Did You Hear That Noise?!

So, my poor Baba.  He has an infection behind his incision.  They have’nt put him on antibiotics.  Why not?  My best hypothesis is that they are drooling morons.  His care has been beyond reprehensible.  In this day and age of medical care, you MUST be your own advocate.  That includes getting bitchy, making calls, complaining, being proactive, rattling the tree.  My parents, God bless them, are from the generation that the doctor is God, and you don’t complain.  No matter what.  It has taken nurses that have helped me, vouch for me in front of my parents for my parents to get that I am competent.  Absofuckinglutely frustrating.  But, they have some appointment this morning.  I mean his wound vac was all fucked up, let’s put it this way: if anything can go wrong, it has.  My poor father has just been so sick.  I played him Churchill’s speech from WWII.  The one that Iron Maiden plays in their Live Before Death concert album?  “We shall fight in the fields, we shall fight on the land, we shall find on the sea, in the fields.  We will never give up and never surrender!”  Or, as my father taught me a British saying, “Keep your pecker up.”  That’s my personal favorite.  It used to be, “Keep Calm and Carry on”, and Churchill’s, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”  Either way, the basic message is that even though things suck ass, this too shall pass, but fight as if your life depends on it-because it does.

So, I had a bunch of epiphanies yesterday.  And yes.  You will read about all of them.  So suck it up, buttercup.  Isn’t this why you’re reading this in the first place?  So, I started my day yesterday at Midnight.  Yes, I woke up at the Witching Hour.  And I stayed awake until 4-4:30 pm.  It was a big day.  But, if I haven’t mentioned this before, and I’m breaking a rule, but I am in recovery from alcohol and pills.  8/15/08 is my sobriety date.  This year will be ten years.  Pretty fucking incredible if you knew what I was like before, but I digress.  I was at a recovery meeting, and I said, “I used to give rides, I got my three year coin in Cheshire, CT (Which is true), but something happened and I don’t know what, but I changed.  I have horrible social anxiety, and after outings, I have to go be alone, and be quiet and lay down.” It bothered me.  Cuz I used to be so gung-ho recovery.  I couldn’t figure out what had changed.

I came to my rents house.  I had thought about going out of town for a day trip by myself to the lakeshore.  I asked my dad for some cash, because my cash is so fucking tight, and he gave me $40.  Perfect.  Gas, drinks, food and a chotchke.  So, I go to this national park by the lake.  You had to climb this huge hill to get to the beach.  I started up the hill, now, keep in mind, I’ve ballooned to 300+ pounds, and am incredibly out of shape.  I am also a former smoker and have a rescue inhaler for when I start wheezing.  Yes, the fat, wheezing kid.  Anyways, I started up this steep ass hill, started wheezing, got half-way up, didn’t have my inhaler, nowhere to sit down, didn’t want to sit down because there was a sign warning of ticks-no thank you-so I turned around.  Felt completely defeated and ashamed and embarrassed. Went and sat at this picnic table by this old-fashioned water pump, and sat.  I was resting, and I said to myself: That’s not you.  You would’ve scaled that in three minutes.  What have you let yourself become?  What have you done to yourself?  Why?  What the fuck happened?  Then I had to pee.  Went to a park outhouse.  Can you say dry heaves?  But I hopped in my car and drove to the town.

Found a great parking spot.  Threw my purse crossways over my body, and began to walk along this Lake Michigan, bay, tourist town.  Walked into the first boutique.  OMG.  SOOOOOOO overpriced, and not that great.  Then I went into one of those little, cheap tourist shops.  Found a beautiful hand fan with butterflies on it-perfect for my smudging.  The Asian lady said, “That’s a fan”.  I replied, “I know!  I’ve been looking for one of these!”  She got all excited.  She was really cool.  A lot of snooty people.  Saugatuck used to be a very LGBTQ town.  I don’t know if it still is; I saw a few same-sex couples, but it was like the rich heterosexuals invaded and brought their Bed and Breakfasts with them, it was horrible.  But, I found a little bar/cafe thing.  It had an outdoor cafe section, so I sat there.  My waitress had the best tattoos.  The Tat Cave in Chicago- Anita Perone.  Amazing work. Absolutely amazing.  I’m thinking of finishing up my right arm as a sleeve.  To my mother’s dismay.  But, I walked along some more, until my hips ached and I had a second asthma attack.  Jesus.

So, I’m driving back, and it’s sunny, the clouds are fluffy, got Medwyn Goodall on the stereo, and it hits me.  Like an NCIS Gibbs smack in the back of the head.  Three years sober was 2011.  The trial was 2012.  Remember?  The Dave trial that made China Mail and The Huffington Post and the world knew who you were, that you lived with HIV, that Dave was the one who shared it with you, and that you corroborated his confession, and put him in prison.  Then Forrest- your animal Siamese familiar died.  Then 2013 was Hepatitis C from a tattoo and Interferon- which about drove you mad.  2014 you said goodbye to like 4 friends.  2015 Dave died and you were well on your way to being a social shut-in.  2016 was ECT and the suicide attempt.  2017 was rebuilding, and the last 6 months of 2018, you’ve had health problems (Gallbladder surgery 6/20), Hepatitis C is on the rise again and your sugar is up.  You’ve been shunned from your old recovery social group, shunned from one of the recovery clubs, you haven’t been able to nail down a sponsor because you don’t know yourself-NO FUCKING WONDER YOU’VE TURNED INTO A 300LB SHUT IN!!!!!!!  JESUS!!  Anybody who has been through what I have been through the last 6 years?  They would too.  And the funny thing?  I don’t think anyone would blame them.  I mean, hell, my road to recovery started in a psych unit with the diagnosis of Dissociative IDentity DIsorder-By the way?  Roseanne Barr is a multiple, not blaming her racism and Trump loving on that, but it explains a lot.  Then I get dumped by Dave, start IOP rehab, then three months after my last drink-8/15/08, on 11/18/08, I get diagnosed with HIV.  Excuse me while I just shoot myself in the head.

So, for the last ten years, life has been less than easy.  But I have been trying to Keep Calm and Carry On.  If you’re going through hell, keep going.  And I did.  I kept going, right till yesterday when it all became crystal clear on I96 North.  So, when I came home, I told my mom.  She was like, “Yeah”, like, Hello!!!  When you’re in the brush, it’s hard to see the enemy sometimes.  Sometimes, you’re the enemy.

But, I came home, took all my meds, alarmed the house-that helps me not be a nocturnal shopper with my group of Night Littles-and I fell asleep at 4:30 pm in the afternoon.  Woke up at 2 am, but didn’t really wake up till 3.

Robin Williams, I believe, said, “If you wouldn’t let an asshole stay in your house, why would you let an asshole stay in your head.”  So, today is the first day of my new life.  I’ve been gone too long.  I’ve been depressed for too long.  I’ve been fat and single and sad and scared for too long.  Dave is dead and The Roaches?  I could eat their hearts right out of their chest if I had to, bottom line.

So, this is me, today, June 4, 2018.  8 days before I turn 45.  Pretty fucking amazing.  All it took was some negative Ions from the water, and some getting away by myself.  Tomorrow I have a Pre-Op appointment in the morning. Then I’m heading to the Lakeshore.  Like a beach.  Where I can just walk on it, not climb a cliff, and have an asthma attack.  I’m having lunch with a friend today-Indian Food.  I’ve had Indian Food like twice in my life.  I’m thinning out all the crap in my house.  I learned from AJ Dibble, that you don’t need excess to be elegant.  I used to be elegant.  It’s my time now.  Watch out, bitches!