A Dream From Hell

       I had the weirdest dream a few hours ago. A wolf-like creature was circling my family and me on the road. Its eyes were red, and its teeth shone with fresh blood. Its spine poked out of its back.
      My mother got out of the car. I grabbed a flashlight; it was insanely bright and had a flashing mode. I shone it at the creature, blinding and scaring it. It ran away, leaving my family to chastise my mother. And then I woke up.
      This is actually a good dream, because any other night, it would have torn the flesh off her bones.

I Need To Talk About Death

       So I got talking with this guy, and over the past few months I learned he lost someone. He said she's in a better place. The topic turned to suicide and I said I happen to think of it on occasion (well, almost every day and night, but I'm trying this whole new positivity thing) and he told me not to. So now, my dear nonexistent readers, I'm truly confused. Why is it okay for someone he loves to be in a better place, but not a stranger? Hell, if someone thinks of me as a friend, why would they ask me to extend my suffering as a favor to them? And then, plot twist, celebrate me getting older. Even laughing at those "Under the hill" cards.

      I mean, instead of freaking out about my suicide talk, what I really want is for someone to give me some clarity. Just clarity, that's all I want in life. Death is not a horrifying, repulsive subject like having a crush on your dad, okay? It's a natural freaking part of life! Don't people get that?

      Told me not to, like I can just wish it all away on a dandelion fluff. "Don't do it," the most convincing argument I've ever heard. Why is it okay for her suffering to end, but not mine? I'm a good person. I never retaliated when someone hurt me, I never tattled on that kid who tried to trip me in class, never got detention, never got grounded. Why shouldn't I be able to take away the pain when medication and therapy have failed?

      Is death gruesome? Yes... But let's be real. I have multiple organ failure. I'd much rather go out on my own terms. And I'd want the people who say they love me to prove it and accept that, instead of asking me to endure everything on their behalf. I am tired of having a charity existence! It is cruel to ask someone to keep living! It is the most hateful thing you can say to someone! I am so tired of being asked to suffer for as long as I can "because I love you." Just stop with that! Freaking stop with the manipulations.

      Our feelings are more transient than we are, and we are so inconsequential. Everybody dies and life goes on. We get over it, so get over it. I'm suicidal, take it or leave it. It's a quirk, like the weirdoes who like getting up early or going shoe-shopping, or who think getting pregnant on a planet with over 150 million orphans, is a "blessing."

      Clarity. Clarity on all the hypocrisy―please!

Upon Reflection...

       Man, I love my new TV! It's like, how did I have a heavy, giant TV for so long? Especially since the TV was so much bigger than the screen itself, so it took up a lot of space and the characters were still small. Kind of pathetic, really... Really, I can't believe I haven't had this one all my life.
      And, I hate to admit it, but I also really like short hair. I never thought I would say it, never thought I would want it. Believe it or not, my dear nonexistent readers, my long (knee-) length hair was the only reason anyone would acknowledge me...at least in a positive way. They either hold the door for me, which is only a common courtesy, or they give me the death stare like they want to take my life right there in the lineup. But when it was long, they would fawn over it and I felt special.

      But, it never helped me make friends, so I figured, what the hell? I was only comfortable when it was braided or I clipped it up in a claw, which kept breaking under the weight of my hair. Stupid cheap things. So, snip-snip, now it's shoulder-ish length and yeah, I love it. Actually I'm thinking about getting another cut, because since December last year, it's actually grown a lot...and I'm starting to shed like mad again. I try to comb it just a little, pull out a fistful. Turns out, nope, that is not for me... It's kind of stressful.

      How did I go all those years pulling hair out of my head? And pulling it out of my pants? I love long hair but it is so not worth it!

      I'm actually thinking maybe a little longer than chin-length, so pigtails or a ponytail would be kind of cute. Maybe not with my mug, but I remember it used to make me feel like a perky waitress. I kind of liked that, too, feeling perky.

...

       A few nights ago, while watching Lucifer, my DVD player crashed on me...again. It normally goes into Standby mode or whatever when you don't interact with it enough, but it didn't do that even after half an hour. I couldn't even shut the TV off. I thought it was dead and I wanted my disk, so I tried breaking it open (and only succeeded in breaking off the cover for the tray) by myself because everyone else was sleeping. Well, this month we had more money than usual, so my brother told me, "You're getting a flat screen that can hook up to Netflix."
      I cannot wait. I mean, I can, because I'm unfortunately patient, but I am excited. I get to watch new shows, new movies, in my bedroom. Which means I can watch the movies that I own but can't see, too! For some reason they have issues so serious that they kill the DVD player. And there's the one DVD that's the wrong region, too; I tried changing my computer settings so I could watch it out here, but of course I need to pay for the DVD program first.

      At least this way I can watch shows I've never seen before, in my bedroom like normal people do. I don't even so much care if my GameCube can't hook up to it, since I never use it anyway (another device that crashes, sometimes 50 times before I can even get into the game, only to have it die when I'm playing it). So, yes, I'm finally excited to be getting an upgrade. Everything I own is from the '70s, '90s at the latest. My flip phone, my TV with its ridiculous antenna and the weight of a boulder... I am so ready for this change!

...

       Guess who's back in the hospital? In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out, I do not know why she does not just stay there until she's cured. It's almost as though she wants to waste money on taxis so that she can complain about it. This time, though, she went by ambulance; I was in bed, actually feeling good for once, when the paramedic's voice disturbed me. Naturally when I went back to bed the pain flared up. I'm beginning to think it's arthritis, because my shoulder has been screwed for about a year. It's hard to move, and my back pain can get brutal. Like, hurts-to-breathe, makes-me-sick brutal.

      Anyhow. I expect her to be home in a few days, still puffy and gross. She was so swollen with water retention that she was leaving puddles everywhere. I had to put on Latex gloves I can't even count how many times, and lift her legs up onto the couch. I'm allergic to Latex, so my hand rash came back, and of course she just kept getting heavier. Over 50 pounds of just...swelling. She couldn't help but stomp on the floor. Her arms were getting big, and this is a woman who wouldn't weigh 100 pounds soaking wet (although, I suppose she is now). Her face was getting puffy, she had fluid in her lungs, she'd been dealing with it for over four months. I was afraid her throat or her brain would swell next, or the area all around her lungs would swell and squish them. I was afraid she would burst.

      And she's probably going to bust out of the hospital again. Last time, she called home and said she was being discharged, but the doctors said she was escaping. Too late, the taxi was there to get her home. She spends so much time complaining that she can't live like this anymore, and she does everything in her power to keep on living like it.

      I had a phobia of hospitals from when a nurse ripped my IV out through the tape and sprayed my blood everywhere. I had a phobia from when the radiologist grabbed a handful of my lady parts, but you know what I did when I had my stones? I sat my ass in the chair, smiled at the doctors, told them jokes, and didn't go home until they cleared me. I wasn't enjoying it, but I didn't want to make them regret treating me. They are doctors and nurses; they probably had a hell of a day already. They likely did, because people suck.

      Honestly, she's sitting in a chair, getting taken care of, it's not all that different from home. I do not know how many more times I can lift her off the couch or the toilet without my back breaking; I need her to stay inside. And I think we all need her sisters to not come down here. It's just not a good time for them to come in here and demand attention, pressure us to join them for coffee at a restau-rant, and take unwanted pictures of us. It's not a good time for them to want our advice on where they should sit. It's not a good time for them to say they found a particle of dust and blast us for not doing anything when their homes look like the garbage dump.

      I just want them to stay away. I want all the people who love me to stay away and I want all the people who hate me to talk to me. But because life is such a joke... Here I am. Getting ready to tell my aunts that the person who desperately needs, or will have already had surgery, cannot go to a restaurant! And that we, her caretakers, who need to keep an eye on her, have an ethical obligation to do that.

      God, why are all the adults in my life such children? I guess they never thought that, maybe, we live nine hours away for a reason.

      What I want, is for one thing I want, to happen. It's like the universe is working against me.

      I want to sleep so bad right now. I am so, so, so exhausted. But the pain makes it really not worth it. I'd go for a walk, but the heat would probably kill me. It's around 40 degrees Celsius today; 104 Fahrenheit. Disgusting. I hate the heat, I hate the bugs, I hate dripping. I do not understand people who love summer. Give me a week of rain, give me a blizzard, and I'll be happy. I'll go walking. And I'll still turn my fan on and open my window, guaranteed.

     I'm going to go watch some more Lucifer. Hopefully the DVD player and the disk don't break. My luck...

Post 500

       Wow, halfway to a thousand? Gosh, I'm a nerd. Well, I've heard of going out with a bang, but today started with one. I was sleeping, for once, actually sleeping without pain. A bang woke me―a pretty gentle bump, like when you walk into the table. I was convinced I heard laughter, so I was indecisive about peeking out to check. Until I heard the crying. So I decided, I better at least ask. Turns out, my mother fell (for the second time that night, I learned), cracked her head, arms, ankles, and legs on pretty much every hard surface in the house, and collapsed by the door to cry. (She is going through so much right now; it's not just the falls, don't be ignorant.) I didn't even see her at first, because of the dining table; I just heard her and knew she had to be close.

      Luckily, no blood and very little pain, at least not from the falls. A little redness seems to be the only result. Well, redness and possibly a concussion; afterward, I had her sit, made the porridge and coffee she wanted, but she kept nodding off in her chair, almost falling off. She nearly burned herself by deciding to pick up a candle from the top, I had to snark at her and then she thought it was a good idea to blow it out (candles evidently cut down on cigarette smoke; my brother didn't want her near all those concrete steps in the dark). And, she was blabbering barely-audible nonsense. Some-thing about a nice wall and a wet lake, I don't know. Which is true, lakes are wet. No nice walls in this house, though. Not to mention she "had been pushed by an evil spirit." If I were religious I'd agree; she had been on the couch, suddenly she's on her ass and the couch and coffee table are on different angles. Quite a tumble she must have taken. Little lady actually pushed the couch back all by herself.

      Ah, hell, no one ever reads these. She's severely swollen from the waist down. Each toe looks like two toes and her legs are so dis-tended, they're shiny...and kind of lumpy. There are 40 pounds of swelling and it is getting worse. So I've been worrying that her throat will swell, block her trachea, and she'll suffocate. Now I'm thinking she might have swelling in her brain, causing the confusion.

      I'm also beginning to agree with my brother on having her live in a home. I think she was probably sleepwalking; she used to as a kid, and I certainly find it more plausible than evil spirits. I'd insist on her to text me when shit like this happens, but there's no point. Not only because apparently she won't, but because she doesn't know the difference between my Facebook account and my phone. I'm a dinosaur, okay, I'm happy with my little flip phone that can only make and receive phone calls and texts. Apparently "don't text my face" is too complex.

      Speaking of my Facebook. I have you in my pic, too, now, sis. If you want me to change it back to just me, you're going to have to talk to me.

Whoo!

       I feel good! Not pain-free, I feel like my arse'll fall off. But I finally, finally got my bath in. I was even able to get dressed! Yay! I smell nice...finally. I couldn't do it properly, I couldn't even sit, but it makes a difference for sure. I was legit wondering if I could ever have one again. Yucky!
      Bro seems to be recovering. But my mother seems to be worse. Her face is swelling now, and because the doctors haven't even attempted to drain the fluid, I'm worried her throat will swell up on the inside and block her trachea. She went to the hospital again a few nights ago, she's going today and again tomorrow, and my brother, a giant who may as well be made of metal, is going with her, and I want him to block the door and force the docs to do something. But gosh, I'm just sweet like that.