The call

I can’t believe that after all this time I may have to rename my blog. From day one Superman can’t find a phone booth has primarily been about my struggles with Chronic illness and rebuilding my life after losing everything and moving in with my mother. In the process, I told my story, made some wonderful friends, and learned the stories of others. It was very therapeutic. But now I have to shift gears because
I GOT MY KIDNEY!

A week ago Sunday my daughter came to visit. My little baby has grown up and at 19 she has a job and a decent social life. She has also been under the umbrella of a terrible depression lately. I had been looking forward to her visiting me, I was eager to have one of our heart to hearts and hoped to glean some insight as to how to help her, if possible. She arrived early morning (she likes to squeeze as much out of our visits as possible) and I made her breakfast and we chatted over coffee. She seemed to be in a good mood. That made me happy.

The morning passed without event. With the exception of the excitement of having my daughter for the weekend, I felt like I always did. Like total and complete shit. Life had been hard lately, I had to struggle to even attempt to fake the upbeat and optimistic person I always strived to be. Dialysis was kicking my ass and despite only being on it for 3 years I experienced more than my share of complications. I had been sleepless, devoid of energy and uncharacteristically void of hope. I wasn’t thinking of giving up but I was as low as I’ve ever been.

After lunch the clouds cleared. The lake effect is powerful where I am and the clouds are always there in the morning and you never really know if they are going to burn off. My daughter asked to go out in the boat. We packed and went to the Marina. Once the dog and the cooler were in and we were ready to go. I turned the key.
Nothing. Shit, the battery was dead. I had left the boat uncovered and the hold containing the battery had flooded. The automatic pump had killed the battery. My mom went to flag down a mechanic and my daughter and I stayed in the boat. We sat there waiting, made small talk and played with the dog. My phone rang, the caller ID read my Transplant team’s number.
I knew that I had an appointment coming up and I was expecting it to be a robocall confirming. I picked up and heard a human breathing on the other end. So I said “What are you guys doing working on a Sunday?”
“Well”, the woman said, I was hoping to give you a kidney today”
I almost fell off of my seat.
I repeated the sentence verbatim, not sure if I meant to but that’s what I did. I looked at my daughter and her jaw was wide open. I put it on speaker. There was a bunch of qualifying questions she had to ask. Recent hospitalizations, any open sores, dental issues, distance from hospital etc. I answered all of them satisfactorily and she told me that it was between me and one other person but the odds were enough in my favor that I should get in my car and start driving right away. The hospital is 2 hours away. We bolted for the car.

The 2 hour ride, despite my driving like a complete and total asshole, still took two hours. Traffic was not thick but it was slow. But I got there within the time frame that I told them. Nobody in the ER was expecting me. For a really good hospital, the receptionist in the ER was less than professional. You would think that the sentence “I got a call from the transplant department, they have a kidney for me” would be self-explanatory but her face was similar to mine when faced with a math problem. Blank. I lost my temper. I’m not proud of it but I did. People in the ER waiting room got it but the staff didn’t. I made it clear that if I didn’t get the kidney because they didn’t know I was there that I was going to go apeshit. A triage nurse soon came to the rescue. He knew. Whew, that part is over.

I waited over an hour before someone came out and told me that I had beat the kidney there and it wouldn’t be much longer. Soon, a team of smiling people in scrubs came out and announced that the kidney was indeed mine and that I should come on in for surgical prep. Anesthesiologists, nurses and a team of support staff greeted me at the door. They actually clapped as I was rolled down the hallway. They were great.

Finally, I was wheeled into the operating room, still conscious, where I saw my surgeon. Dr. Dailey is a giant man, six foot seven at least. His eyes smiled through his mask as he prepared the kidney. I asked to see it. He held it up, it looked like a big chicken breast complete with the fatty tissue still on it. Very cool indeed. Ten minutes later I was under.

There is so much more to tell about this. It will be at least an entire post to go over it. As a tease, let me just say that the head of my Transplant team, a highly respected Doctor known internationally for his work in Transplant Science who never indulges in anything but concrete facts told me that my odds of finding this kidney was, and I quote, “in the millions.”

Superman has found his phone booth.

to be continued…

one for the ages

This summer truly has been one for ages weather-wise. In NH we have witnessed record heat and unseasonably cold days. We have had record droughts followed by record rain fall. And this all in the month of July. The old adage is true, if you don’t like New England weather stick around a minute, it will change.

I feel really terrible for the 75% of my neighborhood, and by extension every weekender in New England. It’s rained almost every weekend. If I was one of those poor bastards who slaved away to pay for a second home only to spend each hard-earned weekend under an umbrella, I would be pissed.
Yes, I know you can’t get mad about the weather. But it still sucks.

I have a little side business that I’m trying to get off the ground. I detail cars. What started out to be a few here and there has morphed into a pretty steady flow of work. Only problem is that I work out of my driveway. 3 conditions make my job difficult; cold, extreme heat and rain. And that’s all we’ve had lately.

Consequently, I have been watching the weather app on my phone fanatically. I only wish that it was accurate. We have lake/mountain effect weather here. The weather patterns are fairly localized and are characterized by sudden change. The weather apps around here tend to err on the side of caution and predict some rain nearly every day. This makes life maddening when you are trying to schedule work. Sometimes I either fail to schedule a job or end up canceling only to have it be a beautiful day after all. Lost $$$$$$$$. Fuck.

Today, I looked out of the window of the dialysis clinic and it was pouring. I texted today’s appt asking her what her thoughts were. We agreed to reschedule. It ended up being a beauty. But hot.
Too hot.
I really can’t work in this heat.

Most of my customers know that I am a dialysis patient. As my network grows and I pick up people in different towns I suppose it becomes less common knowledge and I try not to bring it up. But when it comes to canceling a job over health concerns I’ve learned to err on the side of caution and I no longer care if I may appear to be a weather-related pussy. I have to be careful.

With 90’s predicted for the rest of the week I have already reached out to my scheduled jobs and rescheduled. Not one person cared. They get it.

I wish I could be as easy on myself as they are. Just another entry in a long line of instances in which I slowly come to grips with the fact that I am disabled, like it or not.

Coping

I have been feeling pretty good lately. Oh shit did I just jinx myself?
I’ve been consistently active lately. That’s why I’ve been feeling ok.

My definition of good, when I say I’m feeling good, probably differs from yours. There are days that I get out of bed and my legs tell me what kind of day I’m going to have. If my legs feel like I have bags of cement tied to them it means that I’m not off to a good start but all hope is not lost. It is those days that I expend all the mental energy that I can muster to make it through whatever I need to do. Errands, etc. If I have nothing that I need to do, I sigh in relief. I used to beat myself up over the do nothing days but I’ve given myself a break. I have limitations and sometimes I can’t come out to play.

A day when my legs feel good are the days that I almost, I can’t stress the almost enough here, feel normal. I hate that word don’t you? It means that I have some spoons in the drawer and that I have a limited amount of time to do something that requires me to go out in the world and be among people. The drawer could run out of spoons at any time and I needed to be near a bench when the spoons were gone. There will be days when I go strong. On those days I overdo it without exception. There is nothing to be gained in overdoing it because the next day I will certainly suffer. Cramps, fatigue and a general largess will leave me sofa-bound for sure. But I will smile a bit knowing that I did something that day.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to admit to myself is that I am sick. Sick isn’t always visible. That’s because we don’t want you to see. We want to look normal. We smile through pain and push on when our bodies beg us to stop. I always thought I was special. I thought that I could fake my way through feeling the effects of Chronic Kidney Disease. I couldn’t. I later thought that I could endure dialysis without experiencing the effects that others do. I couldn’t. So I was forced to admit, in addition to being sick, that I am in fact deteriorating. Deteriorating to the point that I fear it is not long before I’m unable to do the things that make me happy and keep me sane.
This has been haunting me.

So many people have told me to be strong, that I have so much to live for. This I once tragically forgot momentarily and almost made the mistake of all mistakes. But it is now at the forefront of my brain, the knowledge that to end my life would cause a lot of pain for some people. I don’t have that in me. The thoughts of seeing 4 weddings, welcoming grand babies into the family, listening to music, and doing every possible activity that puts a smile on my face do indeed give me something to live for. But…my brain constantly screams at me that the most important thing to me needs to be quality of life.

It’s not selfish despite the obvious implications. Milestones in life are awesome, but the pain is still there while you’re waiting for them to happen. I’m wiped out, my hands are cramping, I stopped feeling sensation in my feet about 3 hours ago (Did I mention that I now have Neuropathy?),my legs are swollen from the knee down and my dialysis port on my left forearm is throbbing. It’s unlikely that I will sleep tonight and when 3 AM rolls around it will be me and the pain and exhaustion. Trust me, at that hour in that condition the last fucking thing you are thinking about is giving away brides and bouncing a baby on your knee. It is the witching hour and the dark thoughts fight for dominance.
I wish nights like that on nobody, not my worst sworn enemy.

All that aside, with the exception of the occasional bouts of insomnia, I’ve been out in the world and accomplishing things. I’ve been running a successful little side business cleaning cars. It kicks the crap out of me almost every time but it’s good money.
I bought a brand new Harley Road King. It is the bike I’ve always wanted. When I ride I have a smile from ear to ear on my face.
We may be getting a place in Florida. I have the opportunity to stay down there all winter should I want to. That has been giving me hope to carry on.
I have a fairly active love life right now. 3 women who are actually interested in me. Problem is that I still want the married one and I’m willing to wait and see what happens. She certainly gives me a reason to look on the bright side.

It’s been a hard road back from my fall from grace. But there have been some lessons learned and coping mechanisms formed. For now at least I’m on a good road.

But the pain is still there…

catching up

I have been away for a long time. I don’t think anyone really noticed, my readership was at a all time low despite regular postings. It was about the time that I started telling my story. Admittedly, it wasn’t riveting stuff and I should have storyboarded it first. I’m still writing it but I haven’t been posting it. As they say, eventually you realize that nobody gives a shit.
But it’s ok. It goes both ways. I’ve been too busy to read my faithful followers and I can do better. And I will.

I have had a crippling case of writer’s block, despite being extremely busy. My health has been spotty, I feel pretty weak and lack motivation most days. But I have tried to stay active as possible and I have managed to maintain my detailing side business.

Masonry has largely consumed my time. I was elected Master of my Lodge last year and I was put in office at a critical time, we had been given one year to make adjustments and improvements or they would close us. I’m happy to report that we saved it in a big way and we roared back to full functionality by September.

The rest of my time, when not detailing cars and recovering from dialysis, has been spent on my new Harley. I broke down and bought a 2021 Road King. It is just a beautiful piece of workmanship and my smile is evident as I ride down the road. It is a reminder of what is good in life.

Of course, the main reason I’ve been away is I’ve been wallowing in reflection and searching for answers after my near suicide attempt a few months ago. The event was bad enough, the soul-searching that followed was worse. I have been questioning every damn thing about my life after it, it rattled me to the core.

All of these things will probably become their own blogs, for now I’m just trying to condition myself to blog again.

I hope all of you are doing great and killing it at life

Before it’s too late

Often when I take a break from blogging it is because I can’t think of a topic. Sometimes it’s just laziness. Sometimes I just get busy, I’m pretty active for a guy with nothing to do. Then other times I just don’t know where to start.

Last week I suffered so many slaps upside the head that I just couldn’t sort my thoughts. It started with the death of a dear friend, then another old friend of the family passed, and then to top off the shit sandwich that was my weekend I found out that my best friend in the world and his young daughter had contracted the Covid-19 virus. I was floored both metaphorically and actually. I didn’t know where to begin.

The death of my friend, a elderly Freemason whose company I have enjoyed so often and so greatly was not a shock. He was elderly and in declining health. Quarantine issues made it difficult to visit him and he wintered in Florida but I had no excuse not to talk to him more frequently and I am feeling guilt even though I don’t feel that there was anything unsaid between us. It is the worst part of losing someone, wondering if you knew where you stood with them. It is THE reason that I endeavor to always leave someone as if I will never see them again, on the level (as we Masons say) and free of anger and resentment. He was my buddy, regardless of our age difference and I feel that I am a better person for having known him. I miss him terribly.

The family friend was less of a blow. He was 92 and passed peacefully. But he meant something to me as a memory of my childhood. My parents used to Square Dance (mock away I won’t resent you) and they met many solid friendships through it via conventions at Campgrounds every Summer and retreats in Winter. I can think of 5 or 6 families that I met on those occasions and the many lasting friendships with their children that I cherish now. Frank was one of the ones that stands out in my mind the most. A father of 5 awesome kids and a all-around wonderful family man, he represents an era gone by to me. I was so upset that I wasn’t able to go to his funeral. Not being able to attend funerals is one aspect of the Pandemic that is hard to reconcile.

The news that my best friend in the world contracted Covid absolutely floored me. The news may have numbed us with all of the constant talk and actual people can fade into just statistics but by now most of us know someone who has contracted it. Sadly, many of us have lost someone to it. We always hear about those people in the high-risk category. My friend is in it. He’s a big, strong man but he’s overweight. He has a heart condition. He is always tired and his immune system is vulnerable. When I heard the news, I won’t sugarcoat it, I had some very bad thoughts about worse case scenarios. And for his daughter, whom I love like my own daughter…her diagnosis scared the ever loving shit out of me. Fast-forward to today, everyone is on the mend. That is a huge relief. But I was scared.

If you are reading this, I want you to know that I care about you and I hope you never have to endure a weekend like I had last week. Tell those close to you how you feel. Make phone calls. Send emails. Don’t put yourself in a position where you know that you could have done more. We’re social creatures and we need each other more than ever.

Footprints

Nice idea right?

I’ve always been a lover of the “footprints” meme above. It was shown to me early in life and the message resonated with me. It’s a nice idea. The whole Jesus thing. Walk beside me, keep me company and hey, while you’re at it can you carry me through the rough terrain?
The problem is that I am not really a big “Jesus guy.”
I am not going to go too much into the religious and spiritual beliefs of Billy Mac. I’d done it in previous blogs and I just can’t do it again. I will give a brief synopsis for the sake of understanding what exactly the fuck I’m trying to say in this entry, but that’s it.

Here goes…I’m not an atheist because an atheist believes there is nothing. You’re an arrogant bastard if you believe that there is nothing else out there in the immeasurable vastness of the cosmos. Deductive reasoning therefore concludes that if you can’t say there’s nothing then there has to be something. With that in mind, I reluctantly accepted the possibility of a higher power. Sure, let’s call it GOD. As for a bearded guy in a flowing white robe judging and condemning everyone, I’m not so sure. As for his son, I can’t wrap my head around that part. It’s a nice story but it doesn’t fit my paradigm. But again, it’s in the nice idea department in my world.

But back to the Footprints. There was once a day when I would have resented the notion that I would have had to be carried anywhere, by fictional deity or by any man. Strength mattered the most to me and I swore that the day that I couldn’t deal with the weight of my life that would be the day that I would no longer want to engage in this dance. For the longest time I was able to pull it off.
It’s getting harder every day.

I’m failing in so many ways. My body is simply breaking down. Sure, there are physiological forces at work, understandable ones, I have a disease. I’ve had it for a long time and I have done a pretty impressive job of fooling everyone, especially my family. Until now, now I’m showing the cracks. I’m walking slower, in need of more recovery from the most basic of tasks, uninterested in making plans for fear of not knowing how I will feel when the day comes, I am becoming what I have always feared. Weak.

This morning I tuned in to my church’s online service. I’m not sure why, I rarely do so. The Reverend, a young family man with a fresh perspective, was just wrapping up the musical segment when I tuned in. He welcomed all of us and said, “let’s talk about Footprints.” I knew exactly of what he was speaking. I put my head in my hands and I listened. It was as if he was talking directly to me. I became emotional. I even cried a little. Why do I feel this way? I don’t want help. I hate asking for it. I don’t want to burden anyone. So why?

I have a great support system, I really do. Great friends, amazing family, my Masonic brothers and the resources of the entire fraternity. But I never ask them for anything. I swore that I would never be that guy. But I’m not in a good place lately and maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I let someone carry me for a couple of blocks.

It might allow me to garner enough strength to go back to trying to convince people that I’m ok when I’m really not. Or maybe I can grow the fuck up and acknowledge that Plan A is just not working.

Fighting the green eyed monster

I don’t need a reason to withdraw from Social Media. Who would blame me when I am overloaded with disinformation, vitriol, hatred and myriad videos of just plain bad behavior? I used to be able to handle it then I realized that handling it wasn’t necessarily enough, it was getting me down and affecting my already tenuous grip on normalcy (whatever that means). Keeping up with friends near and far, combined with cute puppy videos used to do the job on balancing me out but lately it’s not enough. Even my friends posts are starting to bother me.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a people watcher. Not to analyze them or criticize but instead to further my understanding of people and what makes them unique and of course what binds us together. My desire to keep up with friends and co-workers both past and present has always been my primary reason to have FB. I like knowing what they are up to and it is a form of people watching. I watch what they post, good or bad, and how they behave, good or bad. Some of my FB “friends” are having a rough time, those I support the best I can. Others are doing ok, I’m there with a good word when needed. Then there is the ones that are doing great, or at least they make it look so. Those people I have always tried to be genuinely happy for. Despite my lot in life, I always make sure that I am never a victim of the Green Eyed Monster. I don’t envy wealth, possessions, pics of expensive cigars and liquors and cars. Hey, I’m happy for them and will continue to be so if they are good people.

I try to reject the notion that social media was designed for us to compare lives. That would be alienating and not the stated goal of bringing us together.

But I’m thinking of taking a break from Social Media anyway. For a rather unique reason I suppose. I have fallen into a different kind of people-watching and it is becoming destructive to me and my ability to maintain positivity– people watching as a sick guy and comparing notes with my own situation. It’s a terrible habit in which I observe one of my friends doing something outdoorsy such as hiking or biking, and I ask myself questions such as,
“I wonder if he can walk more than a mile without his legs swelling into balloons?”
“Hey, do you think he can work a whole day without wanting to pass out from nausea?”
“Does he have to take a nap after something so minor as food shopping?”

It’s not envy or jealousy. I’m happy for anyone who has been blessed with wealth or success. I just want their GOOD HEALTH.

If you think about it, it’s a well-established sentiment in our society. When addressing a pregnant woman with “what are you having?”, the answer is invariably met with “as long as he or she is happy and healthy.” As if the minimum expectation in life is good health. Trust me, it can be taken for granted amidst the scramble for education and vocation. I’m here to tell you that good health later in life is not guaranteed and without it all of those other things simply don’t matter. Even out of reach.

You don’t need to feel good to be happy. But it sure helps. Stay healthy my friends, it really is the most important thing in life.



Where it all began

As I begin the healing process after yet another visit to the Hospital I find myself motivated to blog more. I found the urge curious, then I realized that, for better or worse, the Hospital is where this blog began.

I was at Tufts Medical Boston in 2017 for severe edema. My transplant had failed suddenly in 2016 and I had been plagued with ailment after ailment for months. One of the symptoms was retaining fluid in my legs. After retaining so much fluid in my legs that I couldn’t get my pants or a shoe on. My blood pressure was out of control and I was on the verge of heart failure. I would find later that they removed 30 pounds of fluid from me in 5 days. You read that right, 30 pounds.

When I had my transplant in 2011 I left the hospital like the Tasmanian Devil. I was back to work in 31 days, which was unheard of. As soon as I was able I hiked, biked, screwed, climbed, walked and hit the gym regularly. I had my health for the first time since I began failing badly in my 30’s. The expectation I was given was at least 15-20 years of health before maybe needing another Kidney. When it failed after 5 I was livid. I was mad at the world, mad at my Dr. for not telling me that my particular disease was known to stay in the body and attack the new organ. I felt betrayed, let down and without hope. I was miserable.

My Dr. came in on my third day and asked me if I had any interest in talking to a team of interns. His concern was that the current batch of students were adept at medications and protocols but lacked good ol’ bedside manner. In short, he felt their people skills sucked. He felt that my story would be a good one to share. I wasn’t going anywhere so I said yes. As he was leaving he turned to me and said, “Don’t just spill it, let them pull it out of you.”

Several hours later 5 interns entered my room. They pulled chairs and gathered around me. They asked me several questions and, while following my Doc’s advice, I let them pull it out of me. Over the course of an hour they heard the tale of Bill. Bankruptcy, foreclosure, lost job, divorce pending, behind on rent and a insidious and debilitating disease. One of them actually wiped tears away from her face. I don’t need to be told how it went, they left changed by the experience.

I sat back in my bed that night and it occurred to me that maybe others may benefit from the shitshow that is my life. I knew that one platform was a blog. I had blogged before to mixed results. I wasn’t consistent in my theme or my frequency and I let it die. But this time I was inspired. I wanted to tell my story anonymously to the world just to get it out and relieve the weight on my shoulders. Ok, I asked myself, what is the name going to be? Immediately I recalled an argument I had once had with my wife in which she was haranguing me to be honest and open with our youngish children about the severity of my disease. She was mad that I sucked it up and faked how badly I felt in front of them. That was what I did, it kept them happy. I also hid it from my employer as long as I could for obvious reasons. As the argument peaked she yelled at me, “OK Superman I guess you’re fucking bulletproof!” and stormed out of the room. It hit me.

“Superman can’t find a Phone Booth” was born.

I knew that it was a dated reference. Many of my readers have never seen a phone booth or the old reruns of Clark Kent running to a phone booth and changing into his suit and saving the day. It was a perfect metaphor for how I felt. In the face of evil, in this case disease, I was running out of ways (phone booths) to find a suit of strength to combat my disease.

I swore that I would pull no punches. It would be what my early readers (some of you are still around and I love you for it) would describe as raw, visceral, inspiring and brutally honest. I told my story. One reader commented that it was the best blog she had ever read and posted about it.

There was a time recently that I thought that I was done telling my story, that it had run its course. But now I know that Superman is back. I managed to remove that Kryptonite necklace hanging around my neck. I found a phone booth and my suit is back from the dry cleaner.

Expect some more raw, some more visceral, some more brutal honesty as I continue to tell the tale of the shitshow that I call my life.

Refreshed

It’s good to be home.

5 days in the hospital and no diagnosis why my BP is out of control and I keep experiencing spontaneous nausea and vomiting. They made a small adjustment to one of my meds for the BP but overall every test on my gut came up Negative. Oh well, it’s not the first time I’ve defied medical science.

Believe it or not I got some rest. Yes, you read that correctly, I got rest in a Hospital.

I’ve been really, uncharacteristically lazy for so long. My illness has really beat me down. While I actually have very little to do, I have been having a hard time doing it. I was almost out of Spoons. (If you are not familiar with the Spoon theory here you go) https://wordpress.com/post/goodtobealivetoday.com/5461 . On top of all of it I’ve been beating the ever-lovin’ shit out of myself mentally for being so lazy. It was a constant, vicious circle and I was exhausted.

Hospitals are not known for letting you sleep. Nurses wake you at all hours of the night for blood and vitals and DR’s traipse in all day long. I’ve ended many visits more tired than when I went in. It’s been anything but quiet and restful. This one was different. Because I told no-one that I was hospitalized and visitors were prohibited due to COVID, this visit was very quiet. Consequently, I had a opportunity to do some extensive mental, emotional, character, are-you-the-person-you-think-youare inventory. Long story short I came home mentally refreshed.

The biggest takeaway is that I need to give myself a break once in a while. I am conflicted by my resolve to act and feel normal and the knowledge that I have increasing physical limitations that simply won’t allow it. I need to listen to my body when it tells me “nope, ain’t happening”. Beating myself up does nothing to help how I feel. I think if I can do that, forgive myself for moments of weakness, I can get back to the old Superman. For now, I need to take it slow.

Baby steps, Superman. Baby steps.

the dynamics of hope

“Have you ever thought of harming yourself?”
My favorite question of the Hospital admitting process by far. In the many times that I have been asked this, especially lately, I have answered with a knee-jerk and resounding “no”. Thursday, before I could stop myself I said yes.
My first reaction was to try to backpedal, but then I said Fuck it and went with it. Let’s face it, as little interest I had in talking to a hospital therapist or clergy, I hated the thoughts I had been having more.
The Social Worker entered my glass enclosed room mere moments after I said it and began asking me a million questions. I was guarded and tentative at first about answering. I wasn’t raised in a “talk about your feelings” type of household. I could better describe it as a “suck it up Buttercup” environment. Courtesy prevailed, however, and I endured. Apparently, my answers failed to raise any major red flags with her and after a declined offer of clergy or further discussion she left without incident. I closed my eyes and braced for the next shoe to drop.
“Hopeless”, the nurse exclaimed.
I opened my eyes. “What?”
“Sorry”, he said. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“I’m listening”, I said.
“You don’t want to end your life, you are just failing to find things that make you want to keep going.”
Wow, holy crap and WTF. He nailed it. We talked about it until he had to move on to his next patient.

I have NEVER been a suicide-minded person. I have also never considered myself a “happy” person I have perpetually danced on the edge of happiness and what I lack in joy I make up for in positivity and perseverance. I have never hated life and I have a huge problem with the selfish nature of suicide. I believe that if somebody doesn’t want to go on they don’t have to, but I also believe that it doesn’t end the pain, it only passes it on to the living.
But those dark thoughts have been creeping closer lately. The days are shorter. The sunlight is being coy. It’s cold. I’ve been in constant pain and sick more frequently. I live in a touristy area and it is the wrong season. I’ve spent many 3 AM’s sitting on the side of my bed, head in hands, looking for reasons to go on.
I’ve been in a bad place and couldn’t get out of my own head. I’d forgotten about hope.

I need to figure out how that happened and make sure it never does again. Did I just forget that I have children who love me? Friends that want me around? The good times yet to be had? The amazing and beautiful woman that has come into my life when I believed I would be alone forever? The gorgeous sceneries yet beheld behind the bars of my new Harley? Most important, have I forgotten that even if I’m not needed as badly as I, and all fathers I suppose, once was does it mean that I am not wanted around? All of these things are contingent on looking forward to tomorrow with a fresh and hopeful outlook.

I don’t know what happened to all of these things but I’m going to spend this current visit working on that list of things that await me when I get home.

I have NEVER projected hopelessness before and I don’t plan on doing it again. Hope springs eternal, pain is temporary, life is precious and death is permanent. I’m so glad that I had the opportunity to refresh my outlook before it was too late.

Suck it up, Buttercup. You’re better than this.