still here, against my best efforts.
Monday night I swallowed all the tablets of dilaudid I had. The bottle was 2/3 full or so, more than half anyway. I didn't even fall asleep. By sunrise I came back in from the van and gave up. I threw up a lot of orange water then went to bed. I kind of drowsed till full morning, then threw up repeatedly, again, although nothing came up. I stayed dizzy and headachey all day. I had itches all day. I had dry mouth all day. My digestion went haywire and my stoma shrank back inside and giant boulders tried to pass, making me sick again this morning and I spent the afternoon at the ostomy clinic getting some education and advice.
Some of the advice regarded getting rid of Dan by finding income. It sounded so reasonable in the office, but now, trying to figure out how to implement the ideas it seems impossible, overwhelming, confusing, and highly unlikely. I can still drive a car, send payment to utilities, wipe my own ass, count out money for groceries and boil eggs. Ergo, I'm fine and it's my problem. I have no children so that's not of interest either. Kathy is dead sure I should be able to get some independant income that'll help me kick Dan out of the house but I can't imagine how.
I did some googling on some of the things she wrote down, disability tax credits or something, I dunno, it's over in the other room. I'm finding the business too intimidating. So I wrote some women listed as local contacts for disability assistance or something. I think they're supposed to help people apply for money. My letter is horribly embarrassing, but it's the best I can do. I don't know how to make my crazy life sound otherwise.My life right now is mortifyingly embarrassing from edge to edge. I really would rather die if I could, but if all those pain pills didn't do it... I don't know how. I'm no killer. I keep saying, I'm not here because I'm strong, or because I'm a fighter. I'm here because I can't get out of it. I really have tried everything. Dan was a something I was trying, a ;man with an income, willing to support me. I couldn't imagine he'd turn out to be so intractably nasty. I find it implausible that being good to him for a decade wouldn't have made anyone pleasant. But here I am. he's still nasty. He'll never get better, only fake sweet for awhile when it feels heroic enough.
But I also don't believe anyone out there actually gives a shit about me. Not enough to give me money. But I might qualify for money on the basis of listed qualifications? Not by what I read online, though. They were very careful to paint the picture of people so disabled they need help with basic life functions.
I lost another 5lbs or so this weekend. I quit eating again. I still have crap for appetite and don't want to get healthy.
I also blew off my dr. appt twice and lost all my other scheduled appointments. I feel too tired to do all this interfacing. Calling for appointments, going to them, talking to all these people. Dan's fallen off his promises entirely, working saturdays again, leaving early without doing anything at home, coming home reluctant to get up and do anything after work. I think I hate him. I can't imagine how to get rid of him, or get income enough to replace him. I can live a damn lot cheaper than I do, but not sure if I can stand the isolation of not having any internet at home, and who's going to shovel the snow this winter, or recharge my car battery? Who's going to pay for that car license? Who's going to move it's shelter to the back yard so it can sit quietly there hoping for a better future with me? I usually do stuff like that myself but I actually can't. I have trouble opening containers. I can't work out to build up my strength as long as that tumour sits there, and not till the surgery cuts heal up enough not to split open, and not while my ostomy has a hernia. I mean, how do I get anything done? I'll be too poor to hire anyone if I even had the social skills to do so.
I've never witnessed the interchange of hiring someone for house or yard work, or mechanical help. I actually don't know how to do it and I'm so sick and crazy and in pain right now I can't fake it either.
I wish I had a fighter. Someone who could stand up for me, help me fill out forms, talk to strangers, think of ideas, pat me on the back and reassure me now and then. But nobody like that ever turned up. I got a lot of people suggesting that I needed it, but none of them were in the position to provide it. It's like, Imagine there's a plane crash near a distant small town and all the passengers are injured. We all agree that the guy with the broken leg in the corner needs immediate help, but there's three staff and fifty other injured people with even nastier and more immediate injuries and that guy with the broken leg is just going to have to sit there and sweat. If the need continues to outlast the aid, he won't get it fixed. Not as long as there's another heart attack ahead of him and too few resources for both.
I'm the chick with the twisted ankle. I can't walk, can't get myself anywhere, and have nobody to help me, so I sit there. Not as critical as the guy with the broken leg who also isn't getting tended, but just as helpless and alone.
I'm sick. I'm exhausted. I'm stressed. I'm depressed as a sane reaction to an insane situation. I can't just kick Dan out of the house but if I can access financial resources enough to pay my own needs, I could. I think I could anyway. I thought I could at least focus on healing first but he's already been getting cruel and neglectful again. He had another "epiphany" this week, yesterday really, seeing me so sick from that fucking dilaudid. It screwed me up but good. It just didn't put me to sleep and stop my breathing. Although I noticed my lungs spent a lot of time just not moving and I'd consciously breathe awhile. But I did not die. I just didn't. That would have been so much easier.
I have some money making ideas if I could get healthy again, could have my needs covered enough to let me be creative. But you know, those civil servant types like to poke holes in all one's plans that don't involve starter level jobs. The only appropriate goals for someone like me is to one day hold down a good entry level job at minimum wage, then live a life confined to that income level, and be cheerful about it too.
But the ideas of selling art and making youtube videos from a bus aren't bad ones and the bus would be cheap enough I could probably manage. Especially if I could get some sort of permanent pension to budget on in the lean times. It really would be easier if I could just die.
Some of the advice regarded getting rid of Dan by finding income. It sounded so reasonable in the office, but now, trying to figure out how to implement the ideas it seems impossible, overwhelming, confusing, and highly unlikely. I can still drive a car, send payment to utilities, wipe my own ass, count out money for groceries and boil eggs. Ergo, I'm fine and it's my problem. I have no children so that's not of interest either. Kathy is dead sure I should be able to get some independant income that'll help me kick Dan out of the house but I can't imagine how.
I did some googling on some of the things she wrote down, disability tax credits or something, I dunno, it's over in the other room. I'm finding the business too intimidating. So I wrote some women listed as local contacts for disability assistance or something. I think they're supposed to help people apply for money. My letter is horribly embarrassing, but it's the best I can do. I don't know how to make my crazy life sound otherwise.My life right now is mortifyingly embarrassing from edge to edge. I really would rather die if I could, but if all those pain pills didn't do it... I don't know how. I'm no killer. I keep saying, I'm not here because I'm strong, or because I'm a fighter. I'm here because I can't get out of it. I really have tried everything. Dan was a something I was trying, a ;man with an income, willing to support me. I couldn't imagine he'd turn out to be so intractably nasty. I find it implausible that being good to him for a decade wouldn't have made anyone pleasant. But here I am. he's still nasty. He'll never get better, only fake sweet for awhile when it feels heroic enough.
But I also don't believe anyone out there actually gives a shit about me. Not enough to give me money. But I might qualify for money on the basis of listed qualifications? Not by what I read online, though. They were very careful to paint the picture of people so disabled they need help with basic life functions.
I lost another 5lbs or so this weekend. I quit eating again. I still have crap for appetite and don't want to get healthy.
I also blew off my dr. appt twice and lost all my other scheduled appointments. I feel too tired to do all this interfacing. Calling for appointments, going to them, talking to all these people. Dan's fallen off his promises entirely, working saturdays again, leaving early without doing anything at home, coming home reluctant to get up and do anything after work. I think I hate him. I can't imagine how to get rid of him, or get income enough to replace him. I can live a damn lot cheaper than I do, but not sure if I can stand the isolation of not having any internet at home, and who's going to shovel the snow this winter, or recharge my car battery? Who's going to pay for that car license? Who's going to move it's shelter to the back yard so it can sit quietly there hoping for a better future with me? I usually do stuff like that myself but I actually can't. I have trouble opening containers. I can't work out to build up my strength as long as that tumour sits there, and not till the surgery cuts heal up enough not to split open, and not while my ostomy has a hernia. I mean, how do I get anything done? I'll be too poor to hire anyone if I even had the social skills to do so.
I've never witnessed the interchange of hiring someone for house or yard work, or mechanical help. I actually don't know how to do it and I'm so sick and crazy and in pain right now I can't fake it either.
I wish I had a fighter. Someone who could stand up for me, help me fill out forms, talk to strangers, think of ideas, pat me on the back and reassure me now and then. But nobody like that ever turned up. I got a lot of people suggesting that I needed it, but none of them were in the position to provide it. It's like, Imagine there's a plane crash near a distant small town and all the passengers are injured. We all agree that the guy with the broken leg in the corner needs immediate help, but there's three staff and fifty other injured people with even nastier and more immediate injuries and that guy with the broken leg is just going to have to sit there and sweat. If the need continues to outlast the aid, he won't get it fixed. Not as long as there's another heart attack ahead of him and too few resources for both.
I'm the chick with the twisted ankle. I can't walk, can't get myself anywhere, and have nobody to help me, so I sit there. Not as critical as the guy with the broken leg who also isn't getting tended, but just as helpless and alone.
I'm sick. I'm exhausted. I'm stressed. I'm depressed as a sane reaction to an insane situation. I can't just kick Dan out of the house but if I can access financial resources enough to pay my own needs, I could. I think I could anyway. I thought I could at least focus on healing first but he's already been getting cruel and neglectful again. He had another "epiphany" this week, yesterday really, seeing me so sick from that fucking dilaudid. It screwed me up but good. It just didn't put me to sleep and stop my breathing. Although I noticed my lungs spent a lot of time just not moving and I'd consciously breathe awhile. But I did not die. I just didn't. That would have been so much easier.
I have some money making ideas if I could get healthy again, could have my needs covered enough to let me be creative. But you know, those civil servant types like to poke holes in all one's plans that don't involve starter level jobs. The only appropriate goals for someone like me is to one day hold down a good entry level job at minimum wage, then live a life confined to that income level, and be cheerful about it too.
But the ideas of selling art and making youtube videos from a bus aren't bad ones and the bus would be cheap enough I could probably manage. Especially if I could get some sort of permanent pension to budget on in the lean times. It really would be easier if I could just die.