Asia is barking and anxiety yawning and upset. I am in my “Migraine Awareness” hoodie, pajama pants and heading to the ER myself once again. Waiting for my dad to take me there at around 6:15 pm. John thinks he’s getting out tomorrow, I think that’s too soon. They’re not even giving him any meds. I know I can’t take care of him in this state. So I didn’t lose my doctor, but I wasn’t able to get what I needed from him today either. So things are better, but they still suck? And I’m waiting. Like always, ER visits are like a box of chocolates… if chocolate weren’t such a terrible trigger for me. Or maybe, even more so because of that.
I am not at all certain how to begin. A major life event is happening to me, but it is one I don’t feel free to discuss publicly, just in case the lurkers are still out there, dissecting my language for petty crimes. Not once now but twice it has been made clear to me that while I feel I’m just sending words into the ether, people are paying attention. Usually empathetic friends or digital friends, but also sometimes those who want to use my words against me to hurt me and the ones I love. Both those instances have been completely and totally devastating, leading to me leaving my job three months later; and now, leading to my partner, best friend, caregiver’s emotional break. As he was just beginning to make sense of his past and what it meant for his future, he lost one of the most important people in his life, the person who understood him best in the world.
And now, he is not here. I drove home in the dark last night. 45 minutes down a winding, glistening midwest interstate, the 60 mph winds shoving against my tiny Kia with what felt like malevolence. Partial dead trees blew across the road like tumbleweeds as I held tight to the wheel with both hands, tears streaming down my face, Radiohead blasting through the speakers. As I drove and thought and cried and screamed and worried, the clouds began to part, scudding across the southern sky like black, angry ghosts. Lightning still skipped between them, but suddenly the sky became illuminated completely, eerily, in such a new way that I was startled and reminded of the time my mother and I saw stunning Northern Lights in the middle of nowhere, driving late at night.
Carefully glancing upward, the moon. It was full. It was undoubtedly the night of the full moon, and it shone like the dreaded halogen lights you hate to see blaring toward you on the highway (particularly if you are a migrainesse). It shone through a huge hole in the clouds, and a ring of pink formed around it, and the lightning continued in front of me. The wind continued. Leaves skittered and blew everywhere, traffic lights swayed, the shiny black pavement now gleaming silver.
And I was scared. And I was alone. But the moon.
I am going to have to take a break from blogging. It does nothing but get me in trouble, making things unbearable for me at work, punishing those close to me. I say again to the person who turned me in to my supervisor last year: FUCK YOU.
And I will say the same to these members of my husband’s “family” who ganged up on him ON HIS BIRTHDAY to tell him I’d referred to his abuse in a couple of entries, which he already knew. Even the brother he trusted more than anyone was involved in this ridiculous travesty, which did far more damage to him than just ruining his birthday. FUCK YOU, TOO.
You people make me feel like I never want to write again.
I am lying here in bed with tears streaming down my face, pooling on my neck in little puddles. I could not take X to school this morning and my parents have Zo. John went back to work with Trey the Tree King.
I can tell you for sure that crying hysterically does nothing good for the winding-down postdrome headache.
Getting over the four shots of DHE I had yesterday, my stomach roils angrily and my head still hurts just enough to be annoying. I’m spending another day in bed, at least partially.
Zo sleeps part of the night with us, invariably. So I was none too thrilled when X wandered in at 3 am saying she’d had a nightmare. Squeezed in between 2 snoring daughters, I finally managed to get X back to her bed. But 2 hours later she was back. Her dad returned her long, limp form to her bedroom once he was awake for the day.
Just now X came in, dressed for school, in a new long-sleeved black shirt with sparkly stones her aunt had given her; along with khaki pants. The long long hair I’d just cut hung nicely to her shoulders.
“Mama!” She said. “You know how I had two bad dreams last night?” I said yes, and she went on “Well they combinded into one dream, kind of, and then turned happy because I got that Furby I want for Christmas.” I smiled at her.
“So it turned into a good dream, but then bad, because you didn’t actually have it when you woke up.” I surmised.
“Exactly!” She said as she tuned to exit my dark bedroom. Then over her shoulder she added “It was the peacock one.”
There’s nothing like Christmas when you’re 8… especially when Santa has never been an issue. I just adore that child.