Yeah- I like that better than the whole: “Surviving to thriving” shit. Cuz, chile, let me tell you: My shit was in a straight up Nose Dive, okay?! Shit was not pretty! Mmm.
So, today on Social Media, 5 years ago I, along with an awesome Infectious Disease (ID) doc who is part of the U of M-Yes, That is THE U of M- Hepatology program, along with her awesome staff, an awesome hospital, an awesome support system, and a fucking amazing faith and an HP that is the answer to all my problems and questions, Beat Hep C’s bitchy little ass today. 5 fucking years ago. It was touch and go, cuz it’s like you do follow up blood tests, to make sure you don’t miss/catch something new, and as of today, 3.28.17, I am still Hep C free. Which I got from a fucking tattoo. My sobriety tattoo of all things. He did my back piece, but that when was when he was policed. Better shop. Anyways. So…
Was on my way downtown to the hospital. And one of the streets was closed and there was a detour. I saw it. Prospect St. 8.15.08. My last drink. Dave came home at 4:30, with a 6 pack, and pulled out a bottle with yellow, kinda heavy liquid in a bottle with no label from a cupboard I had never saw him opened. Agave Juice from his time in Mexico. He lived in San Diego. That’s where he got “sober”. Toliet seat around his neck-whole 9 yards, anyways, they had a meeting at work. He hadn’t been getting work. He had lost his job. Basically. I had been drinking for three days straight, Talking to old, male friends, that, yeah, I’d been with, but I was his. Now I know. Once you’re done, you don’t go back and check on your vomit. So, that didn’t help matters either. I was basically, drinking on psychotropic medications of all different classes, and then? Drinking some more. The pills helped my pain and my sleep. But, that night I went psychotic. Went into the bedroom, I’m surprised Dave didn’t kill me that night, and I poured a palmful/handful of Valium in my right hand, and slammed in my mouth, and slugged the Pacifico Clara to rinse it down. Lightbulb moment. Dave came barreling around the corner, I met him at the corner of the bedroom and told him what I had done, that I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to sleep, “For one night! For God’s Sake Dave! I’M TIRED!!!!” Grabbed me by the elbow, throws me in his truck- yeah, what’d you think a serial killer would drive? Blasts down Prospect- we lived on Prospect off of Plainfield, across from the school, so he blasts down Prospect at Midnight- we’d been at it for 8 hours-grabbed me, hollering at me- Don’t you fall asleep on me! Don’t you dare Fall asleep on me Zuzu!!! Goddamit! Talk to me Zuzu, Talk to me, don’t sleep, god dammit. I just remembered like spilling out of his truck at the ER, and out from there. I came to for a second, I was on a steel gurney, behind a white sheet of a curtain, Dave was sitting, on my right side, at my waist, like someone had just told him the love of his life had died. In a way, and literally, someone did tell him I had died.
That whole memory, and night, played through my mind in mind bits for the next, like five minutes. And I looked around, and I was driving to the place that had saved my life, numerous times, and I kicked Hep C five years ago, The Trial with Dave, Dave’s Death- the loss of the love of my life, he had already killed me but he loved me enough to save my life.
Let that sink in.
Yeah. I don’t expect you to understand. I also don’t expect you to understand that he was the love of my life. Cuz he was. He and my Meezer, Forrest, whom Dave affectionately named, “F-Dog”, yeah, they had a Bromance way before Obama and Biden. Way before. Obama hadn’t even won his First election. I’m just gonna leave that right there for now…But, yes, Dave was the Love of My Life, Joshua in Greece was a modern Affair to Remember. And Boogie. Hmm, I’m lovingly referred to-not anymore-as The Boogie. He was Boogie and I was Booga. We were best friends, lovers, enemies, compatriots, competitors, therapy, lifesaver, everything. My heart was always full when I was with him. But, clearly, you can all see, I’m quite mad. And I knew I was, even way back then.
Boogie wanted to be James Bond. Like, no fingerprints, eyeball scan man. I wanted him to be that too. I knew I as a Liability. So I shoved him away, over and over so he could soar and be happy and marry a blonde and do all the things and be all the things he always wanted to be. And, as far as I know, he I think, is doing at least, very well. So, Duty is more important than love. I’d take those words back if I could, but I was meant to stop Dave, and go down my path. Which, is beginning to clear.
Five years ago today, I killed Hep C, was in the middle of a VERY public Criminal Trial with Dave, and after Dave went to Prison in August, F Dog got a brain tumor and died 10.08.12. Dvaes birthday is 11.18.60. A month apart. One left and one had his birthday in prison. Fuck.
So, After the trial, my pain, which I have had for decades, and I forgot to mention, Neurontin makes me pee my bed when I am asleep, and drool when I am awake, Lyrica makes me look like I have had 6 Tanqueray and Tonics- heavy on the Tanqueray. So, my pain went through the roof. My grief was at an epic high. Lost Dave. Lost everything and most everyone I knew. Was just terrified 24/7, my C-PTSD was, omg, my ANS, I don’t know how I still have an amygdala. Np Spell Check, thank you. I was on crisis, high alert, grief stricken, rejected, isolated, lonely, alone, then that fall? The cult memories began. I went insane.
I stayed functionally insane -Listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers new album, The Getaway. Dreams of a Samuri, and a few others, but I swear, Anthony Kids and I went through the same shit. I swear. Fucking bizarre. But I stayed functionally insane. My Psychiatrist retired. I had moved, switched home groups, switched sponsors, could barely get dressed, couldn’t take a shower barely anymore without someone in the house. I was stone cold sober- no drugs, no booze through all of this. But I lost my motherfucking mind. Oh! And I reunited with Greek Joshua only to be rejected for his already there girlfriend. So, I left him, and was devastated all over again. But at least that fucking bullshit is done and over with. I just, then the fucking cult.
So, for about 3 years 2013-2016, I was crazy ass, insane, breakdown, in the hospital every other month, blowing up friendships, Oh, and Dave Died. I actually saw him a month before he died, before he moved to Lansing. He was so happy to see me. And he was so very thin. He either stopped taking his meds or because he was an ex con, he never got them. Personally, he had a lot of health issues. A lot. And he was 13 years older than me. And he had lived hard. Really hard. But that broke my heart too. It was like, I’d just get back up, and I’d get punched in the face/gut-take your pick, sometimes both, and then my heart would get broken all over again. And I’d fall apart again.
7.11.16 I almost for sure had my last tango. I had spent a month in a psych facility, getting ECT. I’ve had ECT before- twice. It is the gold standard for people with treatment resistadepression. It is very humane. They knock you out, bp monitored, full staff, bite guard, they administer the electricity, your brain floods with neurotransmitters, they jump your brain, you seize, you recover. Your memory is for shit, you don’t remember shit, because you’ve got all these neurotransmitters swirling in your head, at least they got rid of the god awful headache you used to get, it’s better. But here’s the thing- you only do an average of 9 treatments, 3 days a week and they’re only supposed to do one side each time alternating. What is known as unilaterally. Not BILATERALLY FOR 11 TIMES LIKE THIS FUCKING JOINT DID AND TURN YOUR BRAIN TO JELL-O. My fucking God, I should sue. Found out that little tidbit after the shit show that was July and August of 2016.
Here I was, completely broken, severely depressed, I mean like SUICIDALLY DEPRESSED EVERY DAY SINCE 2012, and they zap both sides of my brain 11 times. What would it do to YOU?!
So, before you judge me for taking a bunch of pills, think about these blogs. Think about my fucked up, day;y fucking hellish journey of fighting like a motherfucker to get back to life. Think motherfucker. Yeah you. Setting up in your motherfucking 2 kid, one, fat husband, great ass bullshit life looking down your nose at me. I say this to all y’all like yous: Go fuck yourself. Cuz I’m trying to untuck myself, and you’re judging the fuck out of me for it.
So, yeah, I feel better after that. So, then we all know about psych lab. Funny. When I was in CCU-at the same hospital that saved my life 8 yrs prior from an OD, 4 years prior from Hep C, and I fluttered my eyes and my ID/Hep C Doc was at my bedside. She was resting on my bed rail, her hair was all down, and she looked so forlorn. I called her name, and fell back. Next time I came to my ID case manager and her were there. Then I woke up in Psych Jail. PsychLab. Run but he same motherfuckers who bilaterally ECT me. Run by the same hospital that saved my life. They need to look into their psychiatric practices. There’s a letter.. That’ll ax out a few jobs. The PA, Brigid left. She told me she was, she had secured a new job. I hope she’s happy and well. But, they have a long way to go.
So, since August/September? It has been a rebuilding. And there has been some some destroying. New therapist. But as much as I hate, I mean detest and have zero respect for the way she let me go, my old therapist, really? What could she do? I was in a complete nose dive. She’s older. She’s worked hard. She doesn’t need someone like me, who is more than likely, out of her therapeutic aptitude, No mean, just truth.
So, it’s 8:50 EST, I started this at 7:15. I have sobbed, been angry, felt my soul break, and ache all over again. But my HP as my witness, at least for today, I will never willingly and either knowingly or unknowingly, attempt to take my life ever again. My pain will end, but so many other people’s pain will begin. And I, Daves email was brsamsara, it’s like Buddhist purgatory. I don’t want to end up like Dave. He’s free now. I’ll talk about my gypsy gift and the two curses I broke using my gypsy gifts. Both gypsy curses too. Not easy ones to break.
“My Dear, you had the power all along.”~ Glenda, The Good Witch. The Wizard of Oz.
WARR;OR- that’s mine. But if you qualify, what’s mine, is yours.