Black
I think the lack of sleep is finally getting to me. I hit my first totally black depression in a long time last night, after five successive nights of four or less hours sleep. I had been staving it off for a few days, I think, but then last night the Socialist threw a tantrum about his car not yet being fixed . After he started in on that I just withdrew into myself.
Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t co-exist in my universe.
It’s weird, because I can take three giant steps back from myself and watch the process impartially. I know I’m behaving irrationally, but I’m mostly powerless to do anything except keep myself from speaking. If I spoke, I’d say hurtful things that might not be capable of being unsaid later. I’ve kept that much of my wits about me anyhow. But “I can’t go on living like this” ran through my head like a mantra for hours, as I contemplated my navel and let the universe shrink to the size of the sofa. Well, anyhow, I would have contemplated my navel if I could see it – the ascites is building up again and while I know there’s a navel down there somewhere, it isn’t in veiwing range anymore without a mirror. And I’m trying to avoid those.
Today I’ve been mildly nauseous since I got up, which was around 3:30 this morning when certain idiot cats decided they wanted an early breakfast. I’ve forced myself to eat some, because I’m beginning to look like a couple of marshmallows with toothpicks for arms. My legs are spared the toothpick treatment because they’re stilll fairly swollen from the water rention. Marshmallow body, sausage legs, toothpick arms, hollow cheeks. If I lose my job, I’m considering joining the carnival as a side-show freak. Come One, Come All! See the amazing Bride of Frankenstein, created entirely out of mismatched parts! No one under twelve admitted; this show is too grotesque for the very young and the faint of stomach.
It was my pleasure to take a message from the Socialist’s insurance company today. The ready-date for his beloved Matrix has been pushed off until next Thursday (the original date was tomorrow, but they keep bumping it). He threw another tantrum, kicking around some plastic storage tubs that I have recently emptied of books from the move. I didn’t say a word, just went up and went to bed. The mantra keeps playing in my head.
Tomorrow will be better.
It WILL get better, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually it will and all this will be behind you. I am sure if I was in your position I would be feeling down too. When will you have a time frame on the transplant? Maybe being able to see a "light at the end of the tunnel" will help?
Hi Pali,
I just found your journal and have spent a large portion of time this afternoon/evening reading from start to finish. I absolutely love your writing style. Wish I could say the same of mine, but alas, someday, huh? *sigh*
I loved reading about your proposal and future wedding plans. That particular entry brought tears to my eyes as I sat reading it.
Concerning the liver transplant, I can seem to find just the right words to express what I’m feeling, nor that would bring you any additional comfort. However, please know you are in my thoughts and prayers.
God Bless you a million times over,
Lauren
i share Ms. Trauma’s sentiments…
you seem to be doing whatever it takes to keep yourself sane, that’s always good.
((((((Pali)))))))
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is it just me, or does it seem like the car is small potatos???? is not having the car truly crippling the soc’s life.
he could use a mantra, himself: don’t sweat the small stuff even if it’s a car.
hope both of you are feeling better soon. i don’t exactly have insomnia, but lately, provasik’s ability to sleep through his alarm clock that goes off at 5am is really messing up my sleep schedule–which is already messed up with my crazy dreams.
sigh. {{{{{{{{{{pal}}}}}}}}}}}