There are some mornings where I can hear the sound of the barrel spinning inside of the revolver just as I open my eyes. I’m not really sure which comes first, that image or the eyes opening but I can tell you that I want to jump out of bed as quickly as possible. Run for any other person just so I can get that image away as quickly as possible. It’s not that I have any plans for doing myself an ounce of harm, I’ve got the medical establishment for that task. But I have this ticking clock that keeps reminding me that there are things that need to be accomplished, some quicker than others, and some with such meticulous planning that it will take time to organize those items.
I hear Axel Rose singing “Welcome to the jungle, we’ve got fun and games”, but rather than talking about a bar in Los Angeles we’re talking about the helpless feeling I sometimes get wanting to have a normal life. One free of the depression that comes with my current world. Obviously there are medications that would make life much duller, keep the edges soft; but they require that I give up something in return feeling. So lesser doses, more accepting that there are going to be times when I’m just not right.
My “neice” was in charge of me this weekend. Or maybe I was in charge of her, it’s hard to tell at times. She is right there on the edge of complete autonomy with her choices, but still wrapped in the trappings of 14 years old. Saturday had been a long day and I was just tired. That can’t keep your eyes open even when talking to someone type of exhaustion. She’s well aware of making sure I take my medication, knows that it will cause an issue if I miss certain types. It’s amazing how one missed dosage can screw up everything when you are talking about cancer. So when you are having your shoulder gently tugged on because you’ve fallen asleep, but your Guardian Angel is still texting her friends and realizes you haven’t taken the pills; you know that maybe you’ve hit that point where you need to acknowledge it’s time to accept more help.
I’ve tired to lead as normal a life as possible over these past few months. But rehabbing my mind and in some cases parts of my body takes a toll on the emotions. Not just mine, but everyone around me. Seeing me walk across the room to do something only to later see me need to use a cane to do the exact same thing, I’m learning how to accept that as well. It’s not about being completely helpless, but at times it feels that way. To the outside world it looks that way at times as well. You can’t help but wonder when you see someone younger walking with assistance. I’m not sure how the world see me during those times.
With both of my families helping me out, trying to undo the damage I did to myself by internalizing so much of what my ex’s mother used to say about me; I know I can use their help. Adults adopting adults so that they feel more a part of something, allowing for a level of inclusion that sometimes escapes even the best of friendships; I’m grateful for that. They help me deal with my daughter, listening to me talk when I sometimes don’t know how to. Those words escaping me at points that I sometimes can’t control. I feel those emotions so strongly that they can be both a deep pool of pain or one that could drown me.
Some days are good and some days are not. Tomorrow I celebrate something that only affects me and one other person, but I doubt she will be doing that same. In order to feel less helpless, I need to acknowledge a different life in a different manner. Helping myself for a few hours is going to help those around me as well. They won’t know the reason why, this day is not to be shared with anyone else (saying I’m planning something and telling people why are two separate things!)
So I guess that Dr. Lary needs to heal himself in some small way for the day.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Helpless.”