death

Daily Post 002: A Writing from Last Week

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Written last week
Posted today

I’m writing again. It feels like an accomplishment. I’m doing something. I’m taking time for myself.

Towards the end of February, Ox got me a new phone. My old one was broke all to hell. The sound quality on calls was crappy at best. There was one morning where we accidentally took each other’s phones to work, so he was stuck with mine all day. Not long after was when the “new phone” happened.

I like it. I’ve gotten a shockproof case for it which I like. It’s all celestial with blues and purples and stary nebula. I like holding it. Touching it. Being all weird and INFJy with it.

I’ve gotten most of my apps at least installed on the new phone; not that I really use many of them. I’ve even gone through and logged into a majority of them. That meant I had to either guess my password right, look it up, or reset it because I couldn’t figure it out. I’ve had to reblock a bunch of spam numbers, but those are getting fewer and further in-between.

Irrational Right Brain: Fuck you, Florida. I’m not answering your calls.

Ox and I have renovated the bedroom. That started shortly after my previous writing. Originally we were just going to patch some spots on the walls and repaint. Nothing major…

Well, then we ended up redoing the ceiling, tearing down two walls, adding soundproofing to the north wall, redoing ALL of the drywall, putting on new outlet covers, getting a new overhead light, and painting both ceiling and walls.

We still need to get a new door and put up the trim around the ceiling. We might be doing some new shelving in the closet area which used to be where my computer desk went. We’ve purchased a bunch of stuff off Amazon which has been trickling in. Currently, we’re waiting on a new bedframe. It’s roughly 18 inches tall, so we’ll be able to fit mini dressers under the bed essentially giving us a bedframe will drawers under it. That’s going to free up so much space in the room. The frame comes in tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.

Overall I really like how well the project turned out. There are still piles here and there since we can’t finalize the rest of everything else without the bed frame. I’m trying to not let them bother me too much.

Ox and I have already discussed the game plan for working on the addition. I doubt I’ll work on it today or tomorrow. It’s been cold and cloudy. One of my patients isn’t doing well and it’s almost mom’s death day. Internally things have been sort of shitty. I miss how I felt while I was working on the room. I miss seeing progress and results for my time and effort, but for the past week, I’ve been sad. My grief is easily triggered.

My goal right now is to keep going, one day at a time. I didn’t do so hot yesterday. I slept for most of it. It felt good to sleep. I did cross-stitch some. That’s something I’ve been doing more this past week. It gives me something quiet to do. Something that doesn’t require higher-level thinking. I can simply be. I can let my mind relax and not worry about anything other than the thread I’m working with.

I’ve renewed my membership at the YMCA though I haven’t gone to a class yet. Small steps I guess. I haven’t wanted to be around people. Maybe once the weather turns again and the sun comes back and it’s not a frozen tundra outside I’ll be more ok with going out.

It’s weird to think that last Thursday I was super productive and got so many things done simply because it was a warm sunny day. It had been cloudy, cold, and yucky for so long that finally having sunlight turned me into a superhuman productivity machine. No joke. I annihilated my to-do list. I even MADE a to-do list. Whaaaaat?!?!?!

Yet, here I am, once again feeling down and crummy. It sucks. I was supposed to take my car in for maintenance yesterday, but at 6:30 am I knew that wasn’t going to happen. So that’s rescheduled for tomorrow.

I wish I knew when it was ok to let myself be and when I need to buckle down. I wish I knew when my sadness was grief or a Synthroid imbalance. I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life and what goals I want for myself. I wish I knew so many things, and right now I don’t. I don’t have answers or drive or passion.

I have hurt. I have loneliness. I have anger.

Last night, Ox said my name during sexy time. My full name. Jennifer. Not, kitten, or Jen…

Jennifer.

Out of nowhere, I was filled with rage.

Irrational Right Brain: How dare you use my name!? Only mom called me Jennifer. You have no right to call me that!!!

It’s stupid things like that… things that deep down aren’t stupid, that hurt. But how do you explain to the rest of the world the achingly crushing feeling of loneliness of knowing you’ll never hear your name again from the one person you want more than anything to hear it from?

I’ve been having a lot of intense emotional reactions lately and I guess thinking about it in a detached way, that’s why I’ve been so tired and anti-people. I know all of this will eventually settle down. Mom’s fifth death day will come and go and eventually, I’ll make peace with it like I’ve had to do four other times already.

I’m pretty sure today is going to be another “cross-stitch with the cats” sort of day, and right now, I’m ok with that.

Daily Post 001: Hello World, Hello Self

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I feel like crap today. I have a headache that’s only now starting to go away. I don’t think I’m sick, though I’ve been congested the last few days… weeks really. It’s come and go. No covid symptoms, so at least there’s that.

It’s winter. It’s past the holiday season. I survived it. I had my cry session a few days ago where Ox held me while I cried into his shoulder about how much I miss mom and how I want her back.

I passed my first semester of nursing school. I did really well it in. I maintained a 4.0 until Thanksgiving break. I think my lowest class was an 85 or something. I don’t feel accomplished about it. I became suicidal twice during those four months. Academically it might have seemed like I was being successful, but internally I wasn’t.

I was able to switch back into the part-time program for the following semesters. Instead of graduating at the beginning of May, I will be graduating in December again; nearly two years later. That knowledge sucks, but it feels better than trying to make it through another four months of full-time work and full-time school.

I currently am not taking any classes for the next four months. No prerequisites. No “this class seems fun”. Nothing except work and trying to find myself again.

Maybe that’s what a lot of this comes down to. I’ve lost myself yet again. I allowed it to happen. I haven’t gone to the gym since the start of my program. Jon and I are having a talk on Sunday about if we want to renew the lease together because the living situation sort of sucks. Ox and I are doing well and I feel that has to do with having winter break from school and actually being able to spend time with him instead of studying 9 million hours a day.

I’ve started playing World of Warcraft again. It’s given me an outlet. It’s given me a community and tasks and focus on something other than the issues in my life. I know I’m using it as avoidance. I know I’m letting myself indulge in an addiction instead of doing laundry or being at the apartment or grocery shopping. There’s a part of me who cares about it; who thinks I should do something other than nothing. And yet, the injured part of me just wants to hide and not hurt.

I’m tired. Still. After nearly a month away from school, I’m still so tired of everything. I had wanted to grocery shop today while Ox was at work. Feeling like death vetoed that though and it sucks. I could have done all of this stuff yesterday, but I didn’t, and now it won’t get done and so I’m a slacker, a failure, and I hate these emotions. These thoughts.

They’re not true, but I have very little to show for myself other than a virtual game that means nothing.

I don’t even know if I can say I’m lost because being lost implies you had a direction you were going, a destination you were trying to reach.

I don’t want to graduate. I don’t want mom to be dead. I want her to be here. I want her to say “I love you”. “I’m proud of you.” “I believe in you.” Anything. I would give so much just to hear her say anything to me one more time. To have one more hug. One more hand squeeze. Anything. Anything to not feel so alone and pointless. Something to hold on to; to let me know it’s not pointless and it’s worth it to keep going day after day, year after year of this hurt and change and difference.

Financially things are going alright for once in my life. It’s nice to have that area fairly stable and not affecting things. Politically I think my government and a clusterfuck of a disastrous dumpster fire. I don’t waste much energy thinking about it or stressing over it. Working an essential job may factor into my mentality of not giving a fuck. Regardless of what happens, my patients are still going to require treatment. I’m still going to have to get up at 2 am on the days I work to set up the clinic. I can’t take time off work like other people to protest or be involved in movements. I voted and that’s all I have the capacity to do.

Work has been going alright. One of my patients died shortly after school started. It was extremely unexpected. I wrote a letter to him which I never posted. Maybe I will at some point. I guess it depends on if I actually post this writing. There was one other I started a while ago which I never finished. I haven’t wanted to write in so long. I haven’t had the time or energy. And even now, I don’t really know if it’s supposed to help with anything since I’m so out of touch with myself.

I guess I could start there. “Hello, Self. It’s been a very long time, hasn’t it? How are you?”

Not good.

Why, not good?

I don’t know. I really don’t know and figuring it out is going to hurt and make me cry and I don’t want to do it. I’ve been cancer-free for a year. This time last year I wasn’t able to lift a laundry basket because I had to trust a stranger to cut my throat open. I had a new scar that I had to get used to. I had a week with my dad where he came out and made sure I was ok. I had a sociology class I was taking as a way to get me out of the house and stay involved in society.

I had a birthday where mom wasn’t able to call me. I had a Christmas where I got a new computer chair and a new desk which I can’t set up because in four months I might be moving again, but I don’t know where yet. Still in Nebraska, but will I be able to afford a house? Do I have to stay in an apartment? Will it be in Lincoln, Hickman, or Beatrice? Am I going to have to pay a pet fee for the kittens? What’s Jon going to do? Is he going to think I abandoned him? Am I bitch of a sister?

There are all these things going on and all I want is for life to not be a fucking disaster.

I’ve made it this far. I’ve made it through five years without mom. I’ve made it a year past cancer. I can figure all of this out. I can. I know I can. I don’t want things to stay the way they are and instead of looking at everything all at once, I know I need to break it down into small things. Small tasks. One task. One chore. A small chore. A doable chore to prove to myself that one thing can get done. If one thing can get done then other things can get done, one small step at a time.

And so I’ve done my first step. I’ve written. I’ve said hello to myself for the first time in months. I’ve acknowledged that I’m not doing well along with some of the areas that need attention, mending, healing. I didn’t think the cancer thing was such a big deal, but I guess it is in the dark corners of my head.

I feel weak and tired and that’s ok. I’m allowed to feel those things. I’m allowed to feel hurt and sad and alone. I’m allowed to miss mom. Holidays are always hard. Winter is always hard. I will get through this hard, and while today maybe another day where I play a video game and merely eek by in life, eeking by, surviving, is the highest level of achievement. It means I can try again tomorrow to do “better” or “more”.

I’m at square one at the moment. Maybe not even there. Maybe it’s more of a “pre-square”. The square where you start brainstorming and making plans and getting organized. It’s a new year and there’s going to be a lot of change in the coming months. I’m allowed to start over. I’m allowed to throw out all of the plans and to-do lists that I’ve had in my notebooks and start a new one; one that’s relevant to what life is now, not what it was four months ago.

I guess that’s what this writing can be. It’s my start. It’s my “hello, world”. My return. To me. To life. To trying. To doing.

We’ll see what happens, I guess. I am glad I wrote. I feel more stable than I did at the beginning of it. I might still be laying face first on the ground, but at least it feels like there’s solid ground beneath me.

Letters to Mom 029: Worksheet 1 Reflection

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I’m writing to you again because I’m not going to have time to for the next few days. At least, not the type of time I would want to have, where I can sit, alone, uninterrupted or dictated by a time frame.

I can truly sit and write to you, now, in this moment, and so even though I’m still so raw over completing my worksheet, even though I want to quit and call today good, I’m writing to you instead.

Some of my answers bother me. I know I have strengths. Yet I said I don’t because I feel like I don’t. Answering, “learning I can survive your death sucks” also bothers me though with that one I don’t really know why…

I guess the biggest thing I took away from this first worksheet is clarity. I can articulate why your death is so hard for me now. It wasn’t simply because you died. It’s because my life changed and the biggest change is the lack of physical presence.

I guess that might seem obvious to others, but it wasn’t obvious to me. I had never had to explain it in quite that way before, and so the worksheet helped in that regard.

I also knew, for a while now, that my grief was more intense when I was tired and exhausted, but I didn’t know the why behind it. Sitting and diving into that aspect brought a deeper understanding of what I experience in those moments. You always had a special way of giving me a motivational boost when I felt like I had nothing left within me. You helped me power through, dig deep, not quit, not give in. I miss that. I miss your support and encouragement and positive reinforcement.

I feel, at least from this worksheet, that I need to work on emotional expression. Maybe that means I need to put more effort into writing since I know that’s an outlet that helps. Maybe I need to look into other methods of expression so I have more to employ other than writing. I don’t know, but I feel that is an area of extreme deficiency and one I would like to work on.

And yeah… the whole “Your death wasn’t the end of my world,”… I don’t know what to do with that. I’m not even sure what it is I feel when I read those words to myself. Guilt, maybe? Possibly even survivor’s guilt though I wasn’t the one who was sick and going through surgery after surgery.

I think that’s what I want to explore the most in my next counseling session, though “want” is a very relative term. It’s the section of the worksheet that stirs up the most confusion and dissonance within myself, so it’s the area that needs the most clarification. I don’t “want” to dig deep into emotions that suck, but the only way to get better is to do it, so I want to do it… Fucking emotional bullshit… -_-;

I work for the next three days. I won’t have a lot of time or energy to process through a lot of this any further than I have. LPN classes start in a week and a half. By the end of May, I’ll be a nurse. I got my very own stethoscope yesterday when I picked up the last of my books.

I think that would make you smile. Nurse Jen… Who would have thought that me, your child who passed out at the sight of blood, would be in nursing school…

I love you, mom. Thanks for listening to me.

Letters to Mom 028: Worksheet 1

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Hey mom,

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything… I started doing grief worksheets in counsling. I think they’re helping… I don’t know. I feel raw right now. I’ve realized I still have a lot to work on/through in regards to losing you. There are some mentalities that I need to address…

I wanted to post my first worksheet so you can see what I wrote. I love you. Forever and for always.

Understanding My Grief

1: I am having the hardest time adjusting to:

You not being here. Physically here. A presence, a person, I can sit across from. Someone I can introduce people to. You were more than your body, but without your body present, it’s not much different than talking about an imaginary friend. No one in my life will know you now. No one will understand what I lost when you died. If I talk about my spiritual connection with you then people think I’m crazy or unstable or having a “hard time letting go”. It sucks. I know you’re still here but I can’t talk about that with really anyone because no one can understand the connection I have with you so does it even really exist? Is it a coping mechanism inside my head that really means nothing? Is it real? Are you truly still here? I don’t have a way to prove it. There’s nothing quantitative that scientifically shows that I’m not alone; that you really are still a part of my life. It’s just me, alone, being my own cheerleader and telling myself the motivational things I want and need to hear to keep going and fighting and struggling and trying. It sucks. It sucks to feel ridiculed and judged and scared to talk about things that are important to me. You ARE important to me. You’re still a cornerstone of who I am and it feels like I can’t share that with anyone anymore. Our relationship isn’t physical, tangible, viewable anymore. It’s all hippy-dippy spiritual stuff with self-imposed importance. No one understands it, not even myself. It’s new and different and scary and I miss the way things used to be.

2: I feel most triggered when I:

Am tired. More than anything I miss you the most when I don’t get enough sleep. When I’m running on fumes and I feel like my world is going to crush me. That’s when I want to hear your voice the most. That’s when I want to call you and tell you how my day went and what my next days look like. That’s when I want your support the most. It’s not even that you would tell me how to fix my problems. You would just be there. You would listen to me. You would make me feel like everything is and will be ok and that I can handle all of the shit I put myself through. You would make me believe in myself no matter how much I wanted to give up. You always believed in me.

Aside from being tired, I am most triggered when I accomplish something. When I reach a goal or hit a new personal record. When I do something you would be proud of. I feel triggered then. Everyone thinks these things are good things and that I should be happy, and part of me is. But part of me is sad, too, and hurts, and no one understands why, or they think I shouldn’t feel that way because you would be happy for me. It makes me feel invalidated or that my emotions are wrong because other people dance around them or try to sweep them under the rug. I know they’re not easy emotions for other people to deal with, and part of that is a flaw, a shortcoming in society. But it sucks to feel like I have to hide my emotions all the time, or deal with them alone because I “shouldn’t” feel a certain way. I miss you. I still want you to be part of my life. I still want you to be part of my accomplishments and when you can’t be it hurts, deeply, and to feel like I am wrong for hurting sucks.

3: What happens when I feel triggered?

I cry, sometimes. Other times I lay in bed all day and skip out on the social obligations I’ve given myself. Everything takes more energy than it “should”. Doing dishes or laundry, replying to an email… All of those small, simple things that should be easy to complete feel like mountains that I don’t have the fortitude to climb because what’s the point when you’re dead? All of the trivial things in life feel so much more pointless because in the grand scheme of things they don’t matter. I hurt. I’m bleeding out through a wound no one can see. In those moments the only thing I care about is surviving, somehow, to the next day where I can maybe, hopefully, be better enough, recovered, enough to keep going and do more than I did the previous day.

When I’m extremely triggered I scream. Normally this is while I’m driving alone; where I”m safe from other people and their judgement and worry. I scream until my throat is raw and my voice is hoarse and I have nothing left in my body to give. I scream my rage and injustice and injury into the universe even though I know my anguish means nothing to it. Sometimes I hurt so much that I can’t keep it contained within my being. I HAVE to scream or I’ll suffocate under the burden that is your loss. I haven’t done that in a while. I don’t do it as much as I used to. But it still happens and I’ve learned to not deny those moments their time. They help me survive and if they help me survive then hopefully they’re not a bad thing.

4: Who and/or what is providing support during this time?

Ox provides the most support. He’s the one who listens to me. He’s the one who lets me read my writings out loud. He’s the one who holds me and lets me cry. He’s the one who lets me say “I feel alone” even as he’s holding me. I know it has to be hard for him. I can only imagine how it must feel for your significant other to say “I feel alone” when there’s literally no space between you. He lets me break down. He lets me be vulnerable and sad. He helps me take small steps on the days where I feel like I can’t get out of bed. We’ll do something connective, or he’ll simply let me stay in bed next to him. He has never once made me feel bad or weak for being injured and I appreciate that.

5: When I think about the one I lost I immediately feel:

Hurt. I don’t know if there are words to accurately describe what it is I feel, but hurt is the best term I can think of. My chest feels tight. My heart feels like it’s trying to shatter into thousands of pieces. I feel weak, and small, and vulnerable and broken. I feel like I’ll never be able to be the person I was before; carefree and whole. I feel like I’ll never be able to love the way I did before because I’m so aware of how things can change; how the one you love can suddenly no longer be there and the pain that loss can and will cause. I feel scared because I know I’ll experience grief again and I’m not sure how I’ll be able to handle it next time. I don’t know if it will be the situation that wins because I’m already so tired trying to understand and make peace with the grief I feel for you. I feel battle weary when I think of your death. I feel like I lost my companion and no one will ever be able to fill the spot you held in my life quiet the way you filled it.

6: I express my emotions by:

Not. Lawl… Seriously though, I tend to not express my emotions. I acknowledge that I don’t feel ok, but very rarely do I have a proper coping mechanism that lets me deal with those emotions. I sleep a lot. I stay away from people more. I wait until I feel better, but I don’t know of anything that actually helps to make me FEEL better. It’s like ripping open a healing wound. The only thing you can do is wait for it to heal up again. Nothing makes it heal faster. You just have to give it time and wait and hope it doesn’t get infected or worse.

7: I give myself permission to process what I am feeling by:

Being alone and not giving myself shit for it. By crying because for a while I used to get upset at myself for doing that. Screaming. Writing. Thinking. I give myself permission to feel unconditionally. My emotions are not wrong and they are valid regardless of what they are.

8: What strengths do I have from previous experiences that can help me during this time?

I don’t know. I don’t feel that I have strengths. I go day by day hoping that I make it through and that I do well and that I don’t fuck up. I have no plan for what I’m doing with my life. It’s mostly, “This seems like a good idea…” But is it really? I don’t have you to talk to. I don’t have your perspective. I don’t know how you handled Mawmaw and grandaddy dying. I don’t know how you got through it so I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through it. I’m trying so hard. I’m doing what I think is my best, but is it? Could I be doing better? Do you think I’m doing well? I don’t know what to do, mom. I really don’t and I’m sorry.

9: During this process, I have learned that:

I can survive the death of you. I wish I couldn’t. I wish that was the worst thing that could happen to me and that it would kill me and that it would all be over and we could be together again. But here I am, 4 and a half years later, still going, still accomplishing, still having people think that I’m strong and amazing and a mentor and a role model. I’m on anti-depressants because I can’t cope effectively with my life without them. I bury myself in pointless tasks because staying busy keeps me distracted from my grief rather than actually doing anything about it.

I’ve learned a lot of things about myself, about my grief, about other people, especially those in my life. But I think that’s the biggest thing I’ve learned; that your death wasn’t the end of my world, and for me that sucks.

Letters to Mom 027: Gloves

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Mom, I really need to talk to you. Of all of the things I haven’t written to you about, I’m ashamed that I need your insight over gloves.

The thing that pushes me to write and reach out to you isn’t passing my first semester of nursing school. It’s not to let you know that I was diagnosed with cancer, or that I had surgery, or that I’m recovering well enough though I still give myself shit for “not being better”.

No. It’s nothing all that important in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a pivotal point in my life; maybe my career. It might make my life hell for the next forever and though I feel I did the right thing, though I’ve talked to several people who agree I did the right thing, it’s you who I want to say those words.

Fuck my life, mom. Fuck my sense of justice and integrity. I couldn’t just let this go and now I might have ruined everything.

Today as we were leaving work, the RN I was working with took a handful of gloves.

RN: I need to stop for gas on the way home. Have to stay safe out there.

I watched her take the gloves. I didn’t try to stop her. I didn’t say anything about, “You shouldn’t take those.” I did nothing except let it happen.

I was so bothered by it though. We’re in a pandemic and you’re going to take supplies meant to provide care for our patients and use them to pump gas? That’s not right. None of that is right.

I was so conflicted, mom. I still am. I called Ox and I told him what had happened and that I didn’t know what to do. This is the RN who had an issue with me coloring during my downtime at work. Was I bothered simply because I wanted to retaliate?

No… I was bothered because we as employees of our company signed a contract saying we wouldn’t take work supplies for personal use. That’s theft. It doesn’t matter that it was gloves. It could have been anything. A handful of paper towels. Masks. Hand sanitizer. It could have been anything that the company ordered for the clinic.

Our supplies are meant for the clinic, not for you. If you want to use gloves while you pump gas then go buy a box of gloves from the store like every other person who doesn’t work in the health care field has to do. That’s why I go out and buy my own page protectors from Office Depot rather than taking a pack from the stash at work.

Could I? Yes. Do I? No, because I said I wouldn’t.

Ox encouraged me to reach out to my FA. Maybe the RN had spoken to her about taking a few gloves. Maybe there was more to the situation I didn’t know about. That was a valid point. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

So I called. I asked if anyone on our team as asked to use work supplies for personal matters.

FA: What do you mean?

Fuuuuuuuck…

So I explained the situation.

FA: No. No one talked to me about that. This is an issue. We can’t have this happening.

There is going to be a message sent to all of us at the clinic in regards to supplies. The RN is going to know it’s me. My FA said she was going to talk to the RN directly as well. I guess that’s already happened since the RN tried to call me. I didn’t answer… most likely not helping my situation… That’s a problem for future me.

I can already hear Future Me bitching…

Present Me: You’re welcome. : D

I work with her Monday, mom. I’m dreading it and it’s only 7 pm. I’ve been off work for three hours and I’m already so ready to not go to work I’ve thought about quitting so I don’t have to be alone with this person.

I talked to dad, asking for his perspective as a manager. I’ve talked to Allison about it, too, since she was a high-level manager for a while.

They both feel I did the right thing for the right reasons. My FA is paid way more than me to take in information like this and to choose the best course of action. I am not responsible for what my FA does with the information. I am not responsible for how my coworker reacts to my FA’s choices.

But I work with her, mom. I might have just fucked everything up. Over gloves…

But it’s not the gloves that are the issue. The core of this whole thing is that taking something that isn’t yours is wrong. She wouldn’t have taken the gloves if she had been working with my FA instead of me, so why was it ok today? If I would have gotten in trouble for it, why would she think she’s above the same expectations? Is it because I’m just a PCT? Because I never say anything? Because I wouldn’t “snitch”?

Is this snitching? We’re in a pandemic and supplies are back-ordered and we don’t know what’s going to happen in the future and you’re taking the supplies we need for our patients. You’re stealing from our patients. We NEED those supplies to ensure we maintain proper infection control during their procedures. What happens if gloves become an issue?

Should the pandemic thing even matter? At the root of it all, you said you wouldn’t take supplies and you did. You lied. You stole.

As employees of the company, we are mandated reporters for stuff like this. If it had been found out that this happened, and I knew about it, and I didn’t do anything or report it, I’m not exempt from consequences. If someone saw me doing something wrong, they are expected, mandated, to report it.

“It’s just gloves.”

That’s what keeps going on inside my head right now, mom. It’s just gloves. I get it. It can seem dumb when you focus on the object rather than the action. It was theft. Blatant. Intentional. As if I didn’t matter; didn’t exist. As if my words wouldn’t invoke reactions and consequences. As if my own moral character didn’t matter.

My life is going to suck at work for the next forever, mom. She’s going to out for blood. Everything I do is going to be wrong. Every break I take. Every time I step off the floor. Everything I do is going to have a flaw in her eyes.

It was the right choice for my peace of mind. It was the wrong choice if I wanted an easy life.

I guess that’s something… There are all sorts of quotes about the “right thing” being hard.

Right now I don’t feel like I have the inner resolve I need to be ok with my choice. I know it was the right one to make; more for myself than anything. Stealing is wrong. I couldn’t not say something regardless of what the item was and be ok with myself.

But actions of reactions. The reaction to my action of informing is that I have made my coworker’s life harder and she, in turn, is going to be resentful and potentially take it out on me by fostering a negative work environment while we’re together.

That is the consequence of the choice I made.

So I guess that’s where my issue comes in; where my resolve falters. This is where the confusion is and so maybe I don’t have the words I want or need to express it right.

Why am I worried about how she’s going to act? She can act however she wants. Am I going to let her attitude change wanting to be at MY clinic? Am I going to let her mess with my own attitude? Am I going to give her power over my emotions? Does she deserve that power?

No. No one does. My emotions are my own. I may not control them, but I exist with them, alongside them, and if I take the time to understand them, sometimes I can persuade them to change and to see another perspective.

I remained true to myself and to my own standards which happen to be in line with the company’s core values and our code of conduct.

I DID do the right thing.

Sometimes the right thing and the hard thing are the same thing.

I don’t know, mom. I don’t think I really figured anything out, but I don’t feel as anxious anymore. I’m not as worried about Monday. I’m not as worried about her life or how I may or may not have messed it up.

Stealing is wrong. It doesn’t matter that it was gloves. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t a whole box of gloves. Either you’re allowed to take them or you’re not. There isn’t a gray area. There aren’t situational exceptions here. That’s one of the positive things about policies and procedures. They remove the gray, nebulous, opinion-based judgement calls. They make things black and white, for better or for worse. They give us something to use as a standard for ethical and professional behavior.

I know I did the right thing, mom. Now to fight the good fight; the one in my head. I’m not going to back down from my choice to inform. If I did the morally right thing then I have nothing to be ashamed of or regret.

Daily Post 209: Remembering Truths

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It’s been a while since I’ve written. Working last Wednesday sort of threw everything off for the rest of the week. So here I am with about a week’s worth of stuff to catch up on.

I’ve decided to go with duel specking my character with the bard class. I reached out to our DM with a clarifying question.

Me: Quick question for God: If I duel spec as a bard would I have to legit sing?

God: It really depends on the style of music. There’s gonna be some genres I simply won’t allow at the table. But for sure you’re gonna be performing for us in some capacity. Mwahahahahahaha!!! >:3

Me: Excellent >:3

I can’t wait for tonight’s session. It’s going to be great.

That was the majority of Thursday. Figuring out what I wanted to do with my character level and spell wise, remaking my character sheet in a new program Ox found, and figuring out what items I wanted to replace while we were in town.

Class was fine. We started talking about statuses and roles and group dynamics along with classical studies pertaining to an individual’s willingness to conform in group settings.

Friday and Saturday I worked. Neither of those days was awful. I got some studying done during my breaks. Not as much as I would have liked, but some was better than none.

Saturday night Ox and I ended up going out to dinner. We haven’t had a legit date night in a while. And I guess that needs some back story…

We were supposed to run an extra treatment for a patient Saturday afternoon. Friday she had assured me she would be there for her Saturday treatment. I had gotten to work early to ensure we could have her chair ready for her in the afternoon. Even if something happened with another patient, we would be able to get her in since she said she would be there.

I flipped the station for her. I set up the machine and it had just finished testing when the phone to the clinic rang. My RN answered it. Our patient wasn’t coming.

I haven’t been that frustrated and angry in a while. I was so frustrated I was almost in tears.

Me: I need five minutes. I’ll be right back.

I had to leave the floor to regain perspective and my composure.

Irrational Right Brain: I trusted you. I did these things FOR YOU. You said you would be here. I didn’t call and check to see if you were coming because you told me not to worry about it with the craziness of change over. I had to throw those supplies away because you didn’t come when you said you would. I wasted them because I trusted you. I set that machine up FOR YOU. It wasn’t just flipping a station. There was intention behind every action I did to ensure we weren’t behind FOR YOU. And while I understand all of this is my own perspective, at the time it felt like you threw everything I had done, all of my effort and trying, onto the ground and stomped on it.

After I got over the feelings of betrayal the rest of the day was alright. Patients staggered off well enough that there wasn’t a crazy rush at the end of the day. We closed the clinic up. I drove home. Ox gave me a hug.

I was still frustrated. I was still missing mom. He offered for us to go out together for food since there weren’t plans for dinner. I agreed. I changed out of my scrubs into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. I wanted to drink. It doesn’t happen often, but that’s where I was Saturday night. I wanted to throw all of my responsibilities and caring down onto the ground and say “fuck it” for a few hours of my life, so I did. Ox let me. He drove. He listened to me and he didn’t judge me.

We went to Buffalo Wild Wings. They were busy. I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Since I don’t drink often and hadn’t eaten since lunch it didn’t take long for my drink to do its job. I didn’t mind the loudness anymore. Ox and I talked and I didn’t mind talking about the painfulness I felt. I didn’t care about the silent tears running down my face as I talked about mom. I didn’t care what people thought as I got a second drink. Everyone else could fuck themselves if they thought I would feel bad about crying in public.

Once we were done eating, we went out to the parking lot. Ox gave me a cigarette while I continued talking.

Me: I know I sound like an eight-year-old when I say “I want my mom.” But I want my mom. I want her back.

Ox brought me back to the apartment. I came inside and crawled into bed, still hurting but not minding the pain. It’s there for a reason and while it sucks I cherish it.

While I was in bed I began thinking about my inner landscape; the way I view my mind and the different areas I’ve created in it.

There’s my ice cave. The place I spent so much time in while I was growing up and dealing with my parents’ divorce. The place I retreated to when mom died. It’s where I go when there’s nothing I can do about the pain and confusion I feel other than breath. It’s where I wait, still and silent, because the cold makes the pain seem less.

There’s my summer forest full of green and sunlight. My ice cave is at the center of this calm and warm place. There’s a brook, feeding the forest with water. There are birds and a deer with giant antlers; old and wise as he slowly bends down to drink from the brook. He’s my friend and unafraid of being present while I’m there. He lets me watch him living life and being part of the balance.

There’s another area; one I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to understand. I’ve always been scared of it. I’ve always thought of it as a personal hell. Saturday I took the time to acknowledge it as real.

From now on it will be my Forest of Nightmare. It’s dark here. The darkness of a moonless night. The trees are black and barren. Roots tangle along the ground, gnarled and unseen, waiting to trip me, making my knees and palms bloodied and scraped.

Monsters live here in the nightmare. At least I used to think they were monsters, and I guess that’s what I figured out during my drunken Saturday night.

They’re not really monsters. The concept of monsters is just another perspective that I have control over. These things have always existed. The forest, the creatures living in them, the things the “monsters” represent. They have always been a part of me, a part of life. Sometimes I’m unaware of them until I meet them for the first, terrifying time, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t always been there; always lived, always breathed, waiting for our meeting.

Grief doesn’t have to be a monster. Loneliness doesn’t have to be a monster. Moonless nights in black forests don’t have to be terrifying. It’s my choice to fear these things that have always been a part of who I am. If I want it to change then I need to make different choices.They have just as much of a right to live as anything else. Existing doesn’t make them bad or evil; my perspective does.

So… I’m trying to make different choices and have different perspectives.

Much like in How to Train Your Dragon, where Hiccup finds Toothless. At first, Hiccup thinks Toothless is a vicious killer and something which should be feared. A monster. Over time he comes to understand that’s not what Toothless is. Hiccup is still fearful when he extends his hand out, unsure of what will happen. Toothless pushes his forehead against the outstretched limb, offering friendship, which is really just understanding and acceptance when you boil it down.

So, I’m extending my hand to the monsters I have fought against and run away from. They aren’t monsters. They deserve to exist and to be understood. They deserve to be accepted as they are rather than being feared. This is their home, with me, inside me, and I can either ignore them or take the time to learn to cohabitate with them.

I want to learn to be accepting of myself. I want to learn to not fear my Forest of Nightmare.

That was a pretty heavy psychological endeavor to have Saturday night. As a result, Sunday I spent most of the day sleeping. I woke up and had breakfast at the house. Came back to the apartment and took a nap with the kittens. Woke up and ate. Went back to sleep… No school work like I had been planning. It was sunny outside but also super windy so it was hard to feel like doing anything other than basking in the sunlight. Being away from people was nice. It helped me recover enough for work the next day.

Monday I worked with my FA on the floor. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together. The day itself went smoothly. One of the other techs from our sister clinic came down to learn our machines. She’s super awesome and it was good to spend some time with her.

I went to the house after work. Since it was raid night for Ox we had a cigarette before I came to the apartment. I was supposed to do a bunch of schoolwork but didn’t. Instead, I reread most of my Letters to Mom. That was a sad realization. Through all of my cancer stuff I never once wrote to her. I haven’t told her anything about Jon moving. I didn’t tell her about passing my first semester of nursing school or making the Dean’s List. I haven’t reached out to her in so long…

It gave me more to think about Monday night and so instead of pushing through my mental exhaustion, I opted to sleep instead. If I got a zero on my mid-term exam Tuesday morning I would still pass the class, and since I was showing up to take the test I would make higher than a zero. I know a majority of the content. I don’t have to get 100%. I would be ok with whatever I made because that was the effort I put into my schooling.

Ox came over after raid. We fell asleep together. It was nice and comforting. I woke up Tuesday and had a chill morning before going to class. I feel I did well on my test. The grade still isn’t posted. I’m hoping to get the results later today.

I did errands while I waited to meet with Ox and HiWay Diner. We had an enjoyable lunch before finishing the grocery shopping. I went to the house with him. We had sexy time, though that had a bit of a rough start. I tweaked my back at work Monday morning, so while I desperately wanted the interaction with him, my spine had other ideas.

Me: This is happening, Body. Just fucking enjoy it, damnit.

Body: Oh yeah? Well, take this! And this! And how ’bout this!

Me: I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! I swear!

Yeah… hard to feel sexy when your spine feels like it’s trying to break itself in half. Ox was kind and understanding and eventually, we found a position that didn’t cause spikes of searing agony to stab at my nervous system. Once we found that it was back to being a mind-melting experience.

That did lead to some heavy conversation afterward, which, again, needs some backstory…

Ox and I have been talking again about finding another female to have some fun with. I’m going to ignore the cries of “Slut!” and “Whore!” because I am fully aware that some/most people won’t agree with my choices, but they’re my choices and this is my life and something between my partner and myself and his opinion is the only opinion that really matters at this point.

I made a few posts on a BDSM site explaining what we were looking for. Through those posts, there was a person who reached out to me. It was a guy, but instead of being the typical, “I know you’re looking for a female, but how about a mmf three-way?” type of message, it was an offer to join his group. It’s centered around sex positivity and is a local group for our area. Since Nebraska can be pretty conservative, it was nice to see something like that existed locally.

I joined the group and sent a message back thanking him for reaching out to me. That’s led to some pretty extensive emailing back and forth. He seems like an interesting person. He at least seems to not mind my novel-length replies and engages in the conversation in equal measure.

We’re both interested in friendship and would like to meet each other in person. Queue emotional roller coaster of Doooooom…

I don’t have friends here in Nebraska. I want friends. Most of my friends tend to be guys. How is Ox going to feel knowing I’ve been talking to a guy on a kink site and now want to meet him in person?

Only one way to find out… Fuuuuuck… my life… >.<;

We had that conversation Sunday night. Ox has some misgivings. We laid down ground rules for what would be ok and no ok as far as meeting. I relayed the information and L (we’ll call him L) and I arranged to meet at a coffee shop across from campus on Thursday after my class.

So that wasn’t as big of a roller coaster as I had been prepared for, but it did lead to additional conversation about additional play partners; specifically about how I still feel it’s unfair for Ox to play with girls while I am not allowed to play with guys, not that I really want to, but it is an imbalance and I don’t do well with imbalances.

I actually got a reply from one chick asking if we were still looking for someone.

My Brain: Totally not done with that roller coaster, btw. K. Thx. Bye. : D

Me: Fuck you, Brain…

So… there was sexy time yesterday. I don’t remember how, but we got back onto the topic of other people. I’m feeling uncomfortable about it, so it’s obvious that something is bothering me but I don’t want to talk about it so I don’t, but Ox knows somethings up, he just doesn’t know what because I won’t talk so he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t know what’s going on inside my head…

Arg…

We ended up talking about it.

I’m still insecure about a lot of things regarding my surgery. My new scar. The fact that a stranger cut me open and took part of me away. The fact that I have to be on medication for the rest of forever to be “normal”. The fact that I’m still recovering and not able to do things at the gym I took for granted. The fact that I’m still dojo-less and even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to train as I have in the past.

So, what happens if we find a chick, and for whatever reason, the situation is extremely stimulating for Ox and she’s able to help him finish easier or faster than I am able to? That would mean the issue is really, truly with me right? I’m not doing something right or I’m not enough. It really is me.

What happens if they hit it off and form a friendship where they want to start hanging out, alone because they’re friends? What if she’s prettier than me? What if she doesn’t have cancer? What if she doesn’t have grief because her parents are still alive? What if she catches feelz for Ox and then we have to contend with all of that? What happens if Ox gets the type of dynamic that I’m not allowed to have because “guys are bad”?

Ox and I have only recently been branching out into the BDSM side of things and so while I am enjoying and grateful for it, it’s still new and tentative. I don’t feel secure in it because I don’t understand why the change is there or if it will last, or really what any of it means for him. Is it only bedroom play or is this the real-life dynamic that I’ve wanted that I convinced myself I couldn’t have because believing I couldn’t have it was easier than constantly pining for it?

What’s our relationship goal? Do we even have one? Where are we headed? How are things going to change once Jon and I are roommates? How are things going to be once I go back to nursing school and no longer have a life for eight months?

There’s so much in flux right now. I don’t want to add another person into the mix when so much is still unclear, unsettled, muddled, muddy, nebulous…

Ox: We don’t have to do this. It’s why I’ve left it up to you. If you don’t want it, that’s ok.

Me: But this is something I agreed to before I moved. Won’t you feel betrayed if I don’t do this?

Ox: No. I love you. I’m with you. And I’m here for you.

It was a hard conversation. Admitting to my “not good” feelings was hard. I was worried about rejection and anger, but like so many other times before, I was given love, kindness, and understanding instead.

At the end of the conversation, Ox hugged me and said we were ok. Originally I had plans to cross-stitch at the house on the bed next to him, but with the looming conversation, it felt less ok to do something like that. I should go to the apartment and hide. I should be emo in bed under the covers and leave this unresolved because it’s easier to not confront it than to work through it.

But no. We worked through it. Together. And at the end, I did go inside and cross-stitch, something I haven’t been doing.

That’s something else I’ve noticed. For the past few weeks, all of the self-care I had been doing post-surgery has fallen to the wayside again, and I wonder if that’s not factoring into the general discord I have been feeling. I haven’t colored for weeks. Yesterday was the first time in a while that I’ve stitched. This is the first writing in roughly a week. There are piles on the kitchen table and dishes in the sink… I’m allowing Life to take over again and that’s not ok.

Today is about cleaning up; catching up. I was supposed to go to counseling, but Ox accidentally took my keys with him to work, so I can’t drive anywhere. Instead, I’m going to stay at the apartment today. Writing has helped me reflect. I’m in the process of meal prepping. As my back allows I’ll pluck away at sweeping and moping and going through my piles. Email, phone calls, school notes, condensing to-do lists… all of it.

Today is about getting back on track and tonight will be an awesome night of D&D.

Things will be ok. Things are ok. I’m my mother’s daughter and I’m a warrior. Those are my truths. I think I needed to be reminded of them.

Daily Post 208: Rambling

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I need this to be more of a ramble post. Just forewarning that my thoughts might jump around way more then they have in my previous posts.

D&D went well last night. I was late because at 7ish yesterday morning I was asked to cover a shift at one of our sister clinics in town. I explained that I had counseling and that I would be able to be to the clinic until 11:30, roughly. That was fine. Their team was grateful for my help.

I got there at the end of change over. Even though it’s a clinic I haven’t been too often, I did well. I was able to rinse the clinic’s loop fine even though I haven’t done that task for at least six months now. Their machines are different, but I was still able to string them and interact with them efficiently. Sort of like riding a bike. I picked it back up like it was yesterday. It brought back memories of when I worked in Orlando since they were the same machines I originally trained on.

It was nice to see the other teammates. The day went smooth, and though I had initially thought yesterday would be more of a “school” day, I was glad I was able to help alleviate the panic of “holy shit, how are we going to find coverage for this person who can’t come in”.

Due to not working on school stuff, I do feel a bit behind in my class now. I have a few chapters I need to read. Tuesday is my mid-term exam. My report is due on the 19th. While none of those tasks are extremely heavy and I feel like I have a good grasp on the content, there is a part of me that feels slightly overwhelmed. Like I’ve allowed myself to procrastinate too much and now I’m not going to do well.

I know all of those feelings are internal. The only things I don’t feel confident in are some of the sociologist’s names. I know all of the studies that have been done, but who did them.

Durkheim studied suicide and was one of the founders of sociology as a social science. Cooly established a model for social development stages. Piaget focused on biological (brain) development which corresponded to Cooly’s social stages. Mead combined Cooly’s and Piaget’s models, creating his own stages of development. Yes, I looked up how to spell Piaget’s name.

There are other sociologists that I’m not so sure about. While there is a part of me who wants to freak out and fall into a pit of despair because how am I supposed to get everything done? There’s another part of me who feels like if I buckle down over the next few days I’ll be fine. I like the feelings of the calm, level-headed side of myself. This is do-able, it’s just going to take a bit of effort and disciple on my part. I would rather surround myself with those feelings and tackle the things I need to do one at a time.

I think Dagger has a matt forming on his side. His fur is sort of rough and calloused feeling. I can’t see anything wrong with the skin and he doesn’t act like he’s in pain when I touch the “weird” spot. I’ve been trying to brush it to see if it is actually a matt but he doesn’t like that very much. I’ve been keeping an eye on it. It hasn’t gotten worse or spread, so there’s that. He’s recovering well from surgery. His fur is starting to grow back on his belly.

The kittens are starting to let me clip their claws by myself. I’ll wait until they’re calm and cuddling with me before trying to clip them. It seems to work. I’ve also made more of an effort to touch their paws without clipping them, so they’re used to them being held and having me extend their claws. It’s not an action associated only with this thing they don’t really care for. It’s part of cuddling and bonding and sometimes I clip them, but not always.

It seems to be helping. It’s easier to clip their claws when they’re not trying to pull away so it goes smoother and faster and this thing they’re not sure about doesn’t take as long to do. Ox helped me a little last night since the kittens were playful, but overall it’s been going better.

Back to D&D… Our characters leveled up. Level 3. Woot woot. I’m thinking about duel specing my character, though I haven’t settled on what class to take in addition to cleric. That’s going to require a bit of research on my part. I also need to look into buying a few items while we’re in town.

I have an assignment that I need to print out for class this morning, but after printing that I think I’ll take the time to figure out a bit of my D&D stuff before going into class today.

I know I just got done writing about how I feel behind and all of that stuff, but I want to take the time to do something for myself, too. I worked yesterday instead of having those six hours to do the things I wanted/needed to do. I want to have my morning so I’m going to give it to myself.

I need to cook my roast still, but that’s warming up to room temperature at the moment before I put it in the oven. It should finish cooking before I need to get ready for class. I can cut it up once I get home. I’m thinking about going to the gym for a little bit.

Several people recently have said it looks like I’m losing weight. I don’t really feel like I am. I’ve been feeling better, yes, but I haven’t noticed a difference in how my clothes are fitting. Maybe that’s me being unobservant. /shrug

Anywho, I didn’t go to the gym on Tuesday. I went to lunch with Ox instead and then did grocery shopping. He also pushed me to the point of crying again, which, yes, I know sounds awful, but it’s not.

This time I cried over it almost being April. April 4th. Four years. Four years since mom died. Four years that I’ve struggled, and fought, and raged, and sobbed, and wondered what’s the point? Why keep going? You’re still not here.

I’ve been thinking more and more about the 4th and how it’s coming and I know it’s going to be another wave of grief that hurts and makes it hard to breathe. I can feel it building inside me. I have a lot of stuff going on in my life at the moment. It’s been easy to not consciously acknowledge this day is coming, but subconsciously I know. Every day as I write the date on my to-do list or on forms at work, I know it’s coming, creeping closer and closer and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Just like my birthday. Just like mother’s day. These days always come, will always hurt, will always be hard.

As I cried Ox said it will be ok. That we would get through it.

Me: There’s a part of me who doesn’t want it to be ok. I want everyone to hurt as much as I do. I want the world to stop. I want it to be unable to function without my mom in it. I want her death to still mean something.

Crying on Tuesday helped. I still feel the ache in my chest; my invisible wound, but crying and talking about it helped to release some of the tension that had been building up under the surface.

I guess there isn’t a whole lot else to talk about. Counseling went well. I’m thinking about taking American Sign Language during summer if finances allow it.

We talked pretty extensively about school. I explained how I want to be an LPN. I can see myself in that role. I can visualize my days at work. I can see the additional tasks I would take on and how my workflow would change. I WANT those changes and so LPN seems ok.

I don’t want to be an RN. At least not right now. Since I don’t want it, it’s hard to feel motivation to do things associated with moving me towards RN. Taking the sociology class was due to being interested in sociology. It just helped that it was a pre-req for RN. I don’t want to take microbiology, another pre-req for a program I don’t really want to complete.

Maybe that will change, but for right now I want my focus to be on becoming an LPN, taking over a few of the outcomes at our clinic, and moving into a PCT3 position. I WANT those things and so I’m self-motivated to achieve them. I want to get through this phase of my life first and then see where I want to go. I don’t like the idea of being charge nurse. I don’t like the idea of totally giving up my role as a PCT to be an RN because there’s no way I can cover both positions on my own. That’s why there are at least two people on the floor. One RN and one PCT. One person can’t do everything. But I would try to do that. I know I would.

So yeah… maybe, if I’m able to, taking another class because it’s something I want to take, rather take something I feel pressured into doing. I don’t want that. I don’t want to spend money investing in something simply because I feel it’s what other people want me to do.

So yeah… I think I’ll go for now. I feel better for having written. I feel a little clearer inside my head. I’m going to keep plucking away at my day and see where I end up.

Dragon’s Horde 060: New Nostalgia

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During the week my dad stayed with me post-surgery we ended up walking through Walmart a few times. During one of those times we decided to get a puzzle to work on together. My dad and I used to do puzzles all the time before my parents divorced.

As we were talking about what puzzle to get, I mentioned how I’ve put together a handful of 3D crystal puzzles. He had never heard or seen them, so we took a look while we were at the store. Wouldn’t you know… they had a purple dragon puzzle. I couldn’t have asked for something more perfect.

My dad and I spent the next few hours of the afternoon working on it together. It was amazing. I hadn’t realized how much I missed something as simple as sitting with him, working on something, and chatting about nothing important while bitching about pieces not fitting right.

The whole week, but this experience specifically, helped reaffirm something for me. I do have a dad and he does care about and love me. I might not be the 8-year-old girl I once was, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nostalgic about my past, and hopeful about my future.

I know you won’t read this post, but I want you to know I love you, dad. Thanks for being there for me when mom died. That’s for holding my hand through this terrifying time of having cancer. Thanks for letting me know that I still have a partent and that somewhere, deep inside, it’s ok to still be a kid.

Daily Post 196: Conversations

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Today has been… a day. This might end up being a longer, more rambling post than what I have been writing recently.

Ox came over last night. We slept together. I slept well. My day started the way I have grown to enjoy. Breakfast, meds, shower, getting ready for work, time with Ox. It was nice.

Work went smoothly for first shift. Change over was pretty good, too. One of my patients, who normally arrives early, wasn’t there. When we tried calling her cell phone, she didn’t answer. My RN called the hospitals she could have been admitted to.

I’m not going to see her again. I can’t go into details, but Friday afternoon, as she walked out of the clinic thanking me, will be the last memory I have of her.

She was one of my first patients here in Nebraska. I’ve known her for two years. I’ve met her grandson. And I’ll never see her again.

It’s one of the shitty things about my job. I meet amazing people, and yet we’re all mortal and there will always be a day where we die. There won’t be any more, “How was your weekend?” or, “Did you finish the dream catcher you were working on?” No more, “I’ll see you next time.” No more conversations or stories or jokes.

It sucks and I ache over it. At the same time, I knew how much pain she was in. I knew at least some of the other complications going on. I hope she isn’t suffering anymore. I hope there’s no more pain. I hope she enjoyed the life she had even though there were things about it that weren’t fun to go through or experience.

That’s how my workday ended. Knowing that I would soon be seeing a new patient because a life had ended.

I called Ox on my drive home. I explained what was going on. I drove to the house to have a cigarette with him. We talked for a bit. I didn’t stay. The plan before any of this information had come about was for me to go to the apartment because he was scheduled to raid with his guild on WoW.

I’m ok with it. Even now. I think having solitude is good at the moment. It’s allowing me to write. It allowed me to talk to Jon for almost two hours, which is the main thing I want to write about. It was not a conversation I expected to have.

We did talk about my workday for a bit. He can empathize with my feelings and that part of our conversation did help me feel more at peace internally.

A vast majority of our conversation was about his situation regarding school and staying in Orlando.

I think he might actually entertain the idea of moving here to Nebraska. At one point during our conversation, I said, “I want you to know that through all of these suggestions and what-ifs, that what I’m asking of you is to let me love you. Let me help you be successful. Like me be part of your success.”

Jon: But I should be able to do it on my own.

Me: No. You shouldn’t. Humans are social creatures. We survive, we succeed, because we are part of a group. Successful people are successful because they have a support system and they use it. They don’t abuse it, but they reach out for help when they would benefit from it and accept help when it is offered.

I hope he thinks over our conversation. I hope he realizes that moving here wouldn’t be a failure. It wouldn’t be giving up. It wouldn’t be running away.

Gah… I don’t know. There’s a lot to think about on my end, too, not just his. I do know that I love my brother and I want to help him get to where he wants to be in life. Maybe he’ll let me.

I guess it wasn’t as long of a post as I thought it would be.

I’m sad in one area, and yet hopeful in another. It’s a weird feeling, but I guess that’s life.

Tomorrow I have class. Ox may come over tonight if raiding doesn’t go super late. It would be nice to wake up next to him. If not, then I’ll see him after class so we can go grocery shopping. I have already received my state refund so financially I’m in a better spot than I originally thought I would be.

I need to pick up my meds tomorrow. I would like to go to the gym tomorrow, too. Just a little bit of biking to try to get back to where I was pre-surgery. I think biking would help me figure out some of my emotions; let think through some things.

For now, I’m going to go color and then call it a night. It’s been a day and I’m ok with that.

Daily Post 195: A Quiet Day

Standard

A quick writing before bed.

Today has been a fairly slow and quiet day. I woke up this morning mostly because the kittens refused to let me sleep longer. I fed them their ration of wet cat food, something they always look forward to. I ate breakfast and took my Zoloft. I had a cup of coffee while I had a cigarette and enjoyed the sunlight from the balcony attached to my apartment.

I colored for about 15 minutes before starting in on school work. I printed most of my references for my culture report. A few of them I can’t access unless I’m on campus. I’ll have to figure out something for those. There’s also a PDF version of a 95-page book. Very uninterested in printing the entire thing… But yeah. I was able to print six other sources so I can flip through and highlight the information I plan to use.

I completed the citation assignment that is due Tuesday. I also completed the case study assignment that’s due Thursday. That only leaves reading chapter four’s material, taking the test, and preparing for the essay quiz on Thursday. Feeling pretty good with the school side of things.

I went to the house for breakfast. I had planned to go to the gym after cross-stitching for a bit. That didn’t happen. Sexy time was had instead followed by a nap. I realized as I was dozing why I like sleeping on my side with the weighted blanket covering my shoulder. It feels like Ox’s arm is draped over me when I sleep like that.

For most of the morning, I was emotionally raw. It’s almost the two-year mark for Ox and me. It’s getting closer to April which will be the four-year mark of mom’s death. I don’t know… I can feel the depth of love I have for Ox clearer than I’ve let myself for a while. That love tugs at the edges of my wound; the one I have from losing mom. I don’t want to love him less, but I’m very aware of how painful love is, or at least can be.

Me: I don’t want you to leave.
Ox: I know. I can’t promise to always be here, though.
Me: I know.

I told him that I needed him to know that’s what I wanted; for him to not leave.

We spent the vast majority of the day in the bedroom, him gaming and me cross-stitching next to him. It’s been nice. We ran to the gas station and back to the apartment so I could get a seasoning packet. Mama Ox agreed to let me try cooking steaks in the InstaPot she got. I was told by a patient that the steaks turn out super tender that way and I wanted to give it a shot.

I don’t think mine turned out that well. To me, they seemed overcooked, but then I normally eat my steaks rare so maybe I’m not a good reference point. I do think it’s worth another try. They weren’t awful but they weren’t amazing either.

Ox and I have been watching a new series on Netflix. Cagaster of an Insect Cage. It’s interesting. I don’t think there are many more episodes left.

I chatted with my cusion for a while. We got caught up on each other’s lives and how the start of 2020 hasn’t been what we were hoping for. I also talked to Jon for a little bit. He mostly wanted to complain about some of his classmates, but it was still good to hear his voice. We agreed to talk later in the week.

Not a whole lot has happened aside from that. I did dishes, filled the containers with dry cat food, cleaned the litter box, packed my lunch box for work tomorrow… That was an issue Saturday while I was running late. In my rush to get out the door, I forgot to pack water into my lunch box. Luckily I had a handful of water bottles in my car because I was a slacker and didn’t clean it out. Sometimes procrastinating pays off.

Oh. Another thing I don’t think I mentioned… I had to refill my Synthroid prescription. I called it in Thursday I believe. I received an automated message Friday afternoon saying there was an issue they were trying to resolve with my insurance company. If they needed more information from me they would call.

I didn’t have it in me to care. If they called me I would figure it out then. Until then there wasn’t an issue for me to worry about.

I got a call Saturday afternoon saying the issue was resolved and there would be no copay for my prescription. It was ready to be picked up at my convenience.

I’m way more ok with my prescription knowing that I’m not having to pay $40 a month for it. In the grand scheme of things, $40 a month isn’t bad for meds. It’s not awesome either. $40 every two or three months seems way more doable, though. So yeah, I’ll be picking my refill up on Tuesday while I’m in town for class.

And with that, I think I’m done for the day. Here’s to a good night’s sleep with alarms that go off when they’re supposed to.