On my way down, it’s a challenge to be happy. I struggle with feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, and being a burden to family and friends.
My future sucks. Hard as I try, I don’t see myself finding happiness or peace of mind. I ask, what should I do? Should I continue to exist for those scattered breadcrumbs of solace? Or should I make sure this is my last landing?
No therapy. The timing is not good. I have to put my health on the backburner for now. I had a depressed area under my right arm (right axilla). Last year, I showed my PCP, who didn’t even touch it. Today it is more pronounced, more extensive with swelling and awareness of its’ presence. My PCP did not chart it in her notes, but I did in my messages to her.
I thought I had a visit yesterday, but it’s on November 15. What do I say to the PCP? The chart, the sacred record of evidence, is controlled by institutions that do harm and then easily alter the records. Massachusetts makes it easy as no entity truly protects patients who look like me. Will I get better care in Texas? Anything is better than the care I received here.
We talk about medical errors being the third largest cause of death, but I don’t know the racial breakdown. Medical errors also cause morbidity that results in permanent disabilities. That’s not discussed much. What is the racial analysis of medical mistakes that result in mortality And morbidity in the US?
I want to land hard and never get up. That could be everlasting peace.
Dear Angela, I can “appreciate” this posting, but I can’t “Like” it at this 4:15 AM. Are you able to work out, esp. run? During my 35 years of caregiving for my 5-years-passed wife, running was my solace, and I insisted on its place in my life, one hour a day, every day. I’m a firm believer in “body, heal thyself” — and I threw my physical and emotional selves into very-much-including punishing challenges to my body. No physician (I acknowledge that you are one!), counselor, friend, lover et al can take that away from a self-contained, rational, passionate human being. I survived — sad but wiser, persisting — and I believe that you can also survive and resume the miraculous wholeness of your body and spirit…I care…really: my “intense personality” empathic self cares, dear Angela. I dislike witnessing your distress: Run, Run, Run, dear Angela!
Hi Bob. I don’t want to run anymore. I am not sure I ever want to get back up. I am tired of life and that’s the truth. What do you do when you’re tired of life?
You sleep. Or….that’s what I do. I try to find rest. Because nothing else is possible without it and emotional anguish wears our bodies out, even with its subconscious. I said “I don’t want to run anymore.” just a month ago …”I’m tired of hiding.” Angela, I’ve looked through your blog…you have GOT to be exhausted. With as much as it’s practical …do what the f you want to do…seems overdue…imho. When you are tired of life, do the opposite to emotion, and find extra rest to do it.
What do you do when you’re tired of life?
I am going on a suicide mission to drive across the country by myself. If I make it to my destination, it means I will continue to exist. If I don’t, it means peace at last. LOL
My problem is I don’t belong in this world and I no longer want to be part of it.
Why do some value life so much when it sucks? Living my life is like I’ve agreed to inflict torture on myself every day.
Wow, dear Angela, you seem truly between the trite “rock and hard place.” I can’t presume to foist on you my own “remed(ies)” for or escape from being “tired of life,” but here’s another try: every night (and right now, a Beethoven selection in the background as I type), I search for “Youtube: relaxing classical music for sleep.” A list appears from which I select. I’m promiscuous, going from one to another, but primary for me is for something melodic in the 8-12-hour range with no irritating commercial breaks. This version of “white noise” seems to really help me, and my comfort puppy next to me on the bed. At this moment, I’m listening to “The Best Classical Music | 8 HOURS Non Stop Playlist | Mozart Bach Vivaldi Beethoven Satie Liszt” (plus more). It’s my first time for it, and I’ve built up quite a library — listed along the right side of my Youtube screen — from which to choose a “favorite.” Can you accept this as my hoped-for source of relief for your obviously troubled soul? I care, dear Angela….
Thank you, Bob, for caring. I am going on a journey. Since TBI, whenever I take a particular medication, I call my pep pill and feel stressed, I go here. It’s worse if I haven’t had a restful sleep.
Call me ungrateful, but not many have not had to live a life of traumas. It’s to the point that I have problems remembering good times. I live for my children, but does that make sense if your life unraveling will be an embarrassment to them.
I’m tired of life too. After Lucitta died I tried to find a new purpose in life. Found nothing. I’m filling emptiness with emptiness, day in day out. Life has no meaning anymore. It’s a dilemma, though. I could end it, but on the other hand I want to be immortal. I’m stuck. Can’t make the decision. Or more realistically, don’t want to. So, like I wrote already several time in Cyberspace, I’m frozen, and waiting for something or someone to defrost me.
Couple of days ago I watched this video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jb_1IklnhaU (What I learned from my husband’s suicide). Watch it.
Hi Roald. I understand feeling frozen. Time and your desire to be immortal will thaw you back to life. Thanks for the link. You read my mind as my post today touches on it.
Listen. I was in the throws of suicide for 2.5 years after my daughter was born. I was also living in abuse (uhhhhh, MA so counts , mkay?!) I was in the South then…but, being abused day in and day out deprives one of a will to want to live….I mean, that’s precisely THE POINT of the abuse. So, the fact that you feel this way, to me, is a reasonable response…it’s expected. You should feel shitty …you’ve been through shitty things by shitty people in a shitty place and ….yeah, you see my point. But I will say this: I learned after so many attempts to take my own life those many years ago that my own life , in many ways, just wasn’t in my hands. At the time, this pissed me off. I say all of that to say, life sometimes doesn’t give a damn what we feel about it or how much we want to be here…it just moves on. And, whether or not we give a damn, we do to. It’s just the nature of things. Mind you, I’m not advocating this as a blissful existence. But I am saying, sometimes it’s a job vs. a career vs, a vocation. And it’s okay. You don’t have to throw parades for shit you don’t feel. But, perhaps I’m the spoiler alert rude awakening : deciding to do it sometimes don’t change shit for everlasting peace. I’ve lost myself here in MA : something I never expected. And if that wasn’t bad enough, then my teeth, my hair, my smile, my dignity, my fight, my sleep, my peace…so I pick up my pen to stay sane. I don’t write. I draw. Zentangle. What will I do with it? Part of me says who the f knows and the other says “Everything”. I have no muthafudging clue what that looks like, what the process will be or the forms it will take. I just pick up the gd pen. In the throws of my deepest darkest times years ago, I always said the journey from the bed to the floor was the longest each day. Back then my abuser got them to inpatient me and I often looked down at my green scrubs and shitty hospital socks. Sometimes I imagined that to be the cover of a one-day glorious book for a memoir I’ve never yet written. When we survive and survive and survive to the point of medaling in it….we imagine that not is living at times. If you can follow this, you deserve a medal too, lol. Sorry, I digress. I guess, it’s just that we don’t have to judge it, put a label on it or even know ….we just show up. Put one foot in front of the other. Or don’t. And that will write our legacy left behind for our children or it won’t. It doesn’t matter how we feel about it or at times what we do and don’t say or even comprehend. I believe there’s a greater power who loves us more than we can, etc. I don’t know how all the parts fit in the recipe or when He intervenes or on what conditions. I just do very much believe He’s real. If it weren’t true, I wouldn’t be here. Now, do I want to be here? Not really. But, I am. And the fact that I can accept this, while amidst the labyrinth I’m in….well, that’s a level of peace I didn’t know I had. And I believe there’s a strength in that type of thing also…enough to carry when we can’t lift our heads. Do something uncomfortable…something you’ve never done that you might fail at. It may be how you find yourself again…whether or not you wish to. I mean, if you end up on the earth by providence, what else would be left? But don’t consider suicide. It’s kinda cheating…imho. I say that with all due respect …like, what’s the point in taking the shortcut after you did the scenic route 10 times over? We’re past such things. Or maybe such things are just past us. Right. Wrong. Indifferent. Who the f cares?…just be you. Just be. You don’t have to decide what the future will look like. You can just go to bed. Healing is possible. It just seems out of reach. Given what you’ve been through, that’s expected. But, it’s there. Inside of you. Even when you don’t like the thought of continuing. We need you….sometimes that feels good to hear and at other times not. You don’t have to take any of it in or soak it up like a sponge. Just existing can be hard, so I understand. Do the next best and right thing for all the right reasons. The worst thing to all of this would be to not do that now. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Then they all would be right….and we know that’d be heresy. 😉 F em. Keep believing.
Hi Deanna, thank you for your comments. This one made me cry. I am sorry to hear you are also fighting battles in the Commonwealth. I will respond later. Maybe we can help each other.
Angela, don’t think about responding to me, I’ll be here. 🙂 Do what you need to for you, no explanation needed. I often write in flurries before it leaves my brain. Depression is anger turned inward, they say…don’t let what they didn’t do define how you see yourself. There are times when fighting harder or different wouldn’t have made the difference. But, aye….there is that “strength in numbers” bit. 😉 My fav quote for life is by MLK Jr. “Freedom has always been an expensive thing.” On so many layers , in so many flavors, this is true. Don’t let what didn’t happen or what should have hold you hostage. I’m not saying it is. I just give a damn ….and I’ll be damned to let them have another. Perhaps we are just ahead of our time or the rest are late bloomers, I’m not sure. But, I don’t know why they all don’t flip the f out on the patriarchy …except abusees doth abuser make. #parforthatcourse You could just see through the bs. And what you saw sickened. And that is as it should be. But says nothing of you. That’s depression talking…..tell it to F off. And go back to being a badass in your sleep. Such things are inevitable. 🙂
Deanna, I salute you fro opening up. More people should do so.
Re: Zentangle. Yes, art can be very helpful in getting some relief from the daily crap. I use fractal art.
Roald , My second brain injury gifted me things no one taught me….It became a fashion line and runway debut ….whirlwind. Zentangle I fell back on after my third injury during a 7 state flee alone in the shadow pandemic. I didn’t always have a sewing machine in my pocket during the shelter shortage…but I managed to keep a pen, then found myself getting certification to teach it , while residing in a domestic violence shelter. It became my coping. The words were too much and too many. The drawings didn’t pain to see before me like the retellings drafted by typing legal complaints. I want to use it one day to help other trauma victims. First to find home again…But now since the injuries , Art is not optional. If I don’t do it, I can’t think I can’t move I can’t function. I don’t understand it but that’s okay as it understands me. For now, that is enough. 🙂
Deanna, can you share a Zentangle with us?
Deana, your comments are powerful. I get insightful flashbacks from my past. Ty.
You are right suicide is cheating. It f’s up a lot of people’s lives, and we should talk about it. It fucked up most of my life believing my father committed suicide. Now I don’t know and never will.
Healing. I’ve never had time to heal fully before a fireball comes my way, and before I know it, everything around me is on fire, and I have to figure out how to through it. After barely escaping a charred death, I find myself in a f’ing thunderstorm, and my life story goes on.
As for greater power, it is the collective universe where ‘all’ things are possible. That’s what I used to believe and still do. I have faith that I will find wings for a soft landing or soar to new heights.
Like I explained several times already, suicide is not always cheating.
You’re right too. Why should you be a martyr living with pain to prevent others from dealing with your death?
I was not talking about martyrs. I was referring to people who, completely satisfied and happy, decided to end their lives because, as they told me, did everything they wanted to do, and now wanted to leave.
Oh, you mean those who become bored of life. Funny, my post today is about being bored.
Not bored in the traditional way. No negative feelings whatsoever. There was simply not anything they desired to do. So they left.
Yes Roald, it’s not always cheating…but in my case, it would have been. I was kinda saying what’s the peace in taking that route after you’ve already done endless laps in the other …but, this may make no sense to anyone but myself lol.
And yes, Angela, I will share a zentangle 🙂 as soon as I get a charge and good WiFi lol ….later today. 🙂 Though I’m uncertain how I do that in this format , bc I’m dark on social media. But I shall think and maybe you all can tell me 🙂
Btw, I totally understand things on fire, I often say I can’t put out all the fires around me. I have decided just last week to tackle one fire at a time….with no apologies….and to nap for however long I need as I go through it. This could be days. My cognitive overwhelm is at an all time high. People can just handle it or not handle it, I don’t much care…since they ain’t putting out the fires or so much as turning on the hose.
Otherwise I’ve found my life to be a ton of things almost done and often too late when they are ….which makes me feel worse.
Deanna, I understood what you meant about committing suicide at this point makes no sense after you’ve built up the muscle and strength to take on just about anything. You get tired after a while. Like you, I try not to worry about things I can’t control. I used to be a master at putting out fires or finding a way through. I wondered if I would just let the fire burn me alive, but I jumped, hoping to find wings on the way down. Without admitting it, I want to live and stop exiting.
How are you holding out? It must be chaotic to live in a shelter with TBI. How do you find your things or clear your mind? Your wisdom helped me to look at things differently. Ty.
Angela, I’m not sure I do find my things lol ….or clear my mind. Yikes. I draw, I sleep. I make phone calls. I fill out forms. I sleep. I sleep. I somehow get fat. I cry. I sleep. I fill out forms. I fill out more forms. I have appts. I research and attempt to finish MCAD briefs but don’t for most. I draw when I remember for Zentangle. At some point I stopped dreaming. I can’t do that. That will kill me. I left a daughter behind who I miss like breathing who is now brainwashed to hate by a malignant narcissist. I must find my way ….she’s 18 in just under 2 years. That’s as much as I can say of her without falling apart at any moment. I don’t even have a current photo. You wouldn’t believe how I fought for her for years that ended me in dire straights. But in the day to day I have no one, and that’s the truth. I do believe in God but He’s just there and I’m here right now. We don’t talk much. I do not recognize myself. When I first came to MA I landed an arts residency, my first. Not for Zentangle. It was off to a good start despite hardship. That quickly changed when the building conditions in the transitional housing (only thing open during shelter shortage) made me sick.. when I spoke up the harrasment began from the landlord / non-profit head and the sexual harassment of fellow residents and much else. I had to abruptly leave my brain care (mounding in hills of debt in the Carolinas) and had finally fought to get some resumed….only to have to be emergency relocated from cape cod by 2 Boston agencies….to come here now, where more abuse began by non-profits. Hence the MCADs. This resulted in more losses of care I fought for. But my health has continued to decline and just last week the PT canceled all my appts saying “I was triggered by everything” when the lighting at a potential apt complex, luxury, near put me on the floor. Since in this shelter In April I’ve been in an ambulance twice ….but it doesn’t matter. I had a caseworker retaliate and cancel a neuro-eye appt I’ve needed for years, without my consent. I still lack help for a dental emergency now one year old ….the tenancy agreement at cape cod forced the landlord to have access at all times to my medical records and interferences in care came soon….this, particularly bad for me, since my abuser has done so yielding that weapon in ways unthinkable for 7 years post divorce in efforts to rob my child, relationship, my finances and health…from sc. I don’t have SS and such as a result. I can’t see my own records here, and falsehoods on them began to shocking degrees while on cape. Then once relocated, they denied me services just when I needed them most bc I filed MCAD. This left me fighting a family court case from sc solo with brain injury, and I found guardian assigned over me for 6 months without my knowledge and no one would help me. It had implications with my daughter, There is so much more. I came for safety. To save my health. That’s the furthest thing yet. I leave out the mold, the rats and so much else.
Right now I have a voucher I fought for expiring soon. I fight and worsen my conditions so badly for the work on forms and the like they force of me. I don’t have an outlet, really except for my drawing. I’m not near my supplies for the fashion line I had started. I lost some in the supposed rescue. Right now I survive each day. That’s all I do. It’s a race to not be homeless before it snows. Or to not risk becoming so after. I have no wisdom, just whatever strength in a moment to pull any semblance of non-nonsensical thought to the forefront of my mind. Where I live now is a safe house. In typical MA style, a mansion that no one would guess has families, or other issues. I stay out of their way and have my own room but they are loud as hell. And well, yeah, my TBI hates it. And my providers hate me for not having “solved that problem yet” ….as if I chose to be homeless to start. In short, no one would go through what I have if they were not telling the truth. Like that……but, no one is interested in truth here. I can’t seem to find what drives people here except hatred, bigotry, and greed. Where I am from, I grew up in a church and schools where I was close to a minority if not one. I’m a staunch anti-racist to my core, and I am white. I make no apologies for the skin I was born in but do for the actions of those who share it. I have lived my life in a way where I hope that others know that of me without the announcement. When I began to emerge post-Injury with a change of career bc of the TBI, it was the African American community that gave me a platform, literally. I still don’t know who did it but found myself in a runway debut competition for a local Black film festival. We do not always know where it will come from, or why….sometimes all we can do is just do the next best and right thing. In MA, that never seems to be something for my own personal benefit or well-being. I’m not used to that in community. So, when I try to advocate for that I’m seen as enemy number one and labeled any number of ways. I hate labels, I hate polarizing ….it benefits no one and makes strength in numbers diminish. Is this a DV issue? White issue? Black? Latino? Poor? Homeless? Etc ……to me, it’s too large to fit in any one category. What I have seen has not been limited to just me, or my race or that of another, or even one handicap. What I’ve seen I can’t unsee. What I do with it, I am unsure. I find my way these days but not going ballistic and at times that means limiting my interactions with the Commonwealth. I hope to get better at that to get my life back. I think Zentangle will help me…in time, to find my tribe….though I am not sure. I used to kayak. And that is what I miss the most: the getaway car. Driving is also something MA took from me without so much as a heads up ….bc I answered honestly at the RMV on cognitive impairment. Sorry, you ain’t ask all that. But, there’s my head injury.
Short answer: I need to get out more ? Lol
…or something.
Deanna, take three deep breathes slowly. I do that to calm my mind. Life sucks, and you are going to finish what I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave Massachusetts until Tufts Medical Center paid for the harm and trauma they intentionally inflicted on me. I haven’t given up that dream, and I believe I will find a way to make them pay one day.
God is with you. It is no accident you chose to share your story here. You have been to hell and back as many times as I have. And here we are, sharing our stories on a blog named Failure to Listen. I started the blog about ten months after I was missed-diagnosed at Tufts Medical Center. There was an absolute failure to listen, and corruption I didn’t know existed. The same thing is happening to you. Be careful! They will kill you with their healthcare. The medical chart is theirs to document about you.
As for Harvard, I think it’s shameful that so many homeless children live on the street at Harvard Square while they get loads of grant money from the government to study the problem. Same with disparities.
They say life tests us to make us stronger. However, there comes the point where we become weaker because of fatigue. We stop caring. At that point, and before I lose all sense of empathy or compassion, I need to leave Massachusetts. I am leery of going to a known racist state, but at least I know what to expect. I am tired of being gaslighted in the Commonwealth.
If I can be of help to you, please do not hesitate. I would love nothing more than to shine a light on the corruption in this state.
Wow. I haven’t made it to Harvard Square but wish to see it….maybe I can feed them. Thank you for telling me. My relative has said many months ago it seemed their “healthcare” was killing me. But it’s not just that. It’s their water, their air quality indoors, the hidden asbestos and black mold….the toxins in even the river and ponds. So much to coverup and that they do. On the last bit, yes, exactly, I call it Institutional Gaslighting.