Bruised

I have been told by many recently that I should share what I am feeling. Not hold back. Playing the martyr. Adult. The one always in control. I'm afraid. Afraid that if I share, I will never survive. I will unleash this flood of tears that is suffocated so far down in my soul that I will not be able to stop. I will drown if I open up.

The truth is that I am bruised. Inside and out. My skin is black and blue. The staples go way deeper than my skin. They puncture my heart. Each metal piece cutting deeper and deeper until I am almost see-through. Non-existent.

I'm tired. Worn out. Beyond exhausted. Too much energy needed to pick up all the pieces. Again. Put everything back together. Function. Would you be surprised if this time I just can't. That I just want to give up. To be done.

Have I not lived long enough. Gone through it all. Put in my time. Why is thirty not considered a full life. I've given it all. I've lived. I'm tired. No more.

Whatever. That's it.

You Don't Know Me

You think you know me but you don't.

Outside
I am a doer
A fighter
A leader
I am motivated
And loyal
I will be there for you
Generous
Kind
Loving

Inside
I am weak
A patient
I am in pain
I am scared
Lonely
I am a failure
Sad
Static
Immobile

I have officially been told that I have a medication overuse headache. So add that to my three other kinds of headaches and we could have a party. Oh wait, it seems my head is already having a party and I wasn't invited. So not only do I have bronchitis. But I also have to stop taking all meds for 5 weeks. Gotta ween myself off my addiction to pain meds. All the while suffering from a terrible withdrawal headache, attached to my migraine and occipital neuralgia. Not to mention my IIH. Which thanks to Hopkins, we have no idea what is going on. I just get to fall apart. And suffer in constant agony. And all the while, I have to function. Go about my regular life. Pretend like there isn't a war zone in my skull. That I don't feel like I'm being attacked by shooting fire. That I won't combust at any minute. From sheer pain. I have to go about my day like nothing is wrong and I am totally fine. Work. School. Volunteering. No biggie. When the truth is. Most days I want to curl up and shut down.

How could Hopkins dare tell me that come January, I will have to find a local neurologist to manage my care. And in the next sentence say my case is quite complicated. How could you dump me and expect me to manage. No one wants to deal with me. Have I become that patient. Have I become a nuisance. Life fading out of my eyes. Suffocating under the weight of my pain. Of my diseases. How can you tell me six months ago that you will admit me for testing and then not follow up. Tell me that there are no beds. No neurosurgeons on staff. That you are understaffed. And receiving over 300 calls a day. Aren't you the top hospital in the world. Innovative in your field. You say now that you will schedule me for DHA and ICP monitoring. Find out what is causing my chronic pain. But I don't believe you. You only seem to care when people are dying. Is that what you are waiting for. For me to completely fall apart. Puking my guts out. Unable to go to work. To school. Confined to my bed. My couch. You need me to get to the point before you will help me.

But do I even want to be admitted for testing. Shave my head. All to find out there's nothing wrong. That I am just a mess. Can't get my life together. Who will stay with me. Take care of me. I can't be the patient. The needy one. I am the strong one. Dr. Rabbit. My fear of being alone is overwhelming. Of never moving on from this chapter. Never being free. Pain free. I am desperately trying to live a productive life. Unemotional at work. Working my ass off in school. But this pain is overwhelming. It's debilitating. I cannot function. I cannot move. I cannot succeed like this. I am a shadow. Living half a life. With no relief. No break for the future.

You think you see me. But you have no idea.

Anesthetic

Sleepless night

Early morning

6:30 am

Phone calls

Secretaries

Waiting

Blood test results

Traffic

Higjway

Underground parking

Building maze

Glass walls

10:30 am

Vitals 

Heart rate 

Med list 

Risks 

Stomach 

Clean back 

Shot 

Local anesthetic 

Numb

Waiting 

Lumbar puncture 

CSF

Isotope

Dye

Bandaid

Lie flat

2 hours 

Oxygen 

Blood pressure

Boredom

Uneasiness 

Elevated slowly 

Wheelchair 

Basement 

Nuclear medicine 

1:30 pm

Table 

Images 

5 minutes

Suffocation

Surrounded 

Bikur Cholim room

Potato bureka

5 year old 

Lakewood 

5:00 pm

Table 

Repeat images 

Tech 

Unknown

Traffic 

Side roads 

Home 

Sore 

Nauseous 

6:13 am

Train 

Circling hospital 

Basement 

Table 

Scans 

8:00 am

Home 

Headache 

Sleep

Work

5:30 pm

Nausea 

Puke 

Pseudo means FAKE

It's too good to be true
You don't see what's under the surface
Don't look at me
And think you see me
All I want is to disappear
Crawl under my covers
The fan blowing
Someone take a knife
And make a nice incision
In my eyes
To let out all the pressure
So I can feel some relief
A pain free moment
Fluid free lifetime
I need a breather
Just one second
To myself
You ask me what's wrong
Half-heartedly
But you're not even listening
Don't even care
Can't understand
It's because I am ultimately alone
I struggle through all this on my own
Always by myself
My own problem
It's all under the radar
Because you can't see this disease
There are no outward symptoms
Pseudo
Therefore it means nothing to you
It's fake
Non-existent
I fight alone
So I appear grumpy
Or depressed
Miserable
Did you ever wonder if maybe I was in constant pain
That my eyes feel like they are flooding
My head might just explode
That basic conversation is so difficult
Friendships are a waste of time
That I am ruining everything
I just need someone to hold me
Take care of me
Call my doctor
Make everything ok
Hold my hair while I throw up
I need someone to drill a nice little hole
Let out the pressure in my back
In a little cord
All the fluid can come pouring out
Did it ever occur to you
That I might need
Me
Need

PS. This is a joke.

cold

my brain hurts
the whole front of my face hurts
i cant keep food down
im doing fine
i wish i was dead
out of my misery
nicholas sparks separated from his wife
seriously?
when you say you are going to drop off soup
and someone else does
it hurts
lying on the couch
in the freezing cold
alone
i cant do this anymore
why are people so stupid
just shoot me
i cant function
i wish to be
pain free

Ignorance is Beautiful

It seems that I will always be dependable. Reliable. I will always live to serve. My role as an individual is almost unnecessary. The me that hides beneath is mute. Silent. I go through the motions. And sometimes I actually do care. But it's mostly a facade. A distraction. From the truth. From reality. From myself. Your lives and dramas are so much easier to deal with. No emotion required. No self-reflection or motivation needed. Inspiration flown out the window ages ago. Ignorance is a welcomed drug. A wonderful pill to swallow. Unlike the horse-pill that lies around the corner. Waiting to close up my throat. Suffocate my lungs. Empty any stomach-juices left in my body. Leaning over a toilet or any available garbage can.

Ignorance is a beautiful thing. It prevents from mourning a loved one. Erases the pain of seeing the dead. Watching as dirt is dug and one plain box is lowered into the earth. Numb as a life is forever gone. The end. Unconditional love has slipped through your finger tips. Never to exist again. Any possible heartache gone. Holding a mother who cannot stop crying and does not know why. I am not a daughter. I am a mother. A caretaker. A mother to no one. I am not a wife. But somehow I got sucked into that role. Because I live to serve. I sacrificed myself. I was afraid to soar. To fly. I could not let go. I could not feel. I pushed it all under the carpet. I lost me. I have disappeared. And for what. What do I have to show for any of it. Nothing. Nothing.

My message to you

If one more person asks me how old I am and then tells me that my life is not over. That I should choose to make my life better. I'm going to scream. I can't bite my tongue anymore. Am I choosing to be miserable. Am I choosing this unhappiness. Do I have anything to show for myself. Do I have anyone to go home to. Am I wanted anywhere. Is it so easy for you to tell me to snap out of it. To get help. Go on medication. You have all the answers. And I'm once again a failure. You can call me a fair weather atheist. Whatever floats your boat. He can keep spitting in my face. Laughing at me and my pathetic life. Let the lightening strike I'm ready. I have a message for all of you. Fuck off.

Better

I have been slowly getting back to myself after an awful stomach virus. Still feeling pain in my stomach and pretty weak at times, but back to work. Back to normal routine. Although, I do rush home to put my pjs on and still am not able to eat normally. I'm still not sure if I was really sick. I tend to convince myself of things. Or maybe its convince myself that nothing happens, when really things are happening. Unsure. I do have physical proof that I was sick. I don't think I was making it up. Nor am I making up the terrible pain I felt. But I do think it's pretty curious that the second after I sent that email, I started feeling nauseous and then threw up all over the place. Psychosomatic much?

So it's been a pretty quiet week (plus). Haven't really talked to anyone, pretty much kept to myself. I learned that I like sleeping on the couch. Or maybe it was just more comfortable than my (creaking) trundle bed. Real reason I realized is that it feels like someone is holding me. Or rather laying next to me. When I sleep with my back to the couch, it feels like I am being spooned from the back. And when my stomach is facing the couch, it feels like someone is close by and I am able to sleep better. It sounds odd or maybe just desperate. But I don't care. It's funny (or maybe not) that I was never able to sleep with another person in my bed. And now that's all I could think about as I lay in agony on the couch. But I guess it was more than that. It was the fact that I was sick and felt all alone. It's not my parents responsibility to care for their 27 year old divorced (nebach) daughter. It's not my sister's job to take care of me. She has way too much on her plate. So I drove myself to the ER. Because there's no one that has my back. Yeah, I could have called a friend. But it was just me. I had to take control of my own life and drive myself. Sit there by myself. Because that is my life. Alone. And most of the time I am ok with that. But not when sick.

And now it's Chanuka. I am so grateful that I moved back home and am no longer in NY. I like lighting the menorah with my family. And the thing I value the most is following our minhagim. Every time I make the bracha on the candles and I say "lehadlik ner SHEL chanuka" I am so thankful for my freedom. It sounds silly. But it's important to me. It's important to me that I have the freedom to be who I am and to do the things that I hold dear to my heart. Even if it's as nutty as singing the last paragraph of Maoz Tzur to the tune of Hatikva. It's meaningful to me.

Sad that Chanuka is almost over. Thank G-d the Jewish calendar is cyclical. You always know another holiday is around the corner.