Tag Archives: ranting

It’s not enough to live so just dream.

Stuck in a race, in the wrong line,
when it all came down to me.
And I haven’t had faith in such a long time.

It’s not enough to live so just dream
It’s not enough to say so just scream.
They’ll never know if you don’t let it out
You’ve had enough, they’ll call your bluff
You can’t back down, lost in a crowd
You’ve won the right to scream and shout.
Kelis- Scream & Shout

I don’t know if anyone other than [with an illness] can possibly grapple just how hard it is for me to get through an assignment. It’s worrisome because I argued with my parents about going back to school, said I could do it. I have the support of my friends, I will pace myself, I will be okay. I’m unsure if I lied or not, unintentional or not. The first three weeks of this month were consumed with getting back into the swing of things, largely with moving into the house (which is incredibly tiresome for me, leaves my muscles aching for days) and creating an organizational system that will allow for easier days. The last thing I need in the morning, after I’ve dragged myself out of bed, is to spend two hours looking for my medication and a clean pair of underwear. Thankfully (while I’m still working out the kinks) the system I’ve got is fairly useful. For the most part everything, I mean, everything, has a place. And when you need to look for specific items, such as specific medications (that aren’t everyday) or heating pads( and other items that are fairly important for health) it’s best to have everything place. I don’t need to be in pain and searching for my source of relief for hours on end. After the organization system, there was the doctor appointments, so many appointments- and visits to the pharmacy. I’ve spent almost $500 this month on medication. Between travelling and cleaning, there’s still adjusting to being back and of course to medications.


SO HOW DO YOU TAKE MEDICATIONS?

Medication one cannot be taken within half an hour of medication two (the main medication) and cannot be taken with acidic drinks. If I take it too early, without eating, I will not have an appetite. But in order to take medication two, I have to be hungry enough to eat a decent full sized meal, or I throw up. And of course, I can’t take it with any sort of calcium, two hours before or after, and I can’t lie down after taking it for at least half an hour or it coats my throat with the medication causing a sore throat, and also creates some sort of weird indigestion and heartburn, leading to hours of hiccups.

Right, so no vitamins anywhere within reach of the first two, iron and of course calcium issues. I have to take acidophilus to balance out my intestinal flora but that must within three hours of medication two. Medication three must be taken morning and night and I have to make sure I properly rinse or I get thrush in my mouth (lovely) and a sore throat, and of course if I don’t take that properly I can’t breathe. Medication four is new and that is so far at night, it must always be upright and has a trick mechanism familiar to a rubix cube. These of course, are just some of my daily medications and the rules I must go through.

If I have something with too much calcium, or if I don’t eat enough, I might as well not take my main medication at all, as in case 1) it does not absorb properly and is ineffective or case 2) I spend the day nauseated and throwing up. It’s tiresome, thinking of every single decision I must make throughout the day.


HELLO, HELLO WORLD. I WANT TO BE READY FOR YOU.

Wake up late, because you couldn’t sleep last night? You only got three hours of sleep, even though you were in bed by eight. Schedule’s off. What are you wearing, will you be cold? Don’t have time to think about that.  Can you shower? Are you crazy- you don’t have time for that. Not to mention if you leave with your hair wet, you’ll get a fever and there’s your week gone. Do you have time for a proper breakfast? No. Can’t take medication #2. Okay, take medication #1, but then you won’t want to eat and take medication  #2 later in the day. But you’re not taking medication #1? How are you going to stay awake for class? And without #2, you are in danger of relapsing, didn’t you only take half a dose yesterday? Your joints are going to hurt tomorrow. Oh, they hurt now, huh? You’re limping. Your lungs also hurt, what’s the weather? It’s cold. If you walk, you’ll be late, plus you just left the house on a barely full stomach so you’re extremely tired and hungry and you forgot your scarf. So you can’t breathe. The cold air is burning your lungs. It would probably do that with or without a scarf, it’s too damn cold. Okay, so now you’re limping to the bus. Oh hey, the bus just past you by. Well then. Time to walk back home and call it a day.

YOU ARE NOT HONEST. YOU ARE NOT HEALTHY. But you could tell where I had been, by the way I held my gun. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I try to stay close to the light and as optimistic as possible when possible. But some days I am ambivalent, and bitter. And some days, I have a right to be. I’m struggling to live, while so many, [privileged] effortlessly kill themselves. It seems more and more people I know have teetered off the edge, crossed that fine line between moderation and excess. At some point you are no longer “harmlessly” having fun, at some point, it’s your liver, it’s your nervous system, it’s your immune system. Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, that you can’t breathe because you’ve become a chain-smoker? That you are extremely swamped while you juggle your all too many courses and work, while you put that all on yourself? I cannot even manage equal ground, the same footing in walking pace, and some, in the end, cause their own strife. Is that immature of me, to not feel sorry for those in such situations? Is it selfish, because since I cannot breathe myself and did not do this to myself, that I feel no sorrow for those that do?

It’s funny that some who know what I have gone through or am going through have the audacity to call me immature. I will not heed to such a term. I may not necessarily be mature because who really is, but one thing I certainly am not is immature. I may have moments of immaturity, but that is a flaw in the design of human nature. I am not perfect. I do not claim to be. I am not a victim of war. I have not lived through famine, strife, poverty. I have lived a privileged life in many senses, more than most, less than some. Still, I was all too aware of my roots and my surroundings. But I have been through a lot, and I have seen more than anyone could possibly know. I would not call myself sheltered. I have seen enough, experienced enough, to become a little jaded. Children struggling with leukemia; with bashed skulls and one eye; children with hollowed eyes and rope marks around their necks. Children with lost limbs and facial parts, caught in crossfires. These children are stronger than I ever have been. (I try, I try.) If you grow up in such a situation that enables over drug-use, slumdogs and gangwars, I do not condone, but I understand. If you cannot afford another semester and struggle to stay in this one, rushing at every end for the financial, I understand. But so many are over-privileged and sheltered, boredom and impatience their cause. Is it fair for me to say this? Had our lives been reversed, I, of a similar social monetary background, would I be in a similar state? Considering my roots are the same and (while I was constantly tired I was somewhat on par for many years) I still was given every opportunity to follow suit and opted not to. I am not saying that makes me better. It just doesn’t make me worse.

I am frankly getting tired of the constant complaints, so many of which seem so self-centered. I remember my high school years were full of oh no my life is over, my boyfriend and I are over, oh dear, I cheated on him. Oh no, I crashed my BMW because I was intoxicated while driving. Oh no, I broke a heel and daddy cut me off for a week.  The middle class isn’t altogether much better, there is always something. The popularity of the term “FML” has created all sorts of disgusting. That’s another entry for you, anyways.  It’s not even that they’re complaining about surface items to mask their inner emotions, it’s just that that’s all they have to complain about. Sometimes, anyways. I won’t overgeneralize. I’ve ranted about in circles and created excessively long tangents- no worries, who will read this anyways? Just me. Scream and shout. Let it out.

HEY, HEY DEENA. YOU’RE SO LUCKY. YOU’RE ONLY IN THREE CLASSES. Hey, hey, Jessica. I wish I could take five courses like you. I wish that three classes right now wasn’t so incredibly exhaustive for me, consuming what little is left of me, and that reading a remedial novel, these days, feels similar to reconstructing the works of Plato. I wish I could still read Chaucer and Nietzsche and even fucking Jane Austen without having to sit with a dictionary or stopping every five minutes, like when I was thirteen years old.   That I could read a paragraph in one sitting, without the tremor and shake of my hands, the misfiring of neurological synapses and the faint murmuring of an internal dialogue, echoing failure, failure.  I wish I could run to the bus without feeling the stretch of the air infiltrating my lungs, special ops style. I wish I could stay awake for an entire day, without wanting to nap even twice. I wish I could make a proper home-cooked dinner for myself, eat it in one sitting and have energy to do the dishes after. I wish I could walk places without feeling it in my bones, keeping me awake the next two nights. I wish I could write notes by hand without creating a raw in my knuckles.

I wish I didn’t have to struggle to make people understand.

I wish people would realize the little things they take for granted every day.

Sleeping, eating, speaking. Breathing. Living.

I wish, I wish, I wish.

This is me, complaining.

(Never. Out. Loud.)

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