Getting Rid of the Roommate…

My roommate made himself much more present in my life last week.  The noise was getting to be unbearable and something needed to be done.  In the past, I’ve taken the high road and let him just have his way.  Last week I ended up in the hospital because of the confrontation that was forced on both of us.  This isn’t a tale of domestic violence or even about a person who has a hard time controlling their temper; we’re talking about a lesion that decided to sublet some of the space he was occupying to a tumor that wanted its own say in how things were run.

It took years before someone would sign the paperwork removing the kidney.  Years of medications, hopefully thinking and way too much discomfort.  Waiting until it was just not reasonable to leave it in anymore.  (I do miss having a normal bellybutton.  This flat line thing just doesn’t look real!)  Now I’m having to make this decision at a time when my mind is clouded by other things.  Academically I know the right thing to do, but that lovely emotional side also wants a say in what we are going to do.  Who gets to win?  In the horse race to control my future, depression is riding in a very distant third but gain some ground.

If this were work, I’d have made the decision in seconds.  Taken the lumps if I had chosen poorly, smiled in some embarrassed manner if I received a compliment on having done the best thing possible and it working out that way.  Years have been spent training my brain to understand those options quickly and just diving in.  Emotionally charged choices have become increasingly difficult over the past two years.

When I saw that my niece had written something here because she was scared and lonely, frightened that she wasn’t going to get the chance to say something ever again; it made me cry.  I gave her a hug and told her it was alright.  Teenage girls are a learning lesson for me, and she needed to let out her emotions about finding me slumped over.  Her decision was purely emotional, not an ounce of logic went into it.  Fear has always been a powerful motivator.

I don’t want fear to make me decide to do something rash.  Can I go on with increasing symptoms from my roommate and his roommate?  Sure, plenty of people do.  There are multiple options available to me.  Drugs (which are offensive in many ways, but the easiest option!)  I could go with a lovely Gamma Knife, but that did little the last time; thus still having the roommate we tried to evict earlier this year.  Lots of choices, but none really fun ones!

When I woke up Friday, after 36 hours of sleep, the world was once again a little scrambled.  Details that I would never want missing weren’t readily available.  Details about my daughter and having “forgotten” that, even for a few hours while my brain dealt with itself, that can send you into a deep depression.  Back to fear driving this car at times.  Fortunately people keep my phone and computer away so that I don’t go looking for information, or even at pictures.  Their choices are for my benefit, as hard as it is for them to make them.

It can be difficult admitting that fear and loss, depression and anger sometimes are the driving forces behind some choices I’ve had to make.  Love enters the equation when it finds its way out of the darkness.  I know that I can’t stop the world from spinning around, or the pull of the moon on the tide.  But I don’t believe that we’re in this alone, I believe we’re along for the ride?  (all credit to someone else for that stanza!)

Making hard choices, they used to be simple.  These days I need to think twice before finalizing something since I worry it’s emotional not logical.  My mother used to say I was Mr. Spock about decisions, I could just bury it long enough to get through and find a way of dealing with it later, on my own.  That thinking has hurt more than you can imagine.  Lary can take care of himself no longer applies.

At some point this subleased space will need to be dealt with.  There is a small fear about a squatter that won’t take everything when he leaves, some little bit still lingering waiting to come out from under the bed.  That the part I worry about, so many things have been taken away I love.  Fate seems to think I may need to be the next thing…

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Decisions, Decisions.”

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