I haven't written a post in a while because the old emotions have been pretty scattered and raw, as though someone had taken an Amish draw blade to the edges of my very soul. I'd been prepping for months for a surgery on my spine. Going to every appointment, arranging for drivers (like flying over the Pacific and finding a Blue Whale) however randomly scheduled, in whatever end of the state they made the appointment, and whatever randomly selected, painful, useless, just-for-fun test they scheduled, and three days before the procedure, they cancel it. Why? Because my bitch shrink, after 4 hour-plus appointments could not manage to type two, non-fancy sentences to approve the surgery before she quit, although she managed to spit out two LENGTHY emails as to why she was quitting, and thus why she could NOT recommend me for the surgery, because SHE couldn't do follow-up. C U Next Tuesday. Every single person I came in contact with, in three entire healthcare systems, FAILED ME for 7 solid months. I had a screaming, throwing shit, meltdown of monumental, historic proportions all by myself. No one to talk to. Not a soul to hear it. Nobody to fucking call.
So There's that.
Years of pain. 5 years of epidurals, which are rude on a good day, but buy time. No one volunteers for that shit unless there is a major problem. I was NEVER offered sedation, but I hear they do that for people in pain clinics outside the VA LOL, only 'a little' lidocaine 30 seconds before the screaming began. In January, I was given hope of relief for the first time in 10 years. Sleep! Solid sleep for the first time in ten years. On a good night, I get maybe 3 hours 'rest' out of 5 hours 'sleep', that is if I sleep at all.
I came back here with hopes of new beginnings. Well, things haven't really worked out that way. The move itself put me in debt. I should have taken the difficulty in getting in touch with realtors as a sign I shouldn't drop anchor here, but I did it anyway. Quagmire. Swamp of Infection. Dusty trail of randomly moving rocks. Shit-Storm Maximus. I am too old for this shit. I am too smart for this shit. I am too good for this shit.
Lay on top of all that three distinct Liger swipes to my self-esteem, and you're looking at someone who is getting ready to lease a small space somewhere near Bluefield, VA 6 months out of the year, and the other 6 months, who the fuck knows? Most likely Carolina or Aguadilla, PR. Maybe a little Bourdain "Parts Unknown" in between, because seriously, I don't fucking know, and I honestly don't fucking care anymore. There is no thing, and only my parents to tie me here, and the weather is ok for 4 months. All of my "friends" are online and live other places. I'm tired of being unhappy, and being around unhappy people. I was happy for a little while, I was getting my feet up under me, and the closest person to me, at the time, went straight for the jugular. Then a few tentative tries to ease back in, and I am just keeping it as far away as I can. I think I am keeping everyone at bay for now, because I don't WANT any ties here. In fact, just this second, I've decided that as soon as I heal up from my surgery, and actually heal, not the 29 days I had with my knee, I am weighing anchor. Maybe a boat on a canal in the Netherlands. I have a clean passport, language skills, a congressman, and 179 days to be anywhere I damn well please.
So There's that.
Years of pain. 5 years of epidurals, which are rude on a good day, but buy time. No one volunteers for that shit unless there is a major problem. I was NEVER offered sedation, but I hear they do that for people in pain clinics outside the VA LOL, only 'a little' lidocaine 30 seconds before the screaming began. In January, I was given hope of relief for the first time in 10 years. Sleep! Solid sleep for the first time in ten years. On a good night, I get maybe 3 hours 'rest' out of 5 hours 'sleep', that is if I sleep at all.
I came back here with hopes of new beginnings. Well, things haven't really worked out that way. The move itself put me in debt. I should have taken the difficulty in getting in touch with realtors as a sign I shouldn't drop anchor here, but I did it anyway. Quagmire. Swamp of Infection. Dusty trail of randomly moving rocks. Shit-Storm Maximus. I am too old for this shit. I am too smart for this shit. I am too good for this shit.
Lay on top of all that three distinct Liger swipes to my self-esteem, and you're looking at someone who is getting ready to lease a small space somewhere near Bluefield, VA 6 months out of the year, and the other 6 months, who the fuck knows? Most likely Carolina or Aguadilla, PR. Maybe a little Bourdain "Parts Unknown" in between, because seriously, I don't fucking know, and I honestly don't fucking care anymore. There is no thing, and only my parents to tie me here, and the weather is ok for 4 months. All of my "friends" are online and live other places. I'm tired of being unhappy, and being around unhappy people. I was happy for a little while, I was getting my feet up under me, and the closest person to me, at the time, went straight for the jugular. Then a few tentative tries to ease back in, and I am just keeping it as far away as I can. I think I am keeping everyone at bay for now, because I don't WANT any ties here. In fact, just this second, I've decided that as soon as I heal up from my surgery, and actually heal, not the 29 days I had with my knee, I am weighing anchor. Maybe a boat on a canal in the Netherlands. I have a clean passport, language skills, a congressman, and 179 days to be anywhere I damn well please.
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