cazandoconejos

I’m fairly sure there will be multiple event horizon’s that will suck me into blackholes that I have tightly repressed along this journey. I am at the edge of this one and there is no escaping its gravity well. I just have to follow it to the other side. I am not concerned about being consumed in the process. I’ve probably survived worse.

The entire conversation with Dr. Dragonfly today started with a picture that I drew of myself. (I don’t draw.) The picture was me back in 1987, my senior year in high school. By now, if you’ve read this, you know that I loathe everything about where I come from. This was no exception. The only thing that was different my senior year was that I was the editor-in-chief of the yearbook. Suddenly, everyone is your friend. Everyone has an agenda. Everyone has an ulterior motive. This was no different. The plastic, resin and rubber factories were working double-time this year.

My friends were always the European exchange students, a smattering of kids my age and kids younger than me. Until my senior year, most kids wouldn’t be caught dead with me. It had been this way since 3rd grade pretty much. By the time HS came along, I pretended that I didn’t care. By then, it was a defense mechanism that worked to get me out of that horrible place. (I have an intense dislike for all small towns as a result.) I listened to European music as opposed to heavy metal, hair bands or that horrific ‘classic rock.’ I’ve heard ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ one too many times. Alabama is not on my list of destinations. I listened to Queen, Bowie, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, Adam Ant, The Cure, Joy Division-That type of stuff. My mother though it was immoral at best because of the gender-bending and the androgyny. She just didn’t understand it. My father certainly didn’t. It was music for sissies and fags. They left my brother alone with his death and speed metal. You tell me. He’s on disability as a paranoid schizophrenic.

Anyhow, getting back to the topic, I drew a pic of myself wearing purple pants, a yellow sweatshirt with black stars on it and purple suspenders. I, like Bowie, had platinum (natural) spiked hair. I was the editor-in-chief of the yearbook. I didn’t get directly picked on. People said shit behind my back, but if they couldn’t say it to my face, it didn’t matter. They were cowards. As with all yearbooks, it comes to the ‘Most Likely’ section. When it came to me, my peers said that I was ‘Most Likely to be the head bartender at the Blue Oyster Bar.’ I hadn’t seen Police Academy 3000, so I had no idea what it meant. One of my friends told me. I was crestfallen, BUT I am absolutely against censorship. I had the power to take the caption out, but I didn’t. I think it was some sort of huge ‘fuck all of you’ in the back of my mind. I know I’m not going to get trapped in this little shit hole town for the rest of my miserable life. I will move on and see the world. I left it in the yearbook for all to see, even though I knew the entire community would be laughing at me. My armor came up and helped me pretend that it didn’t matter. I was leaving in a couple of months anyway.

My parents, completely oblivious, had absolutely nothing to say. The most likely to succeed captions were even read at graduation. When mine was read, everyone laughed. My mom and dad didn’t even fight for scholarships or for me to be valedictorian or salutatorian of the class because we didn’t have the right last name. To add insult to injury, they went home and left me at school. They didn’t notice that I wasn’t with them until they got home. (This is long before cellphones.) ‘Hey Mike. Where are you Mom and Dad?’ The jocks and cheerleaders asked. ‘They went home without him.’ Hahahahahahahahahaha. You’re not supposed to cry tears of sadness on your graduation day. The teachers tried to cheer me up. I appreciated them. Finally, Mom came back to get me after I had started walking home. (It was only a mile, but still.) She apologized profusely.

Here I am. Alone, again, among 41 peers and who know how many guests. I am not important. I am not valued. I am not loved, really; not unconditionally at least. I’m being tormented on a day that’s supposed to be happy. Finally, my mother picks me up as I’m walking home. No one even bothered to give me a ride, the good church folk that they are. I’m walking, on the side of the road. I finally get home where there’s a party waiting for me with a nice cake and everything, no friends, just family. My Grandpa tells me he’s proud of me and gives me a hug. He tells me that Grandma would’ve been too. Mom tells me she’s proud too and apologizes again. Dad says nothing. I excuse myself to go to my room to change into more comfortable clothes. I really go to my room to cry for a little while and then come back down. My mom comes and knocks on the door and asks if everything is ok. I say no. She doesn’t come in.

It’s just as heartbreaking hearing of your passing as it was of your only male equal, Freddy Mercury. You’ve given us so much over the past who know how many years. From Space Oddity to Gender bending to leading the chameleons who followed in your wake. You were always the original; never afraid to take risks or chances. It was who you were. It was part of your being, you essence. It was your genius. You, my second childhood idol, were my escape from reality if only for a little while allowing me to float around with Major Tom or be with my little China girl (boy). My parents hated you bc they didn’t understand you. They didn’t understand what you were saying. You were simply immoral. I thought you were absolutely immortal, and now you are.  Your music will live on forever (as I tear up). Good bye old friend. Take your place among the stars that you so honourably deserve. I see you more as a comet floating around space with that adventurous spirit you have, but you’ll always be connected to this little blue dot. Enjoy your rest.

• Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word
• And Love dares you to care for
• People on the edge of the night
• And Love dares you to change our way of
• Caring about ourselves
• This is our last dance
• This is ourselves
• Under pressure

May your paths cross my friends and may your wisdom and guidance return to the human race. It is sorely needed. For now, enjoy your respite in the Void.

Why the fuck do I get to play second fiddle, or third, to everyone else. I was texting with my mom, it’s better that way-I don’t have to talk to my dad-and we were having a decent conversation. All of a sudden, my niece shows up and it’s ‘Brooke’s here. Ttyl.’ WTF? I’m sure Brooke wouldn’t mind if we finished our conversations. She’s a senior in high school and can entertain herself while we talk. It’s always something though when the conversation is going to start to be a little difficult for her.

Well, it’s noon, so I guess I should make lunch for your dad. Let the lazy fucking bastard make his own goddamned lunch. He knows where the microwave is. He can open a box of cereal is all else fails. He can put a can of soup in the microwave.

Well, it’s (insert time) and Ladies Group is coming over tonight. I need to get busy and clean the house. And talking to me for another 5 or 10 minutes will affect that?

Your brother just called and wanted to know if we had any jeans in his size at the shop. So I’m going to drive down there and look. (It’s a matter of maybe 3-4 blocks) Why can’t David go get his own jeans? He can read and knows how to try things on? Oh, you know your brother.

When are you coming home again Mike? I’m not.

 

Yesterday, Dr. Dragonfly and I never actually got to the EMDR. I needed to talk about the headaches and especially this new type, the psychogenic seizure thing. I’m starting to lose strength. I have 4 or 5 headache diagnosis now, plus the 3 psychological things, the seizures and narcolepsy to top it all off. Isn’t that enough? I honestly don’t know how much more I can deal with. I’m tired of being strong and my strength is wavering quite a bit. My friends here aren’t a lot of help. They have their own lives and the cats aren’t great conversationalists. Talking with Brian over FT is nice, but I need a human with me. I need someone who is actually here to talk to. I know Major is only a phone call away, but he’s another ‘As long as Mike’s Ok, everything’s Ok.’ I need someone like Francis who will actually listen to me, understand what I’m saying and help me along. I really would ask my mother to come out for a few days, but I know that’s not going to happen. She didn’t come the last time I needed her, when I went crazy that time in rehab. I really needed someone in the house with me for a couple of weeks, but she couldn’t be bothered because of dad, or David or the kids. Dr. Dragonfly keeps asking me why I defend her and I have no answer. I’m enraged by my father. I’m angry at my mother, well, maybe more disappointed than angry and I’m furious with the entire situation. It makes me irate that they can’t seem to get it into their heads that I’m not staying out here in Phoenix because I want to. I’m staying out here because I have to. Both Dr. Urban and Brian would kill me if I stepped foot in the Midwest at this point. Two days would be enough to set me on my eventual path to rehab within a month. I just don’t know how to make mom understand. I don’t really give a fuck what dad thinks about it.

The bottom line is that the seizures are in part linked to the PTSD and major depression. They’re also linked to the narcolepsy. On top of that, they’re manifestations of the pain that I’m constantly being bombarded with because of the clusters and migraines. They’re painful and really hard to get rid of. I’ll be back in rehab in April or May. I’ll just make him put me back in in April when I see him. I’ll start paving the way in March or so.

At this point, I’m not really sure what’s keeping me going. I have the board and the blogs that I do, but beyond that, there’s not much.

This is really starting to get to me. I have this constant, persistent headache every fucking day. It’s still better than Chicago, but it’s really starting to wear me down. There are now 2 types and 1 that has starting visiting. The two are the normal cluster and migraine. I know where and when they hit. I know how to get rid of the migraine. It’s pretty easy. I pop a Frova and about 15-20 later, the migraine is gone. I’ve even had some silent migraines out here. Those are actually kind of cool. They come on with all of the symptoms, except the pain. Those, I really don’t mind.

The clusters, as usual, have set up their little schedules and don’t stray too far from them. I can typically tell the time as far as they’re concerned. My friends think it’s funny that I can say, ‘It’s 9:30.” and they’re “How did you do that?” “It’s cluster time.” I don’t think it’s so cool. At least I know what to expect during the day. These, I know well. I know their symptoms. I know when one is coming on. I feel my eye start to droop and tear. I feel the restriction of my optical nerve. I feel my forehead swell and continue down the SPG nerve ganglion into my jaw and teeth when they’re really, really bad. I know what to expect from them even the worst of them that have me on the floor screaming in pain. Sometimes they play nice and sometimes they don’t. At least December’s calendar resembles August’s. Maybe that means that they’ll settle down a little bit.

Now for the devil that I don’t know. This one acts kind of like the clusters, but there are a few key differences. It never goes away. The clusters sink into my comfort zone after 15m-3h. These are constant. My brain is always stuck on brain freeze. When one comes on, it affects my right eye, but instead of simply constricting the optical nerve, I lose vision in my right eye. A numbing sensation goes down my right arm and I lose control of my right hand. I don’t like these because I don’t know what they are, I can’t control them and none of my medications have any effect on them.

I have to email Dr. Urban tomorrow and mention these new symptoms. I don’t know what he’s going to say. While I’m much better off here in Phoenix, in Chicago all of these little headaches and whatever all melded into one. Here I feel them individually and I really don’t like it. It’s wearing me down much faster now. There are only a few things that are keeping me from buckling under the weight of having this many syndromes at the same time.

So Christmas largely left me alone. The clusters and friends were more or less manageable while Brian was here. There were a couple of glitches, but it was ok because he had to deal with work issues at the same time. It was a lose-lose situation. We wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway.

Now we come to NYE2015. I didn’t have any plans. My friends hadn’t gotten back to me, so I assume they were at the club spinning. I can’t deal with that because of the lights and noise. They call it deep house disco and rare groove disco. I call it noise.

The cats had been following me all morning. The jumped onto my shoulders. They followed me around. They sat on top of me the second I sat on the couch. I should’ve known something was wrong. I really should’ve know something was wrong when I didn’t get the 2:30 and 4:15am wake-up calls. Then it hit me, the 11:30 Express. They just kept getting worse after that hitting about every two hours. Meds really didn’t do anything, but I kept taking them anyway. At least they took the edge off or they forced me to sleep. My entire day, though, was shot.

As I look back on 2015, it was tragic. For the first half of the year, I was hospitalized 4 times because of the clusters. In July, I was forced to move to Phoenix to get at least some relief and control back to my life from the clusters. I even put a physical face to the clusters, a battle scar. I really can’t return to the Midwest because it’s a one-way trip to the hospital after spending just two days or so. My parents don’t believe me or buy it I don’t think, but there really isn’t anything I can do about that. At least I made it six months between my most recent hospital visit and the one before that. That’s encouraging.

Living out here is different. I love it out here. It’s sunny and warm and there’s no snow. I am not couch bound like I would be in Chicago, but today really reminded me of what my life in Chicago was. I function much better out here.

So, as Quetzalcoatl circles the globe eating the dying embers of a year gone by, I hope the flames he leaves in his wake bring a bright, sunny relatively pain-free future to us all.

Goodbye 2015 and Welcome 2016-Let’s see what’s in Pandora’s Box

Before I even get started, let me say that I AM NOT suicidal. I do not have a plan, nor would I inflict such horror on my family, let alone myself.

I really don’t know how to put this other than I’m pissed off. I hate the face that Dr. Urban was right. The fucking headaches have followed me here. They’ve set up shop and at least one of the really fucks me over daily. I’m tired of being a pin cushion. I have better things to do than give myself shots of painkillers every day. I’d love it if I had painkillers that actually worked. I just shot Norflex on top of Soma and as long as I’m still, I’m OK. Clusters don’t want to fucking be still! I’m going to have to take Thorazine on top of it just to try to kill the rest of it.

I have to admit, I am better off here than I was in Chicago. Generally, I’m happy here. I love the weather, when I can get out and enjoy it. I hate the Midwest. I know it wasn’t in Brian’s plans to pick up and move 4 billion miles away from his family and a job he likes. I really do have the best husband on the face of the planet. I still feel really badly that we have to make the move just because I have a headache. Yes, I realize it’s not just a headache. I have at least 3 different kinds that make me absolutely miserable. We’ll make it work. That won’t be a problem.

I’m just tired of this every fucking day. Every day is the same thing. I have a good morning and then wait to see what the afternoon is going to do. I’m afraid of the 13:30 and the 15:30 especially. It sucks knowing that your day will end at a specific time depending on how your head is going to react. I’m just tired of it. I want to be able to do more things again. I do a lot more things here than I was able to do in Chicago, but I have no semblance of a normal life. My life consists of walking to Target every other day to get drugs. That’s pretty fucked up for a 46 yo. I’d like to be able to express myself again without brain fog getting in the way. Perhaps I could remember a date or two without having to put them on the calendar? Is that really too much to ask?

Is is too much to ask for these fucking pharma companies to get their heads out of their asses and develop some real drugs to help us? Mine are at their limits and barely contain my headaches. It really just sucks. I’m really two steps away from going back onto opiates. At least I didn’t care that I had a headache. This just sucks, but it’s only a headache.

I have no idea what the fuck has happened to today. It started with a bit of a headache when I woke up. I actually slept a couple of hours last night. Brian and I went down to breakfast and had another lovely meal here at the hotel. It’s historic and maybe a little campy, but it’s cute. The rooms are small and cramped though. I haven’t really taken a shower or anything bc it’s just too small, but I digress, again.

shortly after Brian went up for his after breakfast nap, because his snoring ass didn’t sleep well enough last night, I got a really bad cluster that invaded the entire right side of my head. Then, as if the cluster weren’t bad enough, a massive panic attack hit. I don’t get many of them, but this one was severe. All I had with me was Thorazine or Frova. Neither are tranqs, but at least Thorazine might make me tired.

I was overheating. I didn’t want to be around anyone else. I went outside for a little while for the rapid cool down, but it didn’t help. I’ve stayed in the lobby while he sleeps playing my video games to try to keep myself calm in the meantime. I’m trying to avoid contact with others by holing myself up, but I really just want a warm, dark little whole to hide in and cry, or something. I’m frightened and I don’t know whether or not I want to go home.  We have dinner reservations this evening, so I’m either going to spend the entire day wasted and then eat dinner and call it quits or idk.

Brian’s going to want to do something, but I’m hoping that he recognizes that something is wrong.

Christians talk about the peace that surpasses all understanding. What is that worth if it cannot be understood?  It’s simply another matter of human weakness or human frailty that we need to be led around like so many sheep or cattle by someone or something that knows better than we will ever know. If I, as a human, am incapable of knowing or understanding this peace, I am already lost and can never know my way or my place in the Universe. I either lack the intellectual capacity to understand or I’ve spent the last 75 years flopping around on the floor like a fish out of water all to the amusement of a god that doesn’t exist.

As my husband and I walked through the desert botanical gardens last night, I knew who I was. I understood my role in the Cosmic scheme. I looked deep into the night and into the plants and magic of what is Mother Nature and the Universe and understood my place. I come from the Cosmos and to the Cosmos I will return. I am a child of the universe. My matter will be expended here, but my energy will not. It will continue on to a new adventure, maybe not soon, but when the time is right, I will return to the natural world again and will recognize those who were near and dear to me before.

On the trail last night, there was a certain place that I really wanted to stop and sit down. I wanted to be still. There was a circle of pulsating ceramic jars with ‘cosmic blue ice’ in each jar. It was absolutely magical. I lingered there just looking around me as Brian walked on down the trail. It was just me and no one else. My vision was completely distorted by the jars, but I was completely at peace. For a few moments, I didn’t want to move. The earth was still. The universe was still and I was at perfect peace with everyone and everything around me. I knew where I was. I knew my place in the space-time continuum. I was exactly where I needed to be. I am on the right path to my own self realization or self discovery with the people I need by my side; those I love who travel parts of this path with me.

One of my Christian friends remarked that she was sorry for me that I would never feel or be able to accept god’s perfect love. I politely assured her not to be sorry. As a Humanist, I am at peace with who I have become. I am not bound by their archaic rules. I asked her to read the ancient myths. They’re all the same. There’s nothing new in Christianity. It’s a religion of borrowed stories. She won’t. She’s blind to the truth. I also explained to her that their gods, angels, demons, intercessors do exist. They’re just not where she thinks they are. They’re here. They have been all along. The concepts of Good and Evil run on a continuum. There is truly evil and absolute good, but most things fall within the shades of grey in between. That’s where the angels, demons and intercessors play. They’re fulfilling a role assigned to them by Nature.

You’ve heard of old souls. Watch for them. Look for the Watchers, the Nephalim that the Abrahamic God tried to destroy; a cover up. They are the sons and daughters of angel/demon/human hybrids tired of the ‘Eternal Conflict’ wanting nothing more than to live in peace. They keep the peace. Look behind people’s eyes and see their angelic or demonic forms. It bubbles just below the surface. Sometimes, you have to deal with both to save innocents. Who do you keep? Who do you throw away to save the rest? How much of your essence or soul is lost in the process?

Your God, Allah, Yahweh or Dios is no longer here. All that are left are its minders. It’s gone off to some other glowing orb in the infinite number of infinite galaxies and planets to create another mess that it cannot, or will not engage or control. It has no will. It has no soul. It simply is. It’s a force of both creation and destruction. Even adding the Eastern Religions, it’s an absolutely boorish claim that should Lord Shiva the Creator (God) or Lord Shiva the Destroyer (Satan) are the one true and only gods. Within Christianity alone, there are 40,000 different aspects of god and each little sect believes that their interpretation is the true word of god. It’s a ridulous supposition that in all of these multiple galaxies that our little planet is the only on which some creator ‘god’ has decided to create a game of life. It’s absurd really.

I know my place in the Universe and accept it readily. The Universe is vast and infinite. It is the cradle of all life. It is the force of all creation. Our sun is but one of billions of suns that has been worshipped throughout time because it brings us light, heat and warmth. One day, just like mine, its cycle will come to a glorious end and its matter and energy will spread across the Cosmos for all to share.

I come from the Void from which all souls (life energy) originates. Once this cycle is over, I’ll return to the Void to await an other cycle, or should my energy be as old as people tell me, I’ll just hang out in the vastness of space for awhile before rejoining humanity.

Dr. Dragonfly has asked me twice now to step into a scene of my life, not as an observer, but as an active participant. The first scenario was as a baby being held in Nydia’s arms in the Construct. The second was this past Monday. I was asked to step into the scene where my father was beating me for bleeding on the pillow. I was unable to step into the Construct at the time. I could not interact with a baby me and an adult me in the same time and place. (Temporal flux) Now I can.

As I sit and watch the baby me being held by Nydia, the love, warmth and caring is obvious. You can tell the she loves you absolutely and you are loved, wanted and cared for. You are loved unconditionally. I can also tell by how I interact with the rest of the family that I am a part of them, an integral part of them. If I need something, one of them will see to it. There are no questions, I am loved, wanted and adored. I will have all of the support I’ll ever need. [The grey fog of adoption starts to creep into the Construct] The present me stands in the face of the creeping adoption. I lift my hand to halt it as best I can and I tell the baby me to hold on to Nydia as hard as I can and to never, ever let go. You will have a wonderful life as part of her and her family. This grey fog will never touch you. I promise. The adult me steps into the fog, breathes it all in and is destroyed in the process, leaving baby me to live a life free from abuses.

As I lay bleeding on the pillow and being pummeled on the pillow, I have only two thoughts, escape and hide. Eventually, I’m able to wiggle out from under my father, but the stairs are blocked by the adult me. I (adult) sit the boy down and explain who I am. Of course he thinks it’s cool. It’s something out of a SciFi movie. I tell him to get behind me and stay behind me. The child me grabs ahold of one of my legs and stays behind me. My gaze fixates on my dumbfounded parents.

I have to say, flatly-coldly, that you have to be two of the worst parents. You (father) take your frustrations out on a young boy who isn’t even 1/3 of your weight, or his mother, or both of them. You are a monster. I would love to know what exactly turned you into the raving asshole that you are today, but at this point, I don’t really give a fuck. And you (Mother) You had one job that you failed miserably. Your one job was to protect me. I am only 5-8. I cannot fight off an adult. I cannot fight off a school of kids. I cannot fight you off when you’re frustrated. I am defenseless. Your only job was to protect me. You failed spectacularly. I’m not safe at school. I’ve told you that many times. You never once went because I’m not the problem child. I’m obviously no safe at home. You see that on a daily basis, but don’t intervene. I’m not safe at church, now that I’m starting to understand some of the dogma and it’s confusing to me. Telling me that something is in ‘god’s hands’ means nothing to an 8 year old.

What I don’t understand is why you adopted me in the first place. Was it to keep up that ‘xtian façade’ of the nuclear family? Was it because you wanted to be like everyone else and have 2 kids but one or both of you were sterile? (I never have gotten a straight answer on that.) You could always adopt pets. They’re easier to take care of. Dad, especially, did you want to have some little clone and realize on day that I wasn’t going to be that clone, so you decided that maybe you could beat me into submission? Was it easier to beat me because I’m not your natural child anyway? Did you need a good scapegoat to blame on your own failures? Why me and not my brother? He was a hot mess and was never in any danger. Things are just going to get worse from this point on for this poor kid, so I’m taking him with me. I’m taking him to the Construct where he will be loved unconditionally, adored, cared for and most of all, wanted.

I turned around and took the frightened child in my arms. My dad started towards me, but he didn’t get very far before he was back in his chair. I bid them a final farewell and poof, we were off to the Construct.