find my way out to my kitchen chair, instead?

For I could use a kind, devoted friend to help calm every fear

until, whatever bleak angels I could summon-up, attend.

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

It’s two: five-six a.m., and I could use an arm

to hold me up when I cannot find my way;

one whose steady strength would keep me safe from harm ( or, to help me don my socks to keep me warm ! ).

As untold, ‘Fibro-flare’s’ unutterable agony blurs the sight, and makes all stationary objects sway.

To help me to the bathroom down the hall,

when a tired unsteadiness might make me fall.

That arm ( and hand ) so gently touch the crying pain away

and somehow reassures from all alarm.

 

 

 

III

 

 

 

It’s four: one-eight a.m., and I could use a voice

that—patiently—would ever speak to me in quiet tones:

“Your illness never was your choice…

You have nothing to atone.”

Although its very late, and, both of us still up,

please light my trembling cigarettes, and share my mug of coffee, heated up.

“Although you may feel so lonely, yet you have never been alone.

You didn’t realize that others love you too?  For that, alone, rejoice.”

 

 

 

IV

 

 

 

It’s five: two-six a.m., and I could use a prayer;

some whispered words of hope, from an ever-gentle heart,

to cause some lasting comfort to be visited there.

Oh, kind, enduring friend, please stay with me until the dawn…its greying light impart.

The medication—by itself—can never chase away all pain, all fear.

Instead…a grateful prayer, while said with growing sigh, is answered back, that God is always near,

and that—despite my often tortured, lonely pain—He will always keep us in his loving care.

 

 

 

V

 

 

 

It’s eight: one-five, a.m., and I could use some sense of ease.

Oh, dearest friend, how can I near in full thank you for keeping quiet vigil with me, ‘til the accumulated medications take effect?

For who else would—without question—ruin their day from lack of sleep, to tend to my desires?

For your unselfish kindness in my frequent hours of need, helped keep my monsters far away; I cannot help but offer you my love, and my respect.

The house and street—less quiet now—moves into another day, the twin to all the others.

While dear Daisy sleeps most fitfully on the rug, at fourteen, she—too—has pain, not unlike my own, which—unchecked—leeches life away, and smothers.

Remorse, regret, and sorrowed pain, will repeat an infinity of times I suspect,

but in your greater good, my caring friend, please know I wish you joy, true happiness…and peace.

 

 

 

 

End

 

 

 

Please know that I think of you so very often, and that I can never thank you enough for your having befriended me.

 

And, please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles