I DESERVED IT, DIDN’T I?

I was physically assaulted for years by different men and there were times when I woke up that I didn’t remember agreeing to have sex with a person or know where I was.

Alcoholism will lead you to dark places and to people you wouldn’t normally be friends with.

My parents were actually good parents. They had some moments when we were younger that could’ve been better but I don’t think any of it was too bad. Then again maybe it was and I don’t want to remember it. I don’t really know. I do know I was always painfully shy, over weight by the 6th grade with glasses and acne. It wasn’t fun from the 6th grade to the 12th grade. A lot of damage was done that couldn’t be undone.

When no one stands up for you as a child or intervenes you start to believe what is being said to you. So I believed I was fat, useless, ugly, unlovable, even that I smelled when I didn’t because everyone believes when you are fat you must smell. I was the cleanest person I knew. I became obsessed with expensive perfume as I grew older because of one comment made in the 10th grade. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on perfumes from places people have never had of.

The group of people I surrounded myself with when I began drinking at 16 were all predators in some way or another. Some were emotional predators, some financial, and some sexual or needed to feel in control.

I was perfect for all of it. I had zero self confidence and thought I was nothing when I arrived. I worked hard and always had money. I was easy to control when drinking and I was always drinking to numb a feeling or fake a personality or emotion or to feel normal. They saw me coming a mile away and never wanted me to leave.

While one would say and do cruel things another would be there to act as the good guy. Then it would flip. I went on like this for almost 9 years starting at 16. Those are important years where you learn how to be a young adult then an adult. I didn’t learn any of those things. I learned a lot of street smarts and how to immediately scan a room for scumbags or trouble. I learned to always sit with my back against a wall facing the door so I could see who was coming and going. I learned not to trust anyone ever again and to look people in the eye. I learned how to read facial expressions and tell when a person is lying to me.

I learned all of these things the hard way and by slowly becoming the monsters I hated.

I never fully became the monster but I still carry that fear with me and the street smarts. I also carry the “Trust No One” mentality with me because it huts too much to trust and be let down over and over again even by your family. I have brief flashes of the rage I carry deep within me and I won’t lie, it scares me. I wouldn’t hurt another person but I would hurt myself in that rage as I tore through the World. So I have to be careful with it and channel it into something else. That’s where the tears and stuttering come in I think.

I didn’t ask for any of this. The mental illness I knew was a 50/50 shot so was the drinking. But when I was growing up no one really knew that or talked about it. If my parents had taken me to a Doctor when they first suspected I would have been institutionalized until the age of 18.

It’s here and now at 44 that I decide how I want to deal with all of what I’ve been through, what I’ve learned, what I still need to learn, and pass it on.

If I could travel and speak on Radio Shows or in High Schools and tell the absolute truth with no sugar coating that’s what I want to do more than anything. There are too many organizations right now that so many feel like they don’t belong in because all they see are the positive messages of hope and recovery which is fine but don’t promise it right out of the gate. When I’m feeling like 0 the last thing I want to see are shiny happy people holding hands because I’ll already have the thought of failing in my head.

I don’t know if I’m making sense about this at all or if I’m completely off base and too messed up to even know it. I wouldn’t mind some feedback as long as you don’t completely tear me down because then that’s all I’ll think about for weeks. Ridiculous! But that’s who I am now. I’m a lot stronger in many areas but I still seek love and approval. I’m a work in progress like everyone should be.alone-by-edgar-allan-poe-scarebaby-design

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WORLD SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY (The Problem With Known Spokespeople)

We need to talk about suicide and suicide prevention but I believe it has to be done in a responsible way and with great care.

It’s good when a person who is well known can admit they have a mental health issue and try to help others.

What isn’t helpful is when they imply or give the illusion that they are “all better” because they ate the right foods, exercised, meditated, and have God helping them.

A large percentage of people with Bipolar Disorder or Schizophrenia have a tendency to develop Body Dysmorphic Disorder and focus strongly on Religion. I have seen this in my own family and it might be one of the many reasons it bothers me the way it does.

My Auntie Donna wouldn’t eat for days and would let expensive food rot in her refrigerator until there were maggots that were so bad they escaped the fridge and were on the ceiling. It was my Mom who had paid for the food and the both of us that had gone to check up on her. It wasn’t the best experience I’ve ever had, the smell would’ve knocked you over but my Aunt was used to it. She was skin and bones and obsessed with “getting fat”. She never hesitated to say something hurtful and mean about my weight every time she saw me. This would alternate with Religion and her obsession with thinking her Doctors were trying to kill her to this day. My Mom only got a break from this when she passed away.

I’ve met more than my share of mentally ill religious people who remind me of the Alcoholic who replaces one addiction with another.

When a person has 100,000 followers or more and isn’t truthful about recently having a Manic/Depressive Episode that was pretty bad but instead publicly states “positivity, positive people, the right diet, exercise and Faith/God” is what saves him it’s irresponsible.

How many people who are looking for any way to feel better will go off medications, won’t go to a professional for help, and follow this thinking instead? What happens if they are severely ill with hallucinations or hear voices but think if they eat right, exercise and go to Church everything will be fine? I can tell you nothing good will happen.

You can’t have an event with celebrities who are not willing to be honest or give correct information because we will lose more people.

Isn’t it bad enough that on average we will die 20 years younger than everyone else because Primary Care Doctors are biased against us and don’t take our physical symptoms seriously? We are not having our medications monitored on a regular enough basis so severe side effects are not being caught in time. The staff in physical health services judge us as soon as our mental illness is disclosed right on down to the secretary. This is all fact. More needs to be done about Integrated Care but if we keep fooling ourselves, listening to false information, refusing to advocate for ourselves or research or own diagnosis than nothing will change.

On another note I want to talk about Chris Cornell. His writing was brilliant and so was his voice. He had beautiful eyes with a smile to match. But you can’t tell me I was the only one to notice the times his eyes were manic, his smile fake, his lyrics telling a story of depression and anxiety just like his body language did. He would often tap his foot or bounce his leg, he paced back and forth, when he would sit he would rock back and forth sometimes holding his head in his hand. Then there were times where he was still, quietly staring at nothing with a blank expression on his face. I recognize all of this I’ve seen it often because they are all things I’ve been told that I do and have done since a young age.

He was pulled out of rehab to make the video for “Cochise” and if you watch it you can see it wasn’t a good time. The scream he does in that song is visceral and cuts right through me. I don’t know about conspiracy theories but I do know he was someone who struggled immensely and suffered greatly all you have to do is understand the lyrics to see that and feel that. The people around him failed him in many ways, I do believe that 1 or 2 were trying to intervene towards the end but maybe it was too late or they didn’t realize how serious the situation had become. He wasn’t a coward, he was a human being with a lot of pain that most people will never understand unless you have been there. I still think about him everyday and listen to a song, I’m trying to do it less and less because it isn’t healthy for me. It’s difficult when there was someone who understood so much about you without even knowing you. When your own family is tired of trying to understand and have lost their sympathy/empathy and you no longer have friends to confide in.

Yes, I’m still here. I love my Dad he has been there for me in the past when no one else was. I wouldn’t have over 9 years of sobriety without him. I won’t put him through the kind of grief a suicide brings. He already blames himself for my illnesses and believes if he had gotten me the help I needed when he and my mom first suspected something wasn’t right I would be okay. The truth is back then they didn’t know much and it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. He was afraid they would institutionalize me and I was only 8/9 years old. My Mom had already seen what that does to a person with her brother and sister and refused to take me to a doctor. I don’t blame either one of them. Both of them loved me and that’s enough.

GO ON AND SAVE YOURSELF

I won’t follow along with an ideal or concept unless I’ve asked questions and received answers that satisfy my curiosity. If this doesn’t happen or I find reason to disagree with the masses I find myself being scolded, judged, or told to “go along to get along”.

Guess what? I’ll be 45 in January ( I know I don’t look it at all! ) and I’ll be damned if at this stage of my life I’ll be bullied or told to be quiet anymore. I’m done being quiet, silent, playing nice, sugar coating events and feelings and being a doormat.

So this is my opinion take it or leave it.

Some group somewhere decided what was “right” and what was “wrong” when it comes to words used describing “Mental Health”.

  • Saying a person is mentally ill is no longer correct.
  • You should say they have a mental health condition.
  • Crazy, insane, bonkers, etc. is unacceptable. (Not sure when it ever was?)
  • Instead people should say they’re diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder/Schizophrenia/Depression
  • They suffer from Bipolar Disorder/Anxiety/Schizophrenia is also wrong to say.
  • The correct phrasing is “they live with a mental health condition/illness. (what about the first one where mentally ill is no longer correct?)
  • They committed suicide is also wrong.
  • They died by suicide is the right way to phrase it. (what about those that try? Do we say they failed to die by suicide or they survived a suicide attempt making them survivors & that has never sat well with me considering I have failed five times myself because I was too drunk.

All of this is ridiculous. The money spent on this research could’ve been put towards better treatment options.

RECOVERY, RECOVERY, RECOVERY, YOU BEAUTIFUL BASTARD THAT DOESN’T EXIST IN MY WORLD I HAVE A BETTER CHANCE OF DAVE NAVARRO FLYING ME OUT TO L.A. FOR DINNER THAN I DO AT RECOVERY. (so for invoking your name Dave)

  1. Recovery implies that mental illness is a choice. Serious mental illness like Bipolar or Schizophrenia are considered lifelong chronic health conditions. Both take a toll on the body and brain, there is no cure.
  2. Recovery suggests a need to return to “normal” state. Which makes me feel more alone and worse about myself. I know I’m not the only one. It also contributes to Stigma.
  3. The concept of recovery by society is detrimental to the person living with the illness/situation. Questions are asked; If people recover, why aren’t you? It must be something you’re doing wrong. Maybe your medications are “preventing” your “recovery” or your choice not to take medications is.
  4. Recovery is an unrealistic standard for any chronic illness whether it’s an autoimmune disease like Celiac (which I have), cancer, Chronic Kidney Disease (got that too), or Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia and some Somatoform Disorders. The best you can do is try to manage them. If you experience psychosis or are not capable of rational decisions/choices why are people expecting you to choose recovery?
  5. Behavioral Health isn’t the same as Mental Illness. Behavioral Health focuses on diet, exercise, mindfulness, and sleep habits. This is fine for a person who might feel a little sluggish or down at times but not for anyone diagnosed with a serious mental illness. There is a huge difference. Changing what I eat will not stop me from seeing myself hanging from a forest of trees at the library. Exercising when there are many days my bones feel like they’re broken won’t stop me from sitting on my kitchen floor with butcher knife pressed into my stomach with no knowledge of how I got there. I also couldn’t hear my Dad calling my name or feel him shaking me. I was in another place and it was scary for both of us.

I suffer, I don’t feel like there is recovery for some of us due to many complicated circumstances but there is remission sometimes. I look forward to those small windows of some kind of happiness or as close to it as I can get. I’ll call myself whatever the hell I want to. I’m the one who has had to live this way for 32 years with so many suspecting or misdiagnosing, poking and prodding, degrading and judging, I’ve earned that right. And maybe I am a survivor or I just like to fight sometimes either way this is it I AM A BIPOLAR ALCOHOLIC IN REMISSION 9 1/2 YEARS ATHEIST WITH CONVERSION DISORDER, SOCIAL PHOBIA AND SEVERE ANXIETY. I HAVE TRIED TO COMMIT SUICIDE 5 TIMES BUT DID SO WHILE EXTREMELY INTOXICATED SO I’VE HAD MY WRISTS STITCHED, DRANK CHARCOAL, STOMACH PUMPED, ANKLE WRAPPED FROM MY ATTEMPT AT FLIGHT, SOME OF THESE MORE THAN ONCE. AS I GOT OLDER AND SOBER I STOPPED TRYING. I STILL THINK ABOUT IT BUT NOW IT’S ONLY A THOUGHT BECAUSE I’M TOO AFRAID OF NOT KNOWING WHERE I’LL GO WHEN I DIE AND THAT’S THE TRUTH.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO SUPPORTS ME AND DOESN’T JUDGE ME HERE.

It’s once you enter more of the real world that it’s harder.

TO TELL THE TRUTH WILL BE THE HARDEST THING YOU DO

My parents always lived paycheck to paycheck but did their best to make sure their children were loved and taken care of. When my twin sister and I were babies we were in cribs that had wheels. The wheels supposedly locked in place but my mom came in to check on us one night and my crib somehow was across the room and not where it was supposed to be. My mom was frightened and couldn’t understand how it had happened. She put it to the back of her mind. Except it kept happening. My parents finally realized I could pull myself up and I was rocking back and forth. I would continue this soothing behavior for the rest of my life. Whether it was side to side or back and forth I’ve done it since I could talk. What does that say?

I also bounced one leg like a jackhammer without even realizing I was doing it. Teachers would call me out publicly for doing so. Rocking side to side while standing in the lunch line in Elementary School didn’t help either. It’s surprising how many teachers feed into the bullying of someone who is different.

Anxiety started at such an early age I didn’t know what it was. I thought maybe I was dying, adopted, an alien, robot, a mistake, I never thought I belonged, I always knew I was different. People around me at some point or another made sure I knew it too. Little jabs and comments from relatives they thought I didn’t hear or understand. The kids at school, teachers, and now even Doctors.

I always had trouble being away from my Mom for any length of time. In my early teens I did cut myself occasionally to distract my brain. I’d have to deal with the actual physical pain instead of the mental pain for at least awhile. But I knew I couldn’t do it often because my Mom was the nosiest woman on the Planet and noticed everything. I think she really did have eyes in the back of her head.

Besides the rocking that started so early I also had nosebleeds that started at the same time. I’ve told the story before where a babysitter wasn’t told about my nosebleeds or how I could move my crib. When she looked in our room all she saw was blood all over the walls and my crib way across the other side of the room. Not a good night for her.

The nosebleeds continued until I turned 12 when a Doctor decided to take out my tonsils and adenoids. By that time I had my nose cauterized 3 times. If you’ve never had it done let me paint you a picture. In the movies when someone is stranded without medical attention and a wound won’t stop bleeding and they’re afraid of infection someone will heat a piece of metal/iron until it glows red. At that time they press it to seal the wound. In modern times they use a chemical version that’s shoved up your nose. It still hurts like hell. Again, no one bothered to find out why I was having nosebleeds almost everyday. No one bothered to find out why I was rocking either.

I talk about these things now because the brain is more complex than anyone will ever know in our lifetime. We can’t know why a person makes the choices they do because we don’t live in their head. We haven’t been through what they have. Not everyone can pray away their pain, talk away their hopelessness, when they don’t even know why they feel it in the first place.

Most of the time I asked myself “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you be happy like everyone else? If your own twin can do it so can you. Are you stupid? A mistake? What’s wrong with me?” Having a twin who is living a “normal” life is excruciating to watch and feel. It isn’t resentment. It’s regret.

While I was drunk one night I found out a person I cared about had said and done some upsetting things. He had called me names which I should’ve expected, he told everyone he was only with me to get close to my best friend W, he wouldn’t normally sleep with a “fat bitch” like me, and to top it off I walked in on him kissing W. I grabbed a knife from the sink and started slicing. I was pissed, hurt, and somehow thought it would show them something. What I don’t know. It took awhile for W to find me and take me to the Hospital. My parents weren’t called that time because W was there to back up my lie.

I slit my wrists one more time, overdosed twice, and jumped off the roof of a building (I was too drunk to realize how close to the ground I was). Anyone who fails that many times really needs to give up and accept there’s a reason why you are not succeeding.

I’ve been reading new research. It shows a link between women who had a virus while pregnant that passed to their baby’s brain. A neurologist told me my mother must of had a virus while pregnant because it showed where I had an infection in my brain at one time that caused continuous swelling. This is also linked to mental illness.

The Danish finished research recently where they found that between the years 1945-1995 92,000 Danes were diagnosed with a mood disorder, 36,000 of them had a severe infection or developed an autoimmune disease at some point before being diagnosed with a mood disorder.

The research is strong between inflammation and mental illness. I can’t overlook it considering I have Celiac Disease, Degenerative Disc Disease, Osteoporosis, Spinal Stenosis, Arthritis, and various other problems. There’s also a genetic factor and ethnic factor. It mostly happens with people from Celtic descent. This would be my Mom’s entire family. My Nanny’s side and Poppy’s side both. My mother’s maiden name translates to “dark stranger” from when the Norse invaded Ireland and settled there. Eventually the Norse name became my mom’s maiden name which matches the information we have about where my Grandfather came from in Ireland.

I think I’m off track. It’s almost 4:00 p.m. and my thought process goes downhill starting at 3:00 p.m. so I only have a little bit of time left.

What I wanted to really say is it’s nice to try to reach out to people who need help. If you do it the right way. Blaming someone who is already gone is pointless. When a person is spiraling downward in their own head you can’t get through, believe me I know this first hand. If Psychosis is involved and the person is hearing a voice telling them how useless they are, they’re a piece of shit, their kids would be better off without them so would their entire family, they hurt everyone around them they should just disappear, it’s almost impossible to make that person listen or to expect that person to call you and talk.

There’s nothing rational about suicide so expecting the person to act rational and call someone for help isn’t rational. That’s why it hurts everyone involved as much as it does. Even when the person survives an attempt their life is no longer their own. Trust is gone, relationships damaged beyond repair, no one knows what to say or do so they pretend you are no longer there as if you actually did die. That’s my experience from my life because I’ve lived it. I didn’t read about it in a book or watch 13 Reasons Why I live it and I’m still living it. But the key word in all that I’ve said is “live”.

I AM UNIQUE, QUIRKY, LOYAL, SENSITIVE AND MENTALLY ILL

I know if I don’t take some type of medication I will at some point find another way to ease my anxiety, pain, racing thoughts, fatigue, delusional thinking, compulsive behavior, and suicidal thoughts. The last one won’t be a thought anymore if I start drinking again.

I’m only getting the benefit of a small amount of my medications and I know this. Even when I was getting the full benefit I still wasn’t close to “normal”. Chances are I never will be.

I get frustrated at people who advocate for Breathing Therapy and Exercise as a cure/tool for depression but it WILL NOT WORK FOR ME.

I get pissed when I listen to Dr. Drew try to talk about a subject he obviously knows nothing about, treating mental illness with addiction. Everything he said to me was wrong. Most research and scientists have found that the undiagnosed underlying mental illness causes a person to seek relief from alcohol and drugs. The majority of mental health professionals do not know how to treat both and the person gets bounced back and forth or isn’t treated at all.

Then I read a blogger who doesn’t believe in Treatment Resistant Bipolar Disorder. I read the Blog expecting to see evidence, statistics, quotes from researchers, but it’s just their opinion. That’s fine everyone is allowed to have an opinion. The problem is when you have thousands of followers and your a supposed Bipolar Guru.

I also don’t appreciate someone repeatedly trying to tell me I’m wrong and why when I’ve already conceded. I dislike confrontation of any kind so I’ll eventually tell you what you want to hear to avoid conflict that will trigger stuttering and tremors. It isn’t worth it. I don’t know you and I have enough problems with my own family thinking I don’t try hard enough to get better and that I’m just lazy.

I think I’ll have my medical file tattooed on me to make it easier. When I mentioned “Life saving measures were taken” when I went into Kidney Failure both my Dad and twin sister didn’t believe me. Do they think you lose 100% of one kidney and 39% of the other because you have a cold? Or I had to stay in the hospital for over a week because they liked my company? I’m tired of having to prove that I’m sick it’s ridiculous.

They think because I lied when I was drinking that I’m a liar. That’s fair and I don’t blame them up to a point. I’m over 9 years sober and they now know why I was drinking and what I went through when I drank. I have not lied since I’ve been sober (except if someone asks me if they look like they’ve gained weight you can’t win with that one)

I’m not a bad person, I’m a little odd at times. My sense of humor is strange and I find things fascinating that most people don’t. I love to research a topic but I become obsessed sometimes if I can’t figure something out. Sometimes I’m quick to anger but I’m also the first to admit I’m wrong and I’ll feel guilty and cry for days until I make things right.

If I love you you’re lucky because you’ll get the shirt off my back and I’ll take a bullet for you (just ask W. about that one) my mom was the same way she protected those she loved.

That’s it for today. I’ve been binge eating for some weird reason. Not really weird it’s because CVS changed the Generic version of one of my medications. Instead of drinking I’m eating Gluten Free Frozen Yogurt, Gluten Free Cupcakes, Boar’s Head Dill Pickle Spears (I drink the juice too for my gallbladder), Rice Chex w/ Cinnamon & Sugar, Jax Cheese Puffs, I think there was more but I can’t remember lol

MY UNCLE’S CHOICE OF TREATMENT

My Uncle Jimmy was diagnosed as Paranoid Schizophrenic at an early age. He heard voices and had hallucinations. He was sent to the State Mental Hospital that we had at the time. My Grandmother worked there and the place was eventually shut down for their abuse of patients. There is a Cemetery on the grounds with hundreds of unmarked graves of the bodies they found while doing construction years later.

I believe my Uncle Jimmy was probably treated in a horrific way while he was there. Of course no one wanted to talk about it. The high dosages of medications they had him on left him with a constant tremor in his hands and he had problems with his grinding his teeth. He always had white spit in the corners of his mouth.

My Grandmother gave him over to the State when he was young. She did this with a few of her children. My Uncle Jimmy wasn’t violent he just didn’t have a filter that society expects a person to have. He loved to smoke and drink coffee. He hated the medications that made him like a zombie. He could either stay at a State run facility where they had control over him 24 hours a day or he could be homeless and deal with his illness in the way he preferred. Heroin. He chose to be homeless and to use Heroin.

I don’t condone his decision but I understand it. I had seen him at the State run facilities and it wasn’t a way anyone should have to live. He was in all honesty happier while on the streets. He did share needles with other addicts, a majority of them also mentally ill. He contracted HIV and lived with the virus for many years. At some point he stopped his drug use. I’m not sure if it had to do with his age or his health. He did advance to AIDS about 2 years ago and passed away from pneumonia.

I never saw my Uncle Jimmy not smiling. My mom loved him and tried to take care of him as best she could right up until she herself passed away. She always knew the gas station to find him at and would bring him hot wieners. He was her baby brother and mourned her death pretty hard. I miss his corny jokes and hearing him call my mom “Anna Banana”.

Like I’ve said before no mental illness or addiction is the same for everyone. At least not in my family. We laugh the loudest and cry the hardest. We always have.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FIND OUT YOU ARE MENTALLY ILL?

You would think after a lifetime of knowing that something isn’t quite right with the way you react to the world, the way you behave around people, how you handle emotions, that finally being diagnosed with a mental illness or two would help. It doesn’t.

I just remember sitting there with a buzzing sound in my ears. I knew it was a strong possibility but I ignored it. I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to be like my family members that everyone avoided and complained about. Even I was guilty of it.

The only thing that changed was I stopped drinking. Did I feel better inside? No. Not even after several years of medication trials, different therapies, and a round of ECT. It progresses. There are a 101 reasons why but it doesn’t matter. Even manic episodes leave more irritable and angry than anything. I become fueled with frustration and just want to run. But there is nowhere to go that I don’t take myself with me.

None of my Doctors have ever discussed the immense grief I still feel over my mother. It will be 9 years in February since she passed away and it still feels like yesterday. There are days I find myself on the bathroom floor sobbing into a towel and calling her name. I still have dreams of watching her die in front of me. I couldn’t look away. In retrospect they were doing CPR on a woman who was already dead. It was for our benefit. I wish they hadn’t. I wouldn’t have had to see the bloody foam coming out of her mouth and her lifeless eyes. The foam continued for hours after. My sister was spared seeing any of this.

I recently sent a text to my sister that was pretty mean. I always say I’m sorry after. I want more from her than she’s capable of giving. She has a family of her own and her own problems. I can’t expect her to deal with me too. I’m not her responsibility. I’m no one’s but my own. That’s a lonely feeling. All I have is my Dad who loves me unconditionally. I’m petrified of what will happen when he’s gone. Even with him here I feel alone.

I am confused a lot of the time. I have trouble making decisions. If left to my own devices I would sit in this house never leaving, never bathing, just sitting. The outside world grows less appealing everyday. I have less energy as the days go by. I lose more weight and lose interest in everything around me. I feel lost and don’t want to be found. I am at the bottom of the hole but this time I don’t care if I get out. The only thing I look forward to is my next kidney surgery and the anesthesia. I usually see my mom when I’m under. It’s becoming harder and harder for them to bring me out of the anesthesia. I know they’ve discussed this with my Psychiatrist. They think it has something to do with the Conversion Disorder. They’re afraid my brain won’t allow me to wake up during one of the surgeries but there is no other choice. I could care less either way.

This is how I feel most of the time. There are some okay days. Days where everything makes sense. There are just too few of them now. But I’ll keep going because it’s what my mom would’ve wanted. That has to be enough for now.