Tag Archives: Death

THIS IS THE END. THE BEAUTIFUL END MY FRIEND.

I bend over to pet Gigi and JoJo the Papillons. They’re brother and sister that were saved at the same time. I notice the sun shining on the small hairs on my arm. As I look up I notice Misty chasing Wolfie around the back of the yard. I think to myself “I hope Wolfie stays in the yard because his wolf like appearance frightens the neighbors”. My mother is standing at the grille and smiling at me. She says “I love you” and I can see her delicate but arthritic hands. It starts to get cloudy and cold. I feel scared not warm and safe like a few minutes before. Someone is calling my name, it’s a man. I don’t want to go.

I hear Pearl Jam’s song “Release” or some call it “Release Me” playing somewhere. I open my eyes a little bit and there’s a shadow in a doorway. The same phrase plays over and over. “I’ll ride the wave where it takes me”, “I’ll hold the pain release me”. I say to someone “Put me back”. No one listens. I say it louder “PUT ME BACK!”. I hear voices say “she’s waking up Doctor!” and “take the vent out”. I am told I repeatedly said to “put me back”. No one knew what I meant.

I knew what I meant. I was dead. I was with my mom and my animals. There was no judgement, no guilt, no pain. My heart was full of love for every living thing I had seen there. Most important for the first time in 20 years I felt no pain in my chest. No aching hole as if something I couldn’t name had been torn out.

I did die that day I went into Kidney Failure. No one wants to talk about it. So I don’t. They feel guilty because they didn’t answer the phone. My father was at Dialysis, he has an excuse. My twin sister was home as they tried to ask if a Bipolar person who most likely wasn’t stable, wanted a DNR. I refused the Priest. It was bad enough getting looks after telling the staff I am Bipolar, telling them I am an Atheist was icing on the cake.

I felt sort of calm when the Doctor told me how bad it was. I felt a warm flush that went up to my head. A humming started in my ears and I tuned everything out. I thought of who I needed to apologize to and who I wanted to say goodbye to. I left a message on W’s machine. That was it. Then I fell asleep.

P.S. I should start photography again. I love this pic I took.

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COMPULSION AND GRIEF (Addiction and Mental Illness)

I watched Mourning Son last night. It wasn’t just a True Crime story about a woman’s death at the hands of a charming but controlling man. It was also the story of the aftermath. How loved ones are left to deal or not deal with that emptiness that is now part of their lives. Her son was 15 when she was murdered. The way he handled it may have benefited some but was at a great cost to him. He appeared to go out of his way to push the limits of his body and mind. He had a ravenous appetite for drugs, sex, and anything that put his own life in jeopardy. (This is my take on it and not a professionals) It may have started as a small itch you can’t quite reach or a weird feeling in your stomach that won’t go away. But it grows. I know this feeling well. Maybe in a different way or from different circumstances but pain is pain, grief is grief, and self loathing is self loathing.

I had my own experiences with violence and loss.

I recall my own dirty Hotel rooms watching people smoke crack or shoot up while my eyes were half closed, seeing everything from a haze of alcohol. I would wake up and often wonder where I was and what exactly had happened. Did I have to worry about an STD, pregnancy, or anything else? Where did the bruises come from and did I consent to it? And yes, one time waking up with 2 lovely tattoos I didn’t quite remember getting. It was possible because from 18 to 27 I really didn’t care either way what happened to me.

If I was still fairly sober I would let anger show through. There always came a point in the evening where I gave up and realized it’s pointless. I didn’t deserve better out of life. I still don’t think that most days. I do think I deserve to be treated as a human being. I’m not invisible and hate being treated as such. This happens often and sets off triggers I can’t control.

I become overwhelmed with the surge of feelings. This happens to the point where my head hurts. I will start stuttering and my hand tremors will become worse. I feel like throwing everything that’s in my path and destroying it. I want to self destruct. Anything to get rid of feeling this way.

I never learned to interact with people past the age of 16. My maturity level is that of a 16 year old. My sense of humor also that of a teenager. Everyone around me grew up, met their significant others, got married, had children, bought houses, and are now probably getting married for the second time.

I on the other hand have never really had a boyfriend, husband, children, lived on my own, owned or rented my own house, been on an actual date, or anything close to normal.

I have traveled some. I’ve hung out with various musicians that would be known if listed here. I’ve learned a lot about prison life in case anything happens to me. I got to visit L.A. with my bestfriend of over 30 years and hang out at The Rainbow. We actually had one of the best times ever. I wish I could convince her to go again. Maybe in a manic phase I’ll say f*ck it and book the trip myself. It might not be the same sober and older but it’s better than sitting here waiting to die.

I want to say to people who have not experienced it, a mother’s death is the most excruciating thing one can go through. When it isn’t expected or when you are lied to about it it’s even worse.

Even though my mom was 62 when she passed it was when I needed her the most. It was during this time that my Bipolar Disorder decided to really show itself. My mom had always known I was different. She would always hold me, rocking me back and forth while she sang an oldies song. She also held my face in her hands many times. She would take this time to say how much she loved me and that she thought I was beautiful. I miss her more with each day.

Everyone deals with trauma and loss in their own way. Some eat in excess, drink too much, do drugs, have sex with strangers, whatever will take the memories and pain away. I think I did everything I just listed. The important thing is to come back from it. Some of us may never come back for some reason unknown even to us. To those who do get to come back honor the people you’ve lost, show the vile assholes that have crossed our paths that our families are stronger than they will ever be. I don’t believe in forgiveness, it’s too easy. It has to be earned. Too many people want me to let things go. It’s difficult when you know the person who left you drowning in your own blood is a 7 minute car ride away enjoying a cold beer. It’s a slow process.mv5bmtaznji3ndiwmtleqtjeqwpwz15bbwu4mdqymzkzmtcx-_v1_sy1000_cr007071000_al_


I’m Pissed and Don’t Care!

 

 

When a celebrity dies from an overdose we see it looped on the news over and over until it loses it’s meaning. This pisses me off. These are human beings that often times have suffered a trauma or mental illness and used drugs or alcohol to self medicate. Their lives may look fun but in reality are actually lonely ones.

Scott Weiland suffered sexual abuse at the age of 12 from a high school senior bigger than him. In 2007 his brother overdosed. He had his problems. Heroin is one of hardest drugs to get off of. His weight changing as much as it did probably put a strain on his heart. He had many problems. I’m sure the people surrounding him had given up. That’s one of the problems.

With addiction you need at least ONE PERSON willing to stick by you no matter what. If you don’t, you fail. When you feel like no one is going to be there anyway you figure why bother? Who cares? Even if it’s in your head. You need to feel at least one person cares enough to be there no matter what you do. I hope he had that. I hope he didn’t die feeling alone in the world, feeling worthless. He wasn’t. None of us are.


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