And So I Grind Time….

Friday, May 10, 2013     :11:30am

And so it begins again…

For the past few months, the clinic I have been going to has kept me on a pittance of pain medications and has had me on gabapentin.  It did little for my pain, except for my hands, but it had the effect of increasing my appetite and putting me into a haze.  I stopped calling people. Or writing. Or much of anything.

So I stopped it a week ago.  My mind is aware, if.. Isolated, once again.  And my appetite is gone. *Poof*
So I am sure the weight loss my doctors seem so intent upon will follow shortly.

They want me to lose 1/3 of my body weight.  Then *perhaps, maybe, they *might* do something.

Nah.

They are afraid of treating me.  Period.
Afraid that I will die if I undergo surgery.
Afraid I will die if they treat my pain.

Just.. Afraid.

My “quality of Life” is close to zero.
I am a prisoner in my own body of pain.
And I cannot think of a path or an escape…

So I grind time, Spending more and more of the hours horizontal, in the dark, regardless of whether or not sleep will come.

And So I Grind Time….

Burning Desire…

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Hey everyone….
I’m sorry it has been so long since my last entry.
Sometimes the Path of Pain must be walked alone…..
Just the way it is, I am afraid.

I had a dream last night that might illuminate where I am currently at.

I was a fireman trapped in a burning building.
I had all of my gear on, and was stuck on the 15th floor.
I went down the smoky hallway and looked out the window
And could see the flames engulfing the floors below me.

Far, far below on the street, I could see the flashing lights of
The fire truck and the scurrying ants that were men.
Smoke billowed up into the sky,
Growing in thickness as each floors windows blew out
And sacrificed their contents to the fiery feast.

There were other people in the burning building with me,
Others trapped in this same holocaust,
But there was little I could do to save them,
And nothing I could do to save myself.

Helpless and burdened with the knowledge
That everyone in this building was doomed,
I reached out put my gloved hand on the glass
And counted as each floor gavr up its occupants
As living sacrifices to the flames…..

Eighth Floor.
Ninth …
Tenth Floor…
Eleventh…
Each level blowing out a last gasp of agony
Into the shining shards that then crashed into the street below.

I could feel it through the glass.
I could feel it getting closer.
I could feel the glass itself getting more brittle and hot
As the flames got closer, and closer…..

Far below me, away from the lights and others,
I could make out a solitary figure.
I knew in a moment it was my loving wife.
My best friend. My biggest supporter.
She looked up into the sky and flinched with me
As each floor blew its life out and surrendered to the flame.

Twelfth Floor..
Thirteenth…
Fourteenth Floor.

The flames were close now.
I could feel them through my black boots.
I could hear them over the air hoses in my mask.

It would happen soon…

Still we stared at each other across the dark abyss.

The people around me were screaming.
Some were crying.
Others had resigned themselves to what was coming.
All wondered why or how this could happen to them…
But no one had any answers.

I struggled to see my Dearest Love below
Through the heavy curtain of smoke
That now filled the floor,
Hoping beyond hope that It would come soon.

As I lifted my left hand up and placed it against the
Hot, singing glass,
She raised hers into the sky toward me,
As if to say she understood, and would catch
My final kiss, if not my broken, burning body.

And a single tear streaked down my cheek
As the glass stopped its singing,
And blew me out into the
Dark, dark night.

And I woke up.
Again.
Damn it!

The Grinding Time…

The years have churned by
In a thousand thousand choices
And a hundred hundred turns
Until they seem to have ground at6 last to deathly crawl.

I was always surprised,
With how Fast each year seemed to pass
From the time I was a child
Until I have become an old man.

Until near the End,
Every month seemed a week,
And every day but an hour
Blowing rapidly past without fail.

Now I find my Self
Trapped in an Eternity of
Nothing but weary seconds
Agonizing beats of a too tired heart.

Music of the ages
Cries of the wind
Nothing reaches into that Dark Space
Where my soul has retreated from the Pain.

Pain.
Agony.
Torment.
Difficulty.

And I have no Tears left to cry.
No whimpers left to give to the dust
That surrounds the ancient fires
Of my war torn Heart.

A single glimmer.
A slight shimmer in the corner of one’s eye,
Is all that is left
Of the Man I once was to be.

So close now.
So very near.
As I sit in my seat,
And wait for the Final curtains
To finish Drawing to a Close….

The Black Hand of Fate…

Friday, February 22, 2013

Hello everyone.

I know I haven’t said much to anyone of late.
Haven’t been online much.
Haven’t interacted much.
Haven’t….. anything, much.
And for that I am sorry.

It isn’t anything that anyone online
Has said or done.
It isn’t anything that was posted
Or put up anywhere.

I am just having a hard time finding a path.
A way to keep up the fight.
I am tired,
And I cannot seem to get right.

They have found torn cartlidge in my left hip joint.
The earliest appointment for a consult with the surgeon is a month away.
A month. Thirty days. Thirty nights.
That’s a long time when you are in pain.

The public clinic is still on track to lower my pain meds.
Again. Still.
As it is, I have 3 4 hour windows in which I have little to no relief.
And they still want to cut my meds another 30-40 percent.

And so I am ….
Waiting.
Holding on.
Trying to last.

But I know how this is going to play out.
I know how this is likely to end.
Because I have walked that dark path before.
Recently.

The Black Hand of Fate
Falls heavy at times.
One can feel it just before it hits.
And all one can do sometimes is…
Wait….

The Battle Within…

There was a time I was not the man I am today…

Doing deals, making fistfuls of $$$,
Enjoying many of the “Fine things” in life…
Being in control of *most* things around me…
I was a cold-blooded shark amongst prey.
And I was Magnificent at it!

Over the past 25 years, I have striven daily to change.
To become something other than the Beast
That I am *Oh So Good* at being…

But always, just under the surface,
That … man… lurks.
Waiting for my will to falter.
Waiting for my strength to fade even the slightest bit….
Waiting to break Free once again.

Every day I battle that old will back down.
Bite back the words He would say…
Use every ounce of willpower to shut down
The physical reaction He would have.

I feel like it is a never-ending battle fought in vain…

And still ‘The Question That Must Not be Asked’
Buzzes silently just inside my skull…
And I fear the day I have no answer for Him.

I sit three feet back behind my own eyes watching things play out before me…
And Every day it becomes harder to rouse myself to any action.
To *life*.
Just over my left shoulder that Animal I Was
Screams and struggles to break free once again.

And I find myself growing a little weaker each day.
A little less able to prevent the inevitable….

And the Darkness rises…

A Brief Update of Sorts…

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

I wanted to drop in a quick note to keep everyone up to date on what has been transpiring over the past two weeks…

The hernia surgery went well, though during aftercare I developed full-fledged pneumonia with a fear induce panic attack that cost me 10 or so hours of consciousness, leaving a ragged hole of uneasy fear and questions where those memories should have been…

I got out of the hospital a few days early to protect me from any *other* viruses, and have been healing up here at home.  My family has been great about making sure I do just that.

For the first time in months, I actually have semi-adequate pain control, but the medicines they gave me are more apt to just knock my ass out than anything else, so it is a weird kind of trade; either hurt like heck, or sleep.

I’ve been choosing sleep a lot.

Later today I go back in to see the bone doctor, where I plan on asking for a spinal pump of surgery on my left hip.

They have to do *something*.  Otherwise in a week or two I will be back to screaming pain with no relief in sight. >.<

I actually gave some thought to the Cause of those of us in intractable pain, and will (hopefully) get them organized and up in a post soon.

Thank you to everyone keeping tabs on me and all of the wonderful messages you have sent my way.  I wish you all as good a day as you can possibly have. J

Tired… So .. Very.. Tired…

Saturday, January 5, 2013
8am

Tired.
I am beyond words, tired.
To my very bones.
Every muscle. Every sinew.
Every inch of my body and soul.
Tired.

Worn out.
Used Up.
Unable to look forward.
And looking back brings nothing
But regret and tears.

I am trapped in the twilight.
The edges of awareness.
Medicated into a state of Blankness.
Unknowingness.
Which is probably for the best.

This..
This is not Living.
It is just a putting on hold,
A suspension of that spark that is me.
One that will only end in one way.
With the smothering of the Spark.

Now, or Later..
What is the real difference.?
All I am now is a zombie.
A golem. A machine.
Numb to all around me,
And not caring one way or the other.

And the saddest part?
It does NOTHING for the pain.
That Demon follows me into my very dreams,
Where it can torture me endlessly,
Again! And Again! And yet Again!
And I am helpless to wake from its agony.

18 hours or more a day in its clutches….
Burned, Stabbed, Cut, Torn, Impaled…
Again! And Again! And Again!!
Without respite. Or rescue.

Last night?
In the dreamscape,
I was flying a hang-glider…
Until I hit a suspended wire,
And cut my legs off above the knees.
With a chunk of my own left thigh stabbing into my side.
And the fall to the ground,
Took f.o.r.e.v.e.r.

Or, I was walking across a suspension bridge,
When a truck drove by and hit something in the road,
Bouncing a 12 foot section of re-bar off its bed,
Impaling me to the bridge, with six foot in front of me,
And six foot behind me.
Leaving me for an eternity,
To watch my own blood drip and mix with the water below.

My own Dreamscape is now
My Prison. My Torturer. My Enemy.
Yet I am consigned
To most of each and every day,
To its non-existent tender mercies.

No.
This isn’t living.
It isn’t even surviving.
It is Hell.
And ANYTHING would be better than this.