This is supposed to make me better?
Posted on | April 2, 2010 | Comments Off
The words Are you (expletive deleted) kidding me? screamed through her mind as she swirled around her newly numb tongue and tried not to gag on the bitter (understatement) taste of the medication. One would really think if something was supposed to be placed under the tongue to dissolve some artificial sweetener would be used. Her immediate response was a rather grotesque over production of saliva and gagging that almost resulted in the whole thing heaving ho. As it turned out, she rather wished that had been the case.
It had been a bad, bad night. And the entire day was heavy and lethargic and everything felt wrong. But this was supposed to help. She looked at the stupid pillbox…this one a very “eco-unfriendly” type but needed for these melt-away tabs…and shivered at the thought of the nightmares to come. Would she even bother doing this again tonight? The taste alone isn’t worth it, she thought.
She thought about all the treatments that had come and gone…the great lengths people would go to get better. Old medicine bottles now used as decoration…none of hers ever would be. Plastic.
Things just don’t turn out the way you think they will. But this will make me better, right?
Pills…Pills…Pills…
Posted on | April 1, 2010 | Comments Off
Unfortunately for many elderly people, one might enter their home and find pill bottles on their counters, in their cabinets, on the night stands, in purses, bags, boxes and anywhere else they can possibly be stuck, shoved or dropped. Pills are often taken out of their bottles and placed into various containers including those little boxes with SMTWTFS on them, or those with pretty designs to hide their contents. They’ve even been found emptied into antique sugar bowls with tiny little spoons inserted for easy dispensing. The pills *may* or may not belong to the resident of the home. They could be a friend or family member’s, or a concerned neighbor’s. (Neighbor’s are the best, aren’t they?)
She sat quietly looking at her own SMTWTFS pillbox with some level of disgust. She wasn’t elderly, things just didn’t go as she’d hoped in life. And she’d be looking at swallowing the contents (or some similar cocktail) of said box on a daily basis for the rest of hers. That alone was enough to make one miserable and depressed.
She looked out the window to distract herself from the evil little pillbox and noticed the red buds were taking on leaf form. Even the “stick” planted out front was getting some buds. The beautiful tree that had resided in that very spot previously was torn out for having naughty roots. It seemed such a shame and the replacement was just that…a “stick” compared to the previous glorious tree. So sad. But maybe there would be a fantastic photo if and when this “stick” flowered….
She wondered about her friend… (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!!) She imagined what it would be like to be so talented and to have the gift to be able to create something beautiful… And then to know someone put that on and FELT beautiful. That is an awesome gift. How cool it is to have her as a friend, she thought.
She used to have a job she loved…but things don’t always work out the way we planned.
She looked at that hideous pillbox again. Why can’t they just fix me…
Sadness can overwhelm anyone, anywhere, anytime. Sure, some might say that you should just be grateful that you aren’t “insert this that or the other horrible thing here” but you know what? Everyone feels their own pain. Everyone struggles. Everyone has their own battles. And things don’t always work out as we planned…
[Download Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill Acoustic
*Rah Rah Rah* choke…
Posted on | March 31, 2010 | 1 Comment
She found it much easier to be a cheerleader for everyone else than it was to deal with her own issues. (Get back to work, you know who you are!!!) The last couple of days dragged by and she felt even more sloth-like. She seemed to have every excuse in the book and there wasn’t any joy coming from doing anything. Time for another self help book or ten. (Another new one awaited in the bag from the library) Maybe roasting marshmallows over the burning of the self help books would be more suitable. (Not the one from the library of course)
She wondered how long she could go on feeling sorry for herself, throwing a fit, kicking and screaming, being mad, being angry at the world, and just plain being a child. At some point this had to stop. When would she stop being afraid? When would she stop doubting everything she did? When would she have the confidence to say OK, things didn’t work out the way they were supposed to, let’s try something else instead?
This sucked. She hated it. She hated being tortured by it every night. She hated thinking she was going crazy. She hated hiding from the world…
Sleep deprived…
Posted on | March 29, 2010 | Comments Off
She was tired…that whole plan of laying the book down at 0130, watching a little TV and drifting off to sleep was foiled by the insomnia monster. She tried to go to sleep but lay there, mind spinning and decided it was best just to get her book back out. So she read for a couple hours more and tried again. No luck. Some time just after 0600 she finally fell asleep. This really messes up one’s day, she thought. She spent most of the day reading and refused to nap, so hopefully tonight she would crash at a decent hour. How nice it would be to simply lay her head down and turn off.
She had still thought it looked like the colours of a bloody corpse outside in the rain, but that red still made her smile even today as she yawned. It still meant hope. (Can I possibly say still one more time?)
Rain rain go away….
Posted on | March 29, 2010 | Comments Off
She read all through the day and into the night, finally giving up around 0130 when she could barely see straight. The sounds of the storm outside were already making her uncomfortable, an anxiety that only began recently. She felt like she was going to be washed away, not literally, but that some part of her was being drained out each time these feelings built up and she had to “deal” with them. She was tired, if not exhausted, with all the dealing she to do lately. But that was part of who she was, that much she knew. All artists were a little crazy anyway right?
She wondered what her dreams would bring with the storm as their background music again. She hoped it wouldn’t be too upsetting. She’d given her brain plenty of things to ponder with all the reading she’d done. A little visual stimulation before bed via the TV and who knows what she’d have going. Probably nothing to do with anything. Nothing good anyway. If only that lucid dreaming book had paid off…
Her good intentions weren’t paving any roads…
Posted on | March 28, 2010 | Comments Off
The fresh high thread count cotton sheets felt cool against her skin as she climbed back into bed after she showered. Her hair was in jeopardy of drying in an unruly manner but there was no time for a hairdryer. She simply wanted to get back to her book. Although she had hoped to actually get “out” today, she found herself lost in another world. It was her escape and was bordering on addiction. Nothing new with her. And as soon as that book was finished, she selected another. A complete change of pace from the previous, but every book was a learning experience and a new journey and quite frankly kept her mind off the things she probably should have been thinking about but didn’t want to. Oh denial…she was so good at that.
She felt lost. She felt like something was missing. She knew it was supposedly within herself. But this search wasn’t like looking for lost keys in your apartment. She still had no idea where to begin looking.
She stuck her nose back in her book after a few minutes of feeling sorry for herself…
Right on the tip of her tongue…
Posted on | March 27, 2010 | Comments Off
She was frustrated. Extremely frustrated. She had the most amazing thoughts in her head, ideas for characters and stories and places to visit, but somewhere between her brain and her fingertips there was a block. Her mind was most prolific, of course, as she lay down to rest…when sleep would consume her and she’d have no chance of recording her most wonderful drifting visions. She’d finished reading another book today so she at least felt like she accomplished something. Her goal was to be either reading or writing for at least several hours a day.
She was not eating and in turn losing weight and moodier than usual. (If that could even be possible.) She did, however, still smile when she looked out at the beginnings of new life in the deadness outside her window. How excited she would be when green leaves were abundant and the only thing grey and gloomy was her wardrobe.
Perhaps tomorrow she would try something new. Perhaps tomorrow she would leave her cave and seek a story outside her usual boundaries. She needed to start making changes, because soon, everything would be out of her control.
The colour of blood…
Posted on | March 25, 2010 | Comments Off
She looked out the window and noticed amongst the skeletal trees was a flush of colour, a red the colour of blood. The beginning of spring announced, the budding leaves took on this shade and she no longer had to look solely at the gray and white which made her miserable just at the mere sight of it. She actually smiled.
It had been a good day despite some distractions. Her imagination ran wild and she felt hopeful that all the elements would eventually come together and her mind would allow her to create her masterpiece. Or at the very least, bake something yummy.
It was always this way with her. So many things had to take place simultaneously in order for one simple thing to occur. The monsters had to be tamed, the setting had to be just right, supplies in order (oh the supplies, does anyone really need that many?) etc… etc… and heaven forbid her personal opinion of herself for that particular moment had to be just right. Skewed off the wrong way and disaster could occur. This might have just been a really long way of saying that, for example, getting dressed was hard. Other things were difficult too. But she was getting used to that.
Somewhere out there, her Hero lay in wait.
She stared again out the window at the blood in the trees. It was beautiful. It made her smile. In the middle of all of her misery, she had a moment.
A work in progress…
Posted on | March 24, 2010 | Comments Off
I can but only choke on what is left of that thing one calls a heart.
I am incapable of true forgiveness of myself, yet somehow, I forgive you the pieces it has become.
Questions answered by not answering, silence hangs in the air as I gasp for a breath I cannot fully take.
A longing for something that can never be found. It aches within me, always.
The blanket thief…
Posted on | March 23, 2010 | Comments Off
Get out the violins…I’m going to whine…
I woke up cold. My blanket had been stolen. This story could go in many directions. I could whine about a mate who had hogged the covers in the night and then continue on with various complaints about this person. It could morph into how miserable my day would be and how a good night’s sleep shouldn’t be denied anyone. It could go in a completely different direction, in that I could tell you that aliens must have stolen my blanket and I’m eagerly awaiting their arrival and its return. But, the truth is, my blanket was stolen by a 7 pound dog. Yes, SEVEN pounds. (Well, he has gotten a little thick from all the snacks he’s begged off me so perhaps that isn’t exactly accurate, but you get the point) Some how my blanket ended up long and thin next to me, with the dog stretched long and thin along it.
I guess this is what I get. A dog who snores and steals blankets. (He is male)
Hello out there
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