These blogs are heading in a certain direction, aren't they? lol It's cheaper than therapy.
In the last episode things were pretty crazy last year. Now things are okay, but not. I'm not sure how I'm going to write this considering I don't know what I going to write.
You go through the day being okay. Really and truly. You're busy. There's things to do. There's a quick coffee to be had before you HAVE to get going. There's traffic to beat. There's times to be at places and so much work to do. You enjoy the people you're around. You have a laugh. You bitch and moan and occasionally stir someone. You enjoy your day, on the whole. You really do.
Alarms never break my sleep. Ever. I haven't been woken by the alarm in months. I'm awake as the dark is leaving. Caffeine, sugar, windows wound down at 100kmph, and busy, keeps shut down at bay. Constant headaches. Con. Stant. I go through an unbelievable amount of codeine. If I'm going to be honest with myself, 2/3's of what I take are to chill. I want to use the word numb. But it isn't. It's to chill. It's to feel warm and fuzzy and okay. It's to feel that fire place and the sheep skin rug on a rainy cold freezing arse day at the bottom of New Zealand at mum and dad's place when I was a kid. It's that feeling. It's to sleep. It's to recharge while the sun's gone because when it even hints at coming back, I'm awake.
I am okay, I think.
I try to keep my brain busy when I get home from work. I do genuinely care for others. I worry about others. I see an apparent injustice and I point and wave at that injustice and demands others do too. I demand you share my dismay at these injustices. Why can't you see the extent of this injustice as I do? I go looking for more and more people who experience these injustices and shove them in your face demanding you share my point of view.
For that, I apologise. My brain gets carried away. My brain doesn't stop doing brain things. It's over stimulated and understimulated at the same time. It's stimulated by artificial busyness. If it stops being busy it hits dead air.
Dead air is where the melancholy and the infinite sadness lives. It's seeing Tracy curled like a ball on her chair. It's seeing sickness creeping on her like a slow moving tidal wave of mud. Nothing can stop that mud. It's the tears that stream down my face watching her having gone from the vibrant woman I met to sick frail old lady looking fiance. It's that sinking feeling of despair and sadness that comes over me like it came from a bucket above my head.
Today we're off to palliative care for her pain med management.
Next week we get her wheelchair.
No idea what comes the week after that.