Journal - Page 3 of 13 - The Queer KYD

October 14, 2025October 14, 2025

“I know you have a DNR but…”

(Author’s note: To save you the trouble of looking it up, a DNR is a formal, notarized part of a living will. It stands for Do Not Resuscitate. In other words, when I die please leave me alone. But I’ll get to that story in a minute, you know me.)

This is a 3 part series. You can read part one here, or skip to part two here.

The third and final chapter on the trials and tribulations of being diagnosed with anxiety and panic attacks, when in fact a majority of the time it was simply heart problems. Not that A-fib (atrial fibrillation) is simple, it carries all sorts of complexities, and in my case proved fatal.

Why is putting this down on paper important? For one I will start to forget some of the details as I get older, like the sequence of events or dates and places. For another, at least in my opinion, it ties directly back to PTSD. As well as my lousy coping skills compounded by a body that was pre-disposed for a multitude of ailments.

My kidney, heart and MGUS issues were going to exist with or without the effects of PTSD, I think anyway, but each compounded the other. One plus one equals three in other words. The drinking especially, as alcohol at the levels I was consuming is so damaging to more than the liver. Did PTSD cause A-fib? No, but played a part in making it worse.

October 5, 2025October 5, 2025

A Day In a Life

The fact is, one day has turned into a month almost, a month of being too sick to do anything besides take care of my two canine companions. I’m writing this out of guilt.

I feel bad for not posting lately. Since there are very few readers of this it may not matter. I shouldn’t have a guilt trip for not “doing my job.” I have to remind myself that this isn’t a job.

I also regret not doing the NY Times crossword, or finishing the piano piece I’ve been composing for the last 2 months. The melody has embedded itself in my mind, the loop plays continuously. and will do so until the day it’s complete and another takes its place. The keyboard remains untouched.

September 17, 2025September 17, 2025

A Stoke of Genius? Far From.

PART II of the never ending trilogy about my escapades in dealing with a bum ticker. It does have a happy ending, trust me.

I hope you read the previous post before this one, as it will save me a lot of background information.

Atrial fibrillation. A-fib for short and so much easier to say and type even. A condition of the heart that can be asymptomatic, actually is in most people, or you can exhibit symptoms like myself. It can be harmless, or can become a dangerous condition. You would have to know I would fall in the latter category.

September 11, 2025September 11, 2025

Ain’t Nothing Like a Sad Song and a Bottle

I tend to gravitate toward sad songs, which is unfortunate since I suffer from chronic depression. A few tear-jerking ballads to start the day, great therapy. People tell me I bring this on myself, and perhaps it’s true. Do I wallow in self-induced misery? Maybe so. Since it’s what I know more than anything, this sadness, perhaps I seek it like a comforting blanket.

When I’m low and feeling blue I put on songs that only reinforce my loneliness. Not too bright really. Odd how the color blue is associated with sadness, like having the blues. Singing the blues. Doesn’t work with another color, try it yourself.

“My woman done me wrong, and I got a bad case of the greens.” See, it just doesn’t fit does it?

I’m rambling today, my mind fretting about yesterday, where a case of the blues led me to thinking about the bottle. That’s a bad train of thought for a reformed drunk. The idea of speeding up the day crept in from nowhere. I thought by numbing myself with a stiff drink, or two, the day would be easier. It was 11:00 am.

September 5, 2025September 4, 2025

No Need To Panic Attack

(Author’s Note: This is Part I of a three part series on anxiety, or panic attacks, and a bum ticker. Meaning my heart decided to get in the mix with everything else that was going wrong in my life. 30 years that ended with my death at one of the best cardiac hospitals in the world. But I don’t want to spoil the ending.)

I start another day following a somewhat restless night. It finally rained last night and into this morning. It’s been a hot dry summer, not fit for much outdoor activity even.

Right now I’m lying in bed in the middle of a panic attack, one of those days when intense worry is eating me alive. There must be something wrong, at least that’s what part of my mind is telling me. I’m too hung up at this moment to take stock or inventory. I’m just worrying. Feel giddy, tense, ready to jump off the ceiling.

September 2, 2025September 2, 2025

An Anniversary Party and No One Came

It was two years ago yesterday, September 1st, and I had a party. At least in my own mind, that was about all I could conjure up. A mental Happy Anniversary to me. Labor Day no less, everyone was grilling and having a party. I’ll pretend it was in my honour.

There wasn’t any fanfare or candles or cake with the cherry on top. I did ask Mrs. K to buy me a cupcake at the local bakery and as is her habit to save by buying in bulk she bought a half dozen. I only wanted one, still sticking to a diet that isn’t working.

August 25, 2025August 25, 2025

The Resolve

(Author’s note: after reading and re-editing this journal entry, I debated about posting it. Why? Because I feel that I should be stronger than I am, somewhat embarrassed at myself for what I deem to be a weakness in character. By posting, I’m allowing myself a little grace, correct? That’s what I’ll take out of this.)

There’s an old saying from where I call home, in the form of a response to the age old question “how ya doing?”.

“I’d have to get better to die.” Meaning you’re so sick or tired or depressed you’ve gone past death. That’s about as bad as you can get.

August 20, 2025August 20, 2025

Dieting while Depressed: My recipe for disaster

It’s my own damn fault, I stepped on the scale. I knew I shouldn’t. The end result has been the almost predictable downward spiral, where 4 days later I’m back to normal. Normal meaning no sleep, more pain, and depressed with a capital D.

All because of weighing myself? You bet. Nothing is more depressing than dieting. For a chronically depressed person dieting is about the dumbest thing to attempt.

August 13, 2025August 13, 2025

Any Decision Is Better Than No Decision

My apologies for the string of down beat, depressive posts as of late. This may be the most important thing for me to write though, fighting with depression. If I look back on these posts, they may shed some light as to why this seems to be a constant battle.

The 5th day in a row. I wake up early when I hear the wife stirring upstairs. The dogs had slept downstairs with me last night, two dogs on oversized pillows on the floor, me on the couch. At least I beat them to the couch. They also hear mom up, the name the two dogs know her by, and decide they need out at 6:00 a.m. I’m still tired from the drugs, not a lot of sleep last night and in pain. I’m nauseous, but crawl off the couch to let them out back to do their morning pee.

August 6, 2025August 6, 2025

This Round’s on Me

It’s difficult to write about being a drunkard for the majority of your life. To be honest I’ve delayed this blog because it is extremely hard to take a look backwards and see what decisions I made in error. The one decision to keep drinking instead of addressing issues head on.

This tale will eventually lead up to the day that I stopped getting drunk. Being able to just stop drinking is one of my crowning moments. Ruling out the birth and love of my two children, putting down the bottle is my biggest achievement in life. Isn’t that a sorry thing to say? As I type this I find myself starting to sink down just because of how bad that sounds.