I'm sitting here in a hospital room watching my Dad sleep. Rest is a healing thing. He's got a way to go to be fully back to himself, but I truly believe he's headed in the right direction. He was a lot worse last night. You know that saying that when it rains, it pours. Still, I am a staunch believer in being there and taking care of the ones who were always there for you. I have mentioned how driving in high traffic unfamiliar areas brings on my anxiety. There are not very many people on this earth for whom I would put away my fear, suppress my panic, and brave the crazy traffic of this certain Alabama city for, but he is most certainly one of them. The traffic on the main road here kind of reminds me of certain scenes in "The Road Warrior." Hit the gas, or it's your ass kinda traffic. My heart was beating like the drum roll in Rowdy Roddy Piper's theme. The only reason I bring up the fact that it terrifies me, scares the living hell out of me, is to express the fire I would walk through for my one remaining parent. The one sister I have left will be back tomorrow to relieve me, and I am already working up the courage to face the drive home. Once I clear the city and hit the highway, I'll be fine, but it's that scary bit before that worries me. I've gotta be Mad Max one more time. Then I'll be on the highway, and I'll be alright. I'll make it home and hopefully get some rest before having to get up and go to work. You'll have to forgive me for probably talking a bit weird here. Lack of sleep is an interesting trip, man. Time is funny, you know? Combine time and mind, and you get one hell of a distortion. They say that nations come and go, that empires rise and fall, that stars shine brightly, then explode into brilliant light and colorful nebula, such stunning beauty to overwhelm the eyes. They talk about deep time and the age of the universe. They talk about human beings just trying to get through their day ten thousand years ago. Still, all I know are these few decades proceeded by a certain day in the early 1970s that I can't even remember. And friends, I have no reason to doubt all that becomes obvious by looking out into the universe. And, of all the things I do not believe in, the most frightening would be reincarnation. Because friends I have after long consideration come to the conclusion that I do not want to do this shit again. This one happens to be more than enough as it is. It has been one hell of a fun house ride. I can't really muster the enthusiasm for another go. I am so tired of this game. Worry is one thing. But, anxiety? Now, that's one hell of a drug that is not even a drug, never ingested, inhaled, or injected, but damned if it isn't already built in to some of us, and a bad trip to boot. That's the reason I can understand it so well in others. I can see it plainly. It makes us weird sometimes. It speaks louder than what we really mean sometimes. That's why I know and understand, knew, and understood. I have learned over the years to step outside of myself, but there are times when it might take a while before I can do that. Unfortunately, the world and life situations don't always give us good timing on that. This is what I understood about my baby sister that nobody else could see. It was a struggle we had in common, an enemy we fought together, a demon we both knew intimately well. I have had to talk her through panic attacks, and she's had to do the same thing for me. When you have faced down the same beast a million times, you begin to recognize its nature, no matter where and how he appears. There really is a common thread. It is not as much a matter of misery loving company, as it is knowing that you're not alone, of knowing you do not have to fight this demon all alone. She was my guardian warrior, and I tried to be the same for her. Now, I must fight on my own. I miss my warrior. I miss my hero. I miss my friend. I miss my sister, here and gone in the blink of an eye. As I know, I keep saying, I can't help but say, there is so much of me, even now, nearly two years on, that just can't accept that she is gone. You never know how much another human being defines you until your definition has gone from your life, forever. Death is permanent, too much so. I keep stumbling across the fact that she can never come back. There is a whole part of my brain that says this does not compute. I know I've said and said this over and over again. I guess it helps to write about it, to vent, to get it out. It makes faking like I haven't been losing my mind these last several years, oh so much easier. Clean cup, anyone? Move down? Is it your unbirthday too? What a small world this is!
Dad's still sleeping, and I don't want to disturb him. Goodness knows. He needs the rest and the healing. Meanwhile, Man, am I bored. There is nothing to do in this hospital room but write for my blog and glance at the TV. The TV has some political pundit with one hell of an enormous bald head yammering on and on about stuff I could give a shit about. It is basically empty words for empty heads who can't think for themselves. I pity anyone who lives for such babble. I don't care for politics at all. If I wanted to hear somebody talking out of their ass, I'd request a fart joke. Really, this man would be better served by playing a Klingon on Star Trek. I might be glare blind from the refraction, but it looks like the dude already has the warrior ridges halfway formed without even putting the Klingon makeup on. Kahless would be proud until he opened his mouth and started spewing political nonsense. Then he'd draw his bat'leth and put him out of our misery. Glory to the Empire!Speaking of makeup, they really need to give him something to reduce the shine. It's a good thing that those old cathode ray tubes are a thing of the past for most televisions in the 2020s. That shiny bald brightness would have long burned out a television tube. I can almost hear the zaps and smell the electrical burns. At least, Telly Savales, Yule Brenner, and Patrick Stewart make / made baldness look awesome and drive / drove the ladies crazy. This guy? Nah. He needs a Klingon makeover stat. I guess I should not be so superficial and mean, but he is talking politics, so there ya go. Perhaps today is a good day to di- err, I mean shine. Q'plah! If King Neptune blinded the patrons of the Krusty Krab, this guy would turn all of Bikini Bottom into a vast wasteland. Poor Spongebob! The flash would be so bright that people would accuse the USA or France of violating the nuclear test ban treaty. This man could move to the coast of Maine, get a spinning chair, sit it on a giant rock, turn round and round and round, and make a damn convincing lighthouse. If it wasn't permanently attached, this man could go bowling without the ball. A bit of face paint and a wide brimmed hat, and he could dress as Saturn for Halloween. Take the hat off, and he could be Uranus. I tell you whut, I got a million of 'em. Now, some time has elapsed, and the human bowling ball has been replaced with some dude with a flat top haircut who thinks he's some sort of a stand-up comedian. Truth is, there are even Seinfeld episodes that are funnier than him. And Seinfeld episodes are about half as funny as accidentally banging one's shin against a trailer hitch. Moreover, he looks a lot like Otho from the Beetlejuice movie, and that dude couldn't even follow a handbook worth a damn. Now, if the ghost with the most showed up to harass him every five minutes, then his show might be a real laugh riot. Then there are the commercials. I just want to reach through the screen and throttle the My Mustache Pillow Dude. Nobody gives a shit about your gigantic Christmas sale. Shut up already! This dude needs a new act. Maybe Beetlejuice could put snakes and lizards in his pockets or something. Then there is that former governor apparently turned snake oil salesman, peddling quack pills to the masses. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! It also reminds me of why I quit watching regular TV more than 20 years ago. If that guy who spoke of the vast wasteland back in the 1960s could see this. I didn't used to believe that television rots the brain, but it sure seems to have some brain draining tendencies from what I've seen tonight. Confirmation baldness, and snake oil for the pillow. Yep. That was one decision I actually made correctly way back when. TV sucks. I think I'll have to fall asleep listening to Mozart to counteract this effect. I sure don't wish to start staggering around like a zombie while ranting about politics, pillows, and brains. Maybe I should add some Beethoven just to be safe.
Ah, just because I can write it here where only you and I know, I feel like I'm going crazy. My heart is racing, and I'm having trouble breathing normally. I really miss my bed right now. I am awful, tired, and feeling just a bit claustrophobic in this room. I think I could brave three movies worth of road warrior traffic just to get to my home and my bed. I'm just plain tired. My nerves are frazzled. It's nobody's fault, and I'm not complaining out loud, but man, I want to go home. Damn these nerves. I honestly hate being wired together this way. And, there is nobody left who truly understands what it's like. I am doing my absolute best not to let it show. Then there's the matter of the other. And it seems to happen way too often for my sanity. And maybe she does not realize what she does or how she seems. But still, it's added stress upon an already stressful situation. So please allow me to vent here so as not to vent elsewhere. When there is no way to win, I refuse to play the game. I will not hang around to be humiliated or belittled. Trust me, I've got better places to be. No way. Jose. I'm not gonna do it. I am just too old, tired, stressed, and overwhelmed. You are not her. You don't even try to understand. Such an effort would never even cross your mind. I am someone for help or someone to blame, never anything else. My emotional state might as well be inconsequential collateral damage from your point of view. You don't even see it, oh no. You just barrel down on that figurative steamroller to run down and crush just whatever is outside of yourself. And do you know something? I am tired of it. I am goddamn tired of it, and I have had enough. You are not her. You never were. She was the sun and the moon and the clouds, the trees and the ocean, and everything as close to earth as earth can be. You? You are some dark corner of the galaxy, a nebula, a stranger at best, dark matter, untouchable, not even real. You don't see, you can't see for you don't even try to see. You are a stranger! I don't know you, and you certainly don't know me. You are distant. You are as far away as a soul can be. No, you are not her, and you never were. You are not even a reasonable facsimile. You are not her. You are not her. You are not her. She is the one I need to talk to. She would understand, she always did. We fought the same demons together. It has been a long war. I wish she were still fighting by my side. And while I guess I'm not all that important, what affects me still affects me. If it is in my mind, it is my whole world. I try not to let it show, but it is so damn hard to hide. I can't expect anybody to understand. Not anymore. I really am alone, you know. This is not a delusion brought on my anxiety. No, my friends, this is reality. I have been left alone in every conceivable way except for the one way I wish to be left alone. I am bombarded constantly in that one aspect. I am so tired of faking normally. I swear they want me there for everyone else, but damn if anyone is there for me. I have stood my ground and acted as stoic as I could, all while fighting this overpowering urge to run away, screaming my head off. I have often wondered all though my years whether I was built for all of this. I most certainly never asked for this. And I am even more certainly sick and tired of all this. I don't want it. I never really did. Faking normality takes too much energy, and I'm beginning to wonder the point. This role might fit the character, but it's a damn bad fit for the actor. Just for once, could I just be as myself? At least I'm functional. Yep, I remain a gear in the machinery of society. Hooray for me? I guess I will remain so long as I keep the ship together like Scotty. I say this even as the bridge rattles, and sparks fly from the consoles. Still, the sheilds are holding. I grow weary from the effort, though. I honestly feel I was placed in a mold that was made for someone else. If we are lucky enough, we find others with similar inner workings and encounter a level of understanding beyond words, and well, that's wonderful, beautiful. The opposite number is that similar mind no longer being around. Because there are moments like this one when I really need to talk to her. See, it's nobody's fault, but not everybody knows what it's like to live in this mind. And nothing makes you feel more isolated, disconnected, and alone. Nothing. Treasure those who understand you. They are rare gold, and they're unfortunately not forever.
Well, I made it home safe and passed out around noon on Sunday. I guess I slept from 12 pm all the way to about 4 am. I still feel I could pass out for at least that long again. Being up all Saturday night, fighting anxiety and staving off panic, zapped about all my reserves. Every time I come down from an anxiety episode, I'm exhausted. Add a missed nights sleep, and you got the equivalent to being knocked out by Mike Tyson. I didn't have to fear falling asleep behind the wheel because my anxiety had me wide awake and super alert. Who needs drugs when you're totally wired without them. Well, maybe you need downers, but you're not a druggie and don't want to become one, so you don't start by tempting fate. Right? Right. So I totally fell over like a redwood in a forest and slept and slept and slept until it was time to go to work. With these cut hours and this low pay, I absolutely can't afford to miss even an hour of work. It is something I absolutely have to do. There's nobody else looking out for me, so it's gotta be me to do all that needs to be done. Maybe I'll wind up in the nuthouse someday where there's three square meals, coloring, painting, basket weaving, not a thing in sight to be falling apart, and bills are something that only the normals worry about. I am Napoleon! I demand a room with a view! They say if you are able to ask if you're going crazy, then you're probably not. I'm not so sure. I feel as though I've been unraveling bit by bit these last several years. Maybe even longer. Looking back on my childhood, I can clearly see that I had anxiety even then, long before I knew what the word meant. A lot of this is genetic. I may have gotten my looks from my father, but my inner workings are a carbon copy of my mother's. I see her more and more within myself. And all this lay squarely at the feet of a man who passed down said genetics, then abandoned my mother when she was only three months old, along with my uncle and my grandmother. At least Momma and I never abandoned anyone. Nope. We stayed around to pass down our eccentricities to reinforce the genetics. Thanks, Momma. I'm sure my kids will thank me someday, too. It's not her fault. She was the best mother she could be. As I said, she never abandoned me. I think it took becoming a single father to three children of a deadbeat mom to truly understand and appreciate that fact. I had two good parents, my mother and my father. My kids only have me, mess that I am. My father is all I have left these days, and I hate to see him in such bad shape. I hope he gets his strength back soon. I don't want to even imagine what that's like. I want to keep him around for as long as I can. But as for myself in 25 years, I'd rather die all at once than a little each day. Let that be our little secret, dear reader. Just a quick heart attack and be done with it. None of this languishing in misery and needing help to get to the bathroom. Just kill me already, and don't torture me for years on end. As I have said, I have seen quite enough already, and I'd rather exit stage left with some dignity. Now, it is possible that my beliefs may change before my time, but somehow, I doubt it. See, I have had several decades to form them. And some of these lessons have been damn hard. Seeing my parents suffer is part of why I do not wish to go out that way. I know it hurts, whether sudden and unexpected, like what happened to Marsha or long known and long suffering like it was for my mother, and still is for my father. It just plain leads to nowhere good. It's one of those aspects that make life suck even more. Sometimes, there are no comforting words. All I can say is I know this is bullshit and cry with you. We'll cry together until we feel better. Such a thing wouldn't be built into us if we didn't need it once in a while. Sometimes, letting someone know you are here to be that shoulder they need is all you really can do. I am here for you. What beautiful words these are. I sometimes wish I heard them from somewhere, anywhere. If you have somebody like that, do your damnedest to keep them in your life. Show them love and, yes, be there for them as well. Why? Because someone like this is rare treasure, my friend. Treat them accordingly.
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