On the outside, I have a great life.
It's on the inside where I feel totally worthless.
My husand and I both have serious helth issues and I have surgery next week (an old scar has started to leed and I worry about MRSA). I boroke my arm and the titanium bolt has a crack in it. IT HURTS.
I have an AVM located under my hypotalmopus and there is not help, no surgery and no hope. The luckiest thing that could happen to be is to just up and drop dead.
The only thin that is keeping me alive is cleaning out my closets, drawers and attic. Once they are tidy enough so no one has to dig through my crap, I am ready to go.
My son is ill and will never recover. Ever My daughter is headsctrong and LESS than understanding about how frightened I am. My husband is only concerned about himself. When he was ill (2009-NOW), the doctors gave him and still do a chance of ZERO PERCENT of LIVING. I took care of everything. The business. The bills. His colosomy bag. His 18 surgeries. I kep his home instead of send him to a rehab traing place because i knew he would do better with me than with strangers. This has left me with zero back up for myself.
If I thought I could manage suicide and it wouldn;t hurt or leave me ugly, I would. If what is going on in my life is a sample of what the rest of my life is, I'm less than thrilled.
But it will proably be a massive stroke and right now, that does not feel like a bad thing.EVERYONE who has what I have? They drop dead in their tracks. Walking across the street? Dead. Waiting in the ER? Dead. My best freind had this AVM thing and after all the help in the world, she dropped dead as she was crossing the street with her baby in a stroller. DEAD. Another friend died during yard duty. Just collapsed and was dead before anyone noticed. So when I say drop dead, I mean DROP DEAD.
So right now, I feel okay. Not great but okay. Time to start spring and supper cleaning because I am NOT having strangers coming in and making anide remarks about my laudry room or my kitchen cupboards.
Oh, I have an appointment in San Francisco for a "it might work" three week trial. I get a C line dropped INTO MY HEART (and yes, I'm wake while they tread the aquarium thru), and then they will drop what can only be called poison into me. My hair will fall out (I hate my hair and I'm tired of shaving my legs anyway.)
My husband wil remarry and I hope she is a nice woman and treats him well. My children? My daughter will look at this as a dip in the road. My son is dying anyway, so I just hope he believes I'll be waiting. Me? I think dead is dead. No clouds. No harp music. Just dead.