Tag Archives: death

Prescription pain killers

If I were trying to be cool, I would wake up every day the same way I woke up today: in a cold sweat. I thought it was Thursday. I leapt up and ran down stairs looking for a calendar to confirm the disaster. Not only was I unprepared for the rest of the week, but I had missed marriage counseling. I mean, we missed marriage counseling. I hate missing things. I hate forgetting things. I have been doing better, but I still forget about appointments, assignments.

It is Sunday, 5:15 am, and I’ve been up an hour.

The last important thing I forgot was Small’s family tree assignment. We threw it together last minute, and it was beautiful, but it didn’t have a lot of the things it should have had, and would have if I looked at the assignment sheet. I didn’t and I still feel terrible.

But back to me. Two nights in a row I took Xanax to sleep. Last night I lay awake for an hour. I am not familiar with insomnia so it was frustrating and strange. I finally got up and took a Flexerill. It took about a half hour to put myself down.

Tomorrow I will not take anything to sleep. (Who died of an over-dose, or misuse of prescription medication in the last couple of years?) “…commonly abused prescription drugs like OxyContin, Vicodin, Xanax, Soma and the newly popular Fentanyl, which has 100 times the pain killing abilities of morphine, cause more deaths than cocaine and heroin combined.” (Emphasis mine) http://www.addictinginfo.org/2012/01/18/surge-in-prescription-drug-overdoses-causes-drug-induced-deaths-to-top-motor-vehicle-fatalities/) Heath Ledger, Michael Jackson, and Brittnay Murphy, all had high levels of legal, prescription drugs in their systems when they died.

I didn’t know Sara Teasdale died by suicide. Have been convicted I want to do more for the cause – considering the Out of the Darkness Overnight. More about that here http://theovernight.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donordrive.eventDetails&eventID=501

No more for now. Don’t want to think about it.


When M’s don’t Help

Yeah, I’ve been eating M&Ms by the handful today. I think I was upset and I’m also a little angry. My grandfather had an aneurysm, and a number of tests and procedures come next. I am 2 1/2 hours away from him, and at 36, the eldest grandchild. He also has three daughters and one son to help care for him. I’m not alone, in fact, I am surrounded by people who want to help. It’s just exhausting.

I wish I had more to say. There are a lot of wonderful things that happened over the last few days, but I haven’t the energy to explore them right now.


Talk about Lucky….

A long strange trip. I’ve heard I’ve been lucky by a number of people who count. For those of you new to the blog, Since December 16th of last year I had been taking three times the amount of a cholesterol/heart attack prevention/anti-tremor drug. I was “lucky” I didn’t die.

This week, we get to take care of “Lucky”, our neighbor’s dog. He loves it here. We let him in the house, we take him on walk after walk and run and play and cuddle him. They will be home Thursday, and that is very sad. He is a charming fellow, and after we deciding making him sleep in the garage, like his owners do, was not going to work, he became a mild to moderately quiet dog. He doesn’t bark when someone comes to the door. He doesn’t knock anyone down. Of course, he is a doxie mix, and that is generally not something a small/medium dog can do. I want a dog so badly and love Lucky so much, it is really hard to give him back. I remind his mom we’d take him at anytime. Of course they love him, too. How could they give away their baby?

Maybe we can get “Lucky”. It’s not a miracle, it’s just a nice thing that could happen. (I believe that, the fact I am not dead after my medication error is a miracle.) I’m pro-miracle, but anti calling everything nice that happens to you a miracle. I don’t do it. I don’t have super passionate feelings about it, but think it’s an inaccurate view of life. I read somewhere that there are two ways to view life, one is that everything is sacred and a miracle or everything is not. I don’t believe that too much. I do believe I have been miracles; I believe I have felt them. Some times it is in the form of a phone call just at the right time, but I don’t think every phone call is a miracle, brought down by God.

But who cares what I believe? I’m alive and perhaps I shouldn’t be. I have seldom done anything so risky.


Still Reeling

If you don’t know me, I’m boring you, but if you don’t know me, I don’t think you’re reading this blog.  

I went to the psychiatrist today.  (A psychiatrist is a MD who prescribes medication.)  She was shocked and horrified by my Inderal overdose.  “We would both be in trouble,” she said, and spent the rest of our appointment reeling.  This was serious stuff.  “It just wasn’t your time,” she said.  I had done a very dangerous thing.  I have mostly stayed cool about this stuff, but, to be honest, hearing from the doctor herself that it might have been the real end is oddly thrilling.  It’s like setting things up for a suicide attempt, some thing I’ve only almost one once.  It’s titillating.  There is so much grief and pain that comes before an attempt.  I didn’t have those feelings about taking all those pills.  It’s only now, in retrospect, almost a week later, that I’m really allowing myself to have any feelings about it.  I regret to say it’s kind of exciting.  I wish it was just that I felt relieved.  I don’t, not yet.  Maybe when I get my mind wrapped around it I’ll have another experience.

My husband says that I didn’t die, or get very sick, so there is nothing to say or do about it.  I could make myself think about this, or even believe it, but I don’t have that kind of maturity.  Not yet.  


Mind all over the place – R for content

Shocked? You should be. After all, I am as steady as the sea, I am calm like a hurricane. I am like a simmer. I am a yo-yo dieter. Why shouldn’t I be everywhere at once without even trying?

We are studying the Marriage Builder in our “Growth Group.” One of the first questions was, “What do you want most from your marriage?” My husband wants “consistency.” I don’t even know what that means, even after an explanation. I can’t be consistent. I want to be, sometimes, but most of the time I don’t. I’m like a great big trifle, filled with sponge cake and whipped cream and even jam. No slice is the same. It’s so creamy delicious though, who can resist?

I wish mightyheidi was up. She makes me laugh a lot and I calm down when I get to talk to her. She almost died this year, so it was very scary. Most of all scary for her, I think. It’s hard for those of us with kids to really want to meet our Maker. Before marriage, I was eagerly awaiting heaven. Maybe marriage didn’t change me, but having Small makes me want to bargain. Just ’till she’s 12, 18, has kids of her own. I confess that when the depression breaks in I think about how old she’ll be when I finally do it. Would a 18 year old handle it better than a 15 year old? That’s when I feel my body comes in to a certain obedience to the illness. I can see a little how I’m being irrational and have no responsibility to die, but it almost doesn’t matter. Just for the record, Mrs T, I’m not having these feelings right now, I’m just able to express them right now.

I applied for a job so I am checking my email every time I can pry my family off of this computer. They don’t reply. It is sad because the hours are so perfect. (Have you noticed that the hours are pretty much the only qualification necessary for me to apply for a job?)

Really thinking about a tattoo…. I want my mom to die of shame, that’s why. Also I’m thinking about the whole Тоска concept. It’s me! It’s me! It’s a Russian word: “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”

I would get “Тоска” on my hip that way you could say, “Did I really just see a tattoo peeking at me?” or “I didn’t know you had a tattoo?” or nothing because they aren’t checking out my bikini line, which i shave irregularly.


More joy than you can handle? No.

I hate to admit my fantasies. In my up and down mind I think everyone dreams of tropical beaches, drinking mai tais and being rubbed down with coconut oil. That sounds great, but it’s not the way I roll.

I fantasize taking this out and out abusive father, holding him back and letting someone much bigger than him get beaten up. Then, once he falls to the ground I would hit his head over and over again with a 2×4.

I think of how I could run away with Small, or how I could leave permanently without making things horrid for my family or whoever else is involved in our lives.

Aren’t I emotionally healthy? Don’t I forgive people easily? Aren’t I the kind of person who deals with her feelings productively?

I drove the forty-five minutes to the psychiatrist’s office to be reminded she rescheduled and I wouldn’t get to see her today. I burst out in tears. Here I tried to tell myself my beating a fellow brother to death was 1/2 chemical and 1/2 vengeful, really trying to get that under control and I had no one to help me.

And no appointments until October. (It’s 9/19).

Of course, at that point my nose started to gush blood. It’s not uncommon, but that doesn’t make it less of a pain in the arse.

I drove home, decided to let Small eat in the cafeteria, sometime I refused to do my whole life. She loves it because she loves people and wants to spend time with them.

That makes one of us.

Where am I finding joy in this?

Yesterday I went to pick up Small from school. Her little friend, (the only “brown” girl in her class) ran up to see and hugged me first. Small was visibly upset and we talked about why when we got home. She is not really a crier, but she cried when she told me that I hurt her because I didn’t hug her first. “Of course,” I thought, “how else could it be?” On the way to school this morning we tried to figure out the best way to make sure she got the first hug. We decided arms folded across the chest was it. So, later today, I will be hugged by her friend, but not hug her back until I hugged Small first.

I told you before, she is the only second grader that still runs to her mommy after school. From the sadness that she didn’t get the first hug, to the running towards me, all of this gives me joy. I wouldn’t choose sadness, but it is an indicator of how much things are important to her. I am glad that what’s important to her is me.


“Everything happens for a reason”?

Do I believe that everything happens for a reason? Do you?

The Bible teaches all things work for good for those who love Him and are called according to Him purpose. Is this a reason? Yes, I suppose it is. It does not mean that everything that happens is “good.” It can’t be because it’s obviously not. My pastor friend whose young sister died in a freak auto accident told me that because God is good, the death was good. No way, buddy. That doesn’t even make sense. It’s counter-intuitive. It can be used for good. He may become more soft hearted to one who has lost someone he loved. Her husband and son may be open to rely more on spiritual things, something my pastor friend had prayed for vehemently. It’s just hard for things to jump like that right away.

Martha Linehan, creator of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy teaches that everything has a cause. It’s not a fatalistic statement. It’s the truth. The sister elected to stick her head out of the window. No one knows why. The bridge was there. She hit her head. She died. It wasn’t really random and it’s completely explicable. It doesn’t make it less sad, it makes us understand the reason behind the cause of death.  At some point this might be a comfort.

When bad things have happened to me, I have almost always been able to use the story to edify and sooth other hurting people.  I look like a plain, ordinary housewife.  It doesn’t look like I was the type of woman to make sure she didn’t drink until noon to get blitzed.  Or maybe I do.  I don’t think I look mentally ill, (except when I let myself go and don’t wash my hair or change my underwear for five days.)  In some ways mental illness has been marvelous.  If anyone can understand what it feels like to be depressed or fully manic, I do.  Because of my (rather early) miscarriage I can speak to women who are dealing with child loss or miscarriage.  Compassion has been my tutor though out all of this.  I thought I was a caring person before Life happened to me, and I must have been.  But I lacked empathy and I lacked true compassion.  I’m not a Star Trek empath, but I am good things because of things that happened to me that shaped me in to them.

None of this compassion stuff happened right away.  I had to work through most of the time with other people who went through the same thing who helped heal me.  The Bible says that we should pray for each other so we might be healed.  God wants us to pray for ourselves, but only others praying for us is a call for true healing.  Obnoxious people say that if you really believed in God and have faith, you would be okay right away.  This sort of thing is a ridiculous.  The Bible makes it clear that the people around the person needing prayer are the ones that need the faith.  The “useful” input about how you lack faith needs to be answered with, “no, Sister, it’s YOU that lacks faith.  If you were praying and believing like ya should, I’d be totally cured of my stage III melanoma.  When I die, go ahead and blame YOUR lack of faith”.

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Weight Watchers!

I’m going on vacation in about a week and a half to an amusement park in Southern California that is not Disneyland.  I will be eating corn dogs, chili cheese fries and ice cream.  I know this about myself.  I went to the fair last weekend and ate three bites of a corn dog.  It was good.

To prepare for this trip, I am being obsessive compulsive (not the hardest thing for a person who really has OCD) about measuring meats (lamb for dinner) cheeses and relying on veggies and fruits.  I’m trying to drink real water other than sparkling water with sugar free Tornani syrup.  I made cookies and didn’t eat half of them.  (More like 1/4 of the batch.)  (Just kidding).  My exercise is going to be mostly walking around, so that much is good, not great.  I haven’t been so good about exercising anyway.  I am concerned my old pants, that fit just fine, thank you very much, that they will not fit anymore.  It’s seventeen pounds alway from a job at Weight Watchers.  It’s not so much WW that I care about as much as the extra money.  Well, I think I do care some.  It would be great to be able to get people pumped up about health and self-care.  I want to be an example of that lifestyle.  Not that I want to resented or perfect.  I just want to be me, minus 20% of my original body fat.  I want the women, not to set unreasonable goals, but to be in charge of their lives, self-controlled and themselves.  Because that is the best thing any of us can ever be.