The Cliffs of Insanity

The day started out poorly.

I reached my hand too high on the metal door to the room where Syd and Nancy (the nesting couple) reside, and Pinky, one of their grown babies, decided to take a chunk out of my finger. I had to flick my hand to get him off, and he came off easily enough, but I bled like a sonnamabeetch. I washed my hand, and rinsed with alcohol, then lathered the wound with neosporin and bandaged it. It has settled seriously sore.

A couple of hours later, I was going down the stairs, missed a step, and tumbled downwards, smacking my bionic knee on the opposite wall. It hurt like a sonnamabeetch, but I figured HEY! It's bionic, it'll be okay.

But it just hurt more as the day went on.

So about six hours later, I asked the Mother Unit to take me to Urgent Care. By then, I didn't know what leg to limp on, so my gait can only be described as being pretty much identical to Big Birds. That's pretty damned pathetic.

The doc took x-rays and didn't see any damage done to the replacement, which was a huge relief, but he's still gonna have the radiologist give it the once-over on Monday. If anything hideous is found, he said they'd call. He sent me home with a prescription, and away we went.

We dropped off the prescription, then the Mother Unit asked if I wanted to grab a bite to eat whilst we waited for it to be filled. I'm not proud, so I said sure. We ended up going to the City Delicatessen a real live Jewish deli (even though they do serve some pork, but hey, nobody's perfect). We had potato knishes as an appetiser, the Unit had the Bronx Burger, I had cheese blintzes, and we split a piece of Boston Cream Pie the size of the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

OH
DEAR
GOD

As someone who has lived in an area where the only real Jewish food you could get was from the Temple B'Nai Israel when they had their annual bake sale, I was fully prepared to do some sort of glorious crippled Jewish Big Bird Bottle Dance in celebration. Maybe I can do it in a day or so, as I brought home enough leftovers to do me the next two or three meals.

The food is seriously weep-worthy, and I'll be jonesin' to go back as soon as my take-home food is gone. Holy moly, it's unreal how good it was!

One thing that happened whilst we were there was a juke box war I ended up having with this 50's-age couple who were seated a few booths away. They were hellbent on playing the most hellish songs from their booth-located juke box, and I just couldn't let it be. If memory serves, here's part of our serve/volley repertoire.

Them: "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison
Me: "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen
Them: "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin
Me: "That's the Way (uh-huh uh-huh) I Like It" by KC and the Sunshine Band
Them: "I'll Be There" by the Jackson Five
Me: "One Thing Leads to Another" by the Fixx
Them: "First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Roberta Flack
Me: "Sussudio" by Phil Collins

When they both started to groove to "Sussudio," I knew that I had won. So there, muthas!

And that's all I have to report for now.

The end.

So far, I'm doing well with most everything they want me to do. The only thing that stops me dead in my tracks is trying to lift my leg with it straight out in front of me. I feel like every muscle, which already feels pulled beyond comprehension, is going to burst through my leg screaming and begging for mercy. I'm still doing this exercise up to a point but, with each lift, the leg gets weaker and weaker until I can barely lift it at all. I'm worried that this isn't normal, even though the therapist says that some people have difficulty with this particular exercise. I don't want to have difficulties. I don't want to look like a wimp.

Apparently I am.

After yesterday's therapy session, I didn't hardly sleep at all last night, I was in so much pain. I know that, eventually, this will pass, but damn...I want to be better now. I'm not good with patience.

Today, I don't have physical therapy. They let everyone just chill on Sundays, which is good, because I don't think I'd be able to do it at all today. It's shameful to admit, but that's just how it is. I think I'd end up crying during the session, and I really don't want to show that level of weakness.

I've pretty much decided to do as little as possible in preparation for tomorrow.

I have not been very chatty lately, at least not enough to put into words what's been going on. The only thing I could deal with was a sentence here and there on Facebook, which is a convenient diversion when you can't talk about anything important. But it's time to come clean about a Thing, so here it is.

Approximately a month ago, I attempted suicide. I couldn't deal with being alone and so very lonely anymore, and watching in my mind's eye Aunt Tudi dieing as I held her hand. Her eyes were so blank and she didn't grasp my fingers in reciprocation at all. She was gone in less than five minutes, but every second of that moment was branded into my mind. Every time I closed my eyes...no, I didn't have to close my eyes...I saw her lying there...dieing. One night, I couldn't take it anymore, hearing her voice and seeing her die, over and over and over. I had only taken three of my Ativan, but on that dark night, the void took my beyond my natural reasoning, and I swallowed 87, the rest of the bottle, all at once. Two days later, I woke up in an urgent care facility that promptly escorted me to Carolina Behavioral Health, a psychiatric hospital. I spent a week and a day there, learning coping skills on how to overcome my loss. I also was placed in drug counseling because of the way I attempted to kill myself. The psychiatric to whom I was assigned surmised that I may be suffering from PTSD, and he explained that some people, especially those who were so attached to the person who passed away, went beyond simple grief and fell into the despereate realm of post traumatic stress and unbelievable depression. He changed all of my meds and prescribed me new ones. I had to see a judge before they would release me from the hospital. But I left feeling much better, with a large list of grief support groups where I could find some solace with those who were going through the same thing I'm enduring. I made some friends there and, thanks to Ambien, I was able to sleep at night and not be in a phantasmic state, reliving Aunt Tudi's last breath over and over and over. I learned how to deal with the guilt of all the things I could have done for Aunt Tudi and all the things I did that I shouldn't have, making her bereft and worrisome. I haven't found a support group yet, but I'm no longer suicidal, although I experience moments of indescibible pain and loss, so all-encompassing that it's almost tangible. My entire body aches from it and I cannot stop the tears that come, pouring from my eyes like a fountain. Never have I cried so often and so hard and unstoppable. Toby tries to comfort me during these incidents, and Smidgen is attached to me almost 24/7, face to face with me, purring in an attempt to stay my grief. So many nights I have fallen asleep hugging my beloved cat as she purrs me into unconsciousness. As always, Chester doesn't give one tiddly bit. He's too old and tired to be bothered with my neurosis, and I really can't blame him. I'm still in recovery and the doctor said I may be in the grieving process for a very long time, considering how close Aunt Tudi and I were. He suggested that I tell people who try to make me get over the whole thing, that everyone grieves differently and that I needed support, not a sermon and not judgement. I've already had to do that with Uncle Michael, and he has changed his tune and simply loves me as I go through this process. I don't want to end up in the hospital again, although they supplied me with amazing food and chocolate milk. It was there that my appetite was jump-started. I gained some weight while I was there, from 202 to 216. I felt like an utter pig, but I didn't care. I've attempted to maintain my appetite and my family doctor suggested that I start a regimen of multi-vitamins and nutrition drinks, just to build my strength back, so I wouldn't be falling all over the place.

When I came home though, all gung-ho to apply what I had learnt, I was told that Aloysius, Aunt Tud's cat, may have been hit by a car and he ran into the woods. I walked into the edge of the forest where Janice said she had found a cat, but was unsure it was Al, and I discovered, to my grief-stricken heart, that it was indeed Al. That took the wind out of my sails, and I found myself isolating once again, lying on the couch in the dark, watching Gordon Ramsay and Law & Order. One night, after not eating all day, I fell backwards hard, and broke Aunt Tudi's happy face table. I also ripped my right great toenail partially out, and had to go to a foot doctor to have it removed. But it was like everything that belonged to Aunt Tudi is either dieing or being destroyed. I'm at a loss for words how distressing this is. But I'm muddling through it, and actually cleaned the house for the first time since August 25th. I also caught up on the laundry and the dishes. I did all this in one day, and felt like I was gonna go mad from all the work I'd done. I'm not a domestic person, and I'm lazy to boot, so this was a monumental achievement. I've marked the weekend as the time I will clean house. I must get organised.

Today I went to my orthopaedist for the first time since 2008. He reviewed my x-rays and examined my knees. Then he told me that, even though it was preferable to wait until the age 50 to have a knee replacement, I could not wait that long with the horror that is my left knee. He's going to schedule me for the surgery as soon as possible next year. This came as such a relief to me, as I have been in horrible pain with my knees for years, wishing I'd get to 50 without screaming myself to death. Right now, Dr. Keith is my very best friend, my ultimate hero.

Since the death of Aunt Tudi, I have been unable to write. This is the primary reason my journal has not been updated for so long. There was so much I wanted to say, but the words eluded me. This frustration only added to my distress. It didn't help when I found out that one of my favourite authors and writing influences had recently passed away. 2011 has been a bitch and only makes me hope that 2012 brings the Alpaca Lips, so I can reunite with Aunt Tudi and Granny, and all the animals that passed away over the years. I know that sounds like I have a death wish, but I assure you; I'm not going to do anything stupid like what I attempted last month. It's not my place to take my own life when it's obvious I'm supposed to remain here. The medical staff all said that I was lucky to be alive, and I took this as a message from the Goddess and God that I'm to remain alive until they say it's time to cross over. To be honest, I really want to hang around to see the end of the world, if that's what is going to happen on 21 December, 2012. And so I linger and cope with this crippling grief the best I can.

I've gotten three holiday cards so far, and I want to thank popfiend, beechelfromhell, and gunslingaaahhh for their generous cards. Unfortunately, I'm unable to reciprocate because I haven't bought one thing for the horribleday season. I'm officially boycotting it this year, and that seems very logical to me, given the circumstances. gunslingaaahhh's letter in her card made me cry. It's exactly what I needed at that moment. I love you all, all my online friends, my Tribe, my Ka-tet. Thank you for being my friends. Your love passes through all the Internet cables and satellites, comforting me in a way I'm incapable of putting into words. You're one of the reasons I'm glad the Ativan didn't do its job.

I promise I will try to update the Cliffs of Insanity more often. Perhaps forcing myself to write about anything and everything here, even if it's shite, will be therapeutic. One can only hope.

I'm tempted to get the little hatchet Aunt Tudi keeps and chop my legs off right above the knees. They wouldn't hurt me anymore, the medical community would be forced to acknowledge my suffering, and I might even get some groovy prosthetics that would allow me to run across America and be interviewed by Matt Lauer. It's a much better thought than constantly suffering from the unending pain of my knees.