Tag: life

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The Reverend  

I was out today walking the two hounds from hell around the neighborhood here as I try to do every morning. But there’s a lot of factors as to whether they will get a walk. First and foremost is if I’m able to walk, not in too much pain basically.

Then there’s several other factors involved, like is it raining, is it too hot, is it too cold and do the two hounds from hell really feel like it. Being French Bulldogs and short snouted they have difficulty breathing. 

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Some Days are Overwhelming, Some are Wondrous

Unless I need to be downtown, most of my days start off slow, gain a little momentum, then fizzle out by 4:00pm. By slow, if I’m out of the shower by 9:30 I’m doing good.

The first dose of hydromorphone starts the day, hormones and a pill to keep all the other pills from destroying my stomach. The hydromorphone numbs the pain enough to get a hot shower, walk and feed the dogs, maybe remember to eat, then run errands. 

Unless I’m nauseated from kidney stones that is, then the day is a write off.  The stones are just starting. It just builds up for months as they get bigger I guess.

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A Small Gift

The day after Christmas and I’m feeling like a person again after 8 days of being ill.  8 days on the couch, curled up in a ball.

The virus caused a bit of a mental struggle also, relapse, and for the life of me I couldn’t function mentally.

I couldn’t focus, couldn’t find my way forward, and lost purpose.  Feeling sorry for myself.

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The Shit Bubble Theory:

I saw a commercial yesterday.  It was from some mental health organization about the need for mental health awareness.  In this particular one there are people of different ages, races, sex, etc that approach a coat rack and don a coat.  The size and shape and length of each coat was as varied as the individuals. 

You know the commercial but can’t remember who it’s from either I bet. 

The point being we all wear various shrouds of troubles, our own dark clouds of unique sizes and shapes. Varying degrees of darkness.

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Stories

So what’s the story here, this story of the Queer Kyd from Kansas?

Stories I suppose.

The story of being a post-op transwoman and the quest for inner peace; it’s not quite finished.  Gender Dysphoria.  A true path or another symptom of PTSD?

The story of being raped as a young child and the consequent PTSD:; unknown and hidden, overwhelmed by the guilt and shame.

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Anais Nin Quote

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”

― Anais Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

I’ve always loved that quote, except for the part that happens when these worlds pull apart.  But that part isn’t there is it?  The death of this new world.  Or does it really die?

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Ray Bradbury quote on Sadness

“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.”

Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

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Putting My Queer Journey on Paper, a Leap of…

So it’s Fall and it’s decision time whether or not I’m going to go ahead with this blog.

It’s not that I don’t have the time to write every day, it’s simply a matter of am I gonna stick it out or not. The subject matter is difficult and not 100% pleasant to talk about. It’s going to take a lot of time just to get it set up. A little money, but not a lot so that’s not an issue.

The trouble is, with the mental illness I’m suffering from I seem to put the things that I really love to do aside and don’t just do them anymore. 

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Chronic pain

This pain is very real.  This anguish is near unbearable.

I‘m losing this war,  where the pleasures in life are short lived, and so few and far apart it’s like they don’t exist.

I’m in mourning.  It’s like when I’ve lost someone that has become a part of me is torn away.  My brother, my mother, my best friend,

and now myself.

I quietly reach out for help, but no one is there.

For the last seven days I’ve awoken crying. Upon opening my eyes they immediately fill with tears.

Am I crying because I know what the day will bring?

Or crying for all those days past? 

I am screaming out but no one hears.

Or they hear but don’t listen.

This needs to end

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