Forever Tainted

My shoulder sounds like there’s a diaper stuck to it. This afternoon I went to Incendiary to get the Arabic in my mom tribute tattoo touched up. I also introduced Jimmy to my next piece, which is now scheduled for the 3rd of March. The next piece will almost frame my mom’s tribute, draping from the upper portion of my right back/shoulder and then dropping down my arm. It is a floral henna-inspired tribute to my son that I drew, first on paper and then electronically with Illustrator. My least favorite part about getting fresh ink has to be the bandaging. It’s annoying and uncomfortable – though I suppose (like the non-pain of today’s touchup tattooing) it’s another test of the calm and the mind’s strength I’ve found of late.

This evening, Lars and I went back to the shop for a little get together. While Lars had a few drinks with the rest of them, I opted to be the sober driver so instead made way to Timmy’s for tea. As I was leaving with my mint tea, a collective giggle & snicker in the corner proved (once again) that some things never change nor grow. As I walked out the door I took a deep breath and felt a whole-hearted smile grow within me as that short moment was confirmation that I have made some very decent choices in my life about the people I choose to and choose not to surround myself with. With that I will share that if you are a part of my life today, I value you, so thank you.

Yesterday I turned off all my Facebook notifications so I’m not longer notified by email when someone comments on my page, likes a link or even adds me as a ‘friend’. That means I’ll no longer get Facebook on my phone. That also means (I found out rather quickly) a whole lot of freedom & time. I actually had a bit of time to read a book (on Yoga) in the afternoon yesterday! And today, we made time to do something social. It was nice!

There’s a lot changing in our lives right now. Lars and I bought our first shared pets today, Mikky & Malorie the Siamese Fighting Fish. We’re increasingly thinking & talking about making human babies and other things that the future might hold for us. Next year, we intend to buy property – sometime after of course, our April wedding.

Spending an hour a day on myself meditating is opening a whole new world of calm for me. It’s also helping ground me in ways I never knew possible. I feel inspired as I watch what would normally stress me right out roll its way through my entire being with each breath, like a leaf in the wind. I’m finding a true sense of calm and contentment in my life – and that’s all kinds of awesome.

I’m not angry anymore about that stupid bitch. She’ll get hers, one day.

My brother and his girlfriend (the soon to be parents of Lars and my newest niece or nephew) came by for dinner tonight. Jesse called his father who insisted on talking to me, and then informed me that my aunt Patty has been diagnosed with lung cancer and has been given two years to live.

I’m just learning to deal with the stress with the everyday things like my job and my health for fucks sakes… I’m trying really hard not to make this about me, but fuck is it ever hard. Either I’m just selfish like that, or life really does need to throw me one goddamn lemon after another… But tonight… Tonight I’m making lemonade.

Jesse and Rachel are off buying an Ice Cream cake. I’ve asked them to make sure it says something lovely about the woman we could all live without. We’re going to eat that bitch sister of mine in some nasty way like we ate my grandmother a few weeks back.

And then next weekend, we’ll go show Patty some love over dinner.

My horoscope for 2012 says this year I’ll be hard to deal with. Maybe it has something to do with this year throwing more shit at me than I want to bother with. Or maybe, that’s just the stress still talking.

I’m sick but that’s ok. It’s a tired, stuffy-headed, sniffly, sneezy, brain-in-the-clouds, kind of sick and not the I-want-to-puke-while-pulling-my-own-hair-out-and-shedding-my-own-irritated-skin kind of sick. I can live with this sick. And I’d rather be sick now than during Christmas or over the New Year.

And today, I was reminded once again how lucky I am. I was allowed to leave work a few hours early today – not really because I’d asked, but because it worked and I really am not feeling well. My brain already seems to want to turn off before 8pm anyway, so working until this time is harder on me than it used to be. I’ve spent the extra few hours I have cuddling on the couch, and re-baking the dinner buns I tried earlier but managed to kill the yeast with heat so they didn’t rise properly. This time, they rose perfectly. Now I know exactly what I’m bringing to our ‘Something like Christmas dinner on the 17th’. And they are good!

Tomorrow is Lars tattoo day. I cannot wait to tease him as he get stabbed billions of times over and over and over again. I cannot wait to see the finished result and to help him heal. I <3 him. And I love that I’m able to give him this (in a way). Even if he won’t tell me what he got me for Christmas.

Buns are about ready to beep at me. And my eyes are growing weary. I’ll sign off with a big breath of contentment. Life is good. Even when I’m sick.

Every morning you wake up fresh. Whole new sets of decisions are presented to you, because each morning is the first morning of the rest of your life. It dawned on me today, how profoundly true that is.

I’ve come to a place in my life where I realize can choose my fate. I don’t mean that like some godless atheist who thinks they can predict the future, their time of death, or is immortal, but rather, I understand clearly how my actions today will create my tomorrow. I choose to be happy. To be happy, I need to surround myself with people who make me smile. I need to do things I take pleasure in. I need to find what makes me feel physically and mentally happy and I need to use that information to take care of my body, my spirit and my mind because when I’m taken care of, I feel good. I choose to love and be loved – because that makes me happy. I choose to accept my mistakes and embrace lessons as they are presented to me because this makes me grow, and growing, understanding also makes me happy.

When the Whore of Lucifer was just 13 years old, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Anastasia was born on Aug 20th, 1992. With the encouragement of my mom, the stupid cunt being no more suitable a mother 20 years ago than she is today, gave her baby up for adoption. Anastasia found us on Sept 27, 2011. I believe her biological mother Sheila has not succeeded in offering another person on earth a single good thing, but brought only pure evil to this planet and we who inhabit it. Having served no real purpose to anything or anyone, I believe she should douse herself gasoline and light a fucking match. But perhaps I’d missed something. Perhaps Anastasia is the positive purpose of Sheila’s otherwise wasted life? Whatever she is, we will embrace her as a part of our family. We love her already. We will care for her and support her as best we can. And we have 20 years to catch up on.

As I grow up, become more positive, more content, and so much closer to being completely happy, my family is growing. I can’t help but feel perhaps I just didn’t have enough love in the past for me, let alone for others. And now that I do, they’re all migrating towards me. When my mom died, I felt I could count on one hand the number of people I had to fall back on, the number of family members. In fact, I felt like I really only had my step-father and my brother.

Then I found Lars. And with Lars came a family full of love. Each and every one of his family members has done all they can to embrace me and mine as one of their own. They love us. They teach us to love more openly. They are there if we fall – and they’ve made sure I know that includes me too. Lars and I are beginning to plan our wedding now. We’ve been looking into renting a castle for the ceremony, and we’ve asked the greatest hippy we know to marry us. We’ve talked about children too, and have tossed around the idea of adopting, actually – but that is for another entry.

Then I found my brother and sisters. Renee came out with her boys and suddenly I felt a little more whole. Renee and I hit it off right away. For two people who lived such different lives, and who are such different people, we sure do have a lot in common; share a lot of ideals. I love her to death and regret not knowing of her sooner. I’ve yet to meet Brandy, Amanda or Adam and though I can’t wait to meet Brandy and Adam, I’m not so sure about Amanda. She has refused to talk to me at all making clear she doesn’t want or need another sister. She has hardly said a word to me in the months since I added her to my facebook and have reached out to get to know everyone. But then recently, she doesn’t hesitate to give me her address (without a pleasantry, a ‘thank you for thinking of us’ or ‘hello’ even) when I mention my I’m preparing my Christmas list. I can’t help but wonder how much positive energy there is to be found there. I’m starting to think maybe there’s not enough for her, let alone enough for her to share with others. Some people choose to be miserable – and though they blame the whole world for being at fault, they’ve chosen to take those steps that minimize the size of their world – the amount of their happiness, the love they let in. I know that way of life all too well, as I lived it for way too long. I can live without that in my life now. Though I do hope to one day meet her son and my biological nephew Kolton, one day. I have patience.

We had Thanksgiving dinner tonight. My brother, his new lady, her father and brother (who happen to be our neighbors, we'd never met until tonight) all joined Martin and I. It was a fantastic evening, though would have been even better if Lars was closer, especially as today is his birthday. He’s in Manitoba again, falling trees. I miss him a whole lot and cannot wait until he gets home again.

Anyway, it’s been way too long since I shared my thoughts here – and as such, I've rambled on and on and on when all I really wanted to share is, it really is up to you, your happiness. Forgive the long delays between posts. Turns out when you choose to start living life, there’s not a lot of room for much else (at least until you learn to organize your time a little better!!!)!

I woke up this morning and logged onto Facebook. Staring me in the face was this status, ‘Ask yourself, what would you love to do and then do it. R.I.P. John Lennon.’

The timing is impeccable, as lately, I’ve been asking myself what it is I love and whether or not I should be making some major life changes. For a long time I wasn’t able to answer a question like, ‘What do I like,’ or ‘What makes me happy.’ My answers were always something along the line of, ‘I can’t tell you want I want or love, but I can tell you what I don’t want or don’t love.’ Times are changing, evolving and so am I. I’ve learned I love endorphins. I love physical activity (once I get into the routine). I love working out at the gym. I’ve learned I love to laugh. I love comedy. I enjoy good, wholehearted company. I’ve learned I love people and I’ve learned I love to learn.

So I’m thinking about going back to school. To be precise, I’ve been thinking about going back to college to get a degree in Exercise & Wellness. It would mean becoming a full-time student for two years. It would cost around $8000. I would have to take a student loan, and I would have to either leave my job or reduce my hours to part-time. But in the end, I would come out with a degree in something I love, a stepping-stone to further education if I want it, a potential career as a personal trainer or something along those lines and a healthier, possibly happier me.

I’m scared of change though. And this is a big one. Perhaps it’s a leap of faith in me that I have to take?

I laughed though it really wasn’t funny. It was a nervous laughter, as I sincerely didn’t know how to answer the question, “do you consider a permanent coma, paralysis from the neck down, or any condition that would require permanent life support and intolerable (unacceptable) condition?”

I was in the Notaries Public office and having just signed off on my Last Will (created for the purpose of keeping two unscrupulous people, I have the misfortune of being related to, away from my estate and personal remains). I had already signed Power of Attorney over to my father and was in the process of signing my “Health and Personal Care Instructions for Representative(s) or Family And Friends, in accordance with Act, s9 Representation Agreement Act, s.16”: a stepping stone before actually signing away my sanity under the Ulysses act. Ulysses act is something serious though. It must be signed in the presence of an attorney, in order for it to be legal. Here’s what is says:

The adult authorizes her Representative to:

(a) physically restrain, move, or manage the adult, or have the adult physically retrained, moved, or managed, when necessary despite the objections of the adult;
(b) give consent, in the circumstances specified in the agreement, to specified kinds of heath care, even though the adult is refusing to give consent at the time health care is provided;
(c) refuse consent to specified kinds of health care, including life-supporting care or treatment;
(d) give consent to specified kinds of health care, including one or more of the kinds of health care prescribed under section 34 (2) (f) of the Health Care (Consent) and Care Facility (Admission) Act;
(e) accept facility care proposal under the Health Care (Consent) and Care Facility (Admission) Act for the adult’s admission to any kind of care facility;
(f) make arrangements for th temporary care, education and financial support of
i. the adult’s minor children, and
ii. any other persons who are cared for or supported by the adult;
(g) do, on the adult’s behalf, any thing that can be done by an attorney and that is not mentioned in paragraphs (a) to (f) or in section 7 (1);
(h & i) Repealed 2001-2-30

Tomorrow, I call to make an appointment with the attorney to literally sign away my sanity in accordance with that act. My mother lost her mind. My worst fear is that I will too. What I’m doing now is being prepared.

It scares the fuck out of me. It makes my death a reality. But it has to be done.

If every month could be July, and every day be the 23rd, I’d wish that true so that everyone remember you… always. I miss you mom.

This month has been hard. Thoughts of you haunt me at night, when I go to bed. And I never see you healthy. I always seem to see the sick, disturbed, even deranged you. It keeps me awake. So I take pill… then another… and another. I’m certain Lars thinks I have a problem. Maybe he’s right. But I was disturbed before you died. And then I found your bottle. You’d recently been prescribed the same meds as I. I knew all along mom. If only your cunt of a mother hadn’t taught you shame… we’d have lived through this together. You’d not be dead.

So many things killed you. So many things to blame... So many little things that would have saved you… If just one of them wasn’t the way they were…

But time and time again, I blame another portion. The Canadian system, alcohol, your mother, the doctors, those who watched you die… Deep down I know, blame does no one any good. It was your time.

But it’s not mine. I’m not ready to mourn you. And it hurts today if it was yesterday. And I don’t care if today is not the 23rd. I miss you and am mourning you now damn it!

You should not be gone so soon. Lars and I are throwing around the idea of having a baby one day. How can I do that without you?

I’m about double that age now. Double the age I was when I thought I knew just about everything. And now I can see that I really know nothing at all.

Things change so drastically as we age. Events unfold altering who we are from our very core. I’m fairly certain my life’s events have left me utterly insane. I’m ok with that though.

Trying to pull together the strings of my life and make some rational sense of what’s left in my irrational world, I’ve found myself subject to more stress than I know how to manage. Stress kills – literally. It started with my hands. I was recently diagnosed with Raynaud’s. My immune system is shot and it seems I’m suddenly allergic to some unknown substance – I have welts and rashes.

I’m getting old; so old I can start to complain about random ailments even as I finally start taking real note of my health.

The last few months I’ve found myself a bit of a fitness freak. I’ve replaced smoking with hours in the gym. Generally, I feel and look better than I probably have in years. But I’m falling apart. I know it. I can feel it. Time has taken her grip and is sucking me in. And it feels like it’s taking her no time at all.

But I’m not sure how funny any of them are.

A week or so ago I went camping. While there, I met a boy who was trying hard to make a good first impression on me. In the wee hours of the morning, in the middle of the bush, next to the river, miles from civilization he thought to impress me by showing me his caveman abilities. He tried to pick me up and throw me over his shoulder and carry me off caveman-style, forgetting only that he was too drunk to catch and forcing me right over his back and into the wet sand... face first.

With the smash of my face into the ground, and the bleeding nose that followed we made our way back to the cabin.

I woke the next morning with a bruised face, and torn legs and feet. My biggest concern that my nose was still strait after already breaking in my early teen years. But it seems it was my forehead that hit the ground and not my nose, so as the bruises started to heal I thought myself fine...

...until 3 nights ago.

As I slept I felt a rush of liquid gush out of my nose. When I woke, I thought I must have been dreaming and thought nothing of it until I was getting ready for work and it happened again. I pulled a hair brush through my hair and spontaneously, a gush of clear, water-like fluid spilled out of my left nostril. I didn’t have a cold. I had no known sinus problems. Just this fluid. From work I called the nurses hotline and asked her about my symptom. She suggested I go to the hospital immediately. As stubborn as I am, I finished my shift and went only at 11pm that night. I ended up there, then home, then to the ER again only to return home the following morning at 8am. I’ve been on bed-rest ever since. I’ve been told not to cough, not to sneeze, not to push too hard while going to the bathroom, not to pick up anything heavier than the size of a small dog, not to move too fast or too much.

I have a fractured skull.

I can’t help but laugh at it, and that’s probably only because I feel so fine. I’m handicapped though at the moment, realizing I can’t do laundry myself, or even sweep my floors. The fear is that the longer the break stays broken, the longer the brain is no longer sterile, and the higher the risks of getting an infection, meningitis. The only other symptoms I’ve noticed over the past week are sensitivity to sound, head ache and neck ache. But the aches I’ve suffered regularly in the past as well, so I’m not sure how associated they are. I've been told if there is any noticeable change in them, to contact the Dr. immediately.

This morning however, I actually took a look at my face, and realized there is still bruising between my eyes. It's not too obvious, and looks deep, under the skin. And perhaps my recent depressive mood is a symptom as well.

I have a CAT scan being scheduled, and a neurosurgeon has been contacted. The next few weeks are not going to be fun for me at all. But I laugh, and I joke about how I now have a reason to do stupid things, or what being blond didn't accomplish for my intellect, my subconscious is fighting hard to make happen... I was dropped on my head.

And of course, the reason cavemen no longer exist is obvious... Either their killed their potential mates, or they failed so miserably at impressing them, they never got laid.

Out of all life’s emotional throws, I don’t think anything hurts as deeply or sincerely as the sound of your mother’s tears. This is true, even when those tears are about the silliest, mundane things; when it’s something real, something tear-worthy, it’s a like a dagger in your heart.

Mom called me this morning. My father left for Ontario last week and my brother finally moved out of her house. She’s been all alone for 3 or 4 days now. So I’ve been calling daily with hopes to check in on her. Not once has she answered her phone. This morning she called me back. This morning she was straight.

I have a bit of a cold. My throat is itchy, my muscles feel frozen, and my skin hot. But today is better yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. During our conversation my mother talked about her own medical issues, the perpetual need to run to the bathroom. The fact that sometimes she can’t make it and had to move a bucket next to the bed yesterday is what cracked her voice, broke her composure, and brought her to tears, “It’s horrible, “ she quivered. All the while, she was insistent that I go to the doctor because I really don’t sound good. Funny that is, the words I should have been saying to her, she was saying to me first.

The tears stopped and she talked about the frustrations of having a dead battery on her cordless phone, she asked if disconnecting her internet account – because my brother moved out taking the computer with him, would disconnect his account wherever he is at as well. She talked about the bills he left behind and she asked about a solution to her laundry. All in all, she sounded good.

I told her a bit of lighter, happier things that have been happening around here. I had her laughing a little, and smiling a lot, I know. I suggested she come out for a visit, and she responded that she doesn’t want to give the children whatever it is she has. “One doctor said he thought it was Tuberculosis,” she said, “I don’t want to give that to the kids!” No doctor ever made such a suggestion. One doctor did ask if she had ever been diagnosed with TB in past as a history of it would explain some of her vitamin deficiencies. And she hadn’t. In her mind though, his was made up. And TB is what dooms her.

I’d rather listen to hear talk in circles and answer her silly questions than listen to her cry. But even as we ended the conversation she made me promise that if I get worse, I’ll go see a doctor.

I didn’t need it. I wanted it. I could have come home and gone to bed. Instead, as soon as I was dropped home, I jumped into my car and to the store to buy a pack. I then drove to Whistler, because I live so fucking close and hadn’t bothered to do it yet. From Whistler, I drove back into town, to Shoppers where I bought the lightest, brightest blonde hair dye I could find. I now sit waiting for it to take to my somewhat brown hair. I dyed it dark at the start of winter. It’s still fucking cold, but it’s time to be blonde again.

I met a boy. He confuses me. I confuse me. I don’t need a boy. But I think I may want one. And even worse, I think I may want him. But he’s so wrong for me in so many ways... and so right in so many others. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing with him. But I know next time I see him, I’ll be blonde.

Boys are bad. Girls are worse. And I smoked a cigarette.

With every separation
every lover of mine lost
with every aching craving
every unrequited lust
I’ve carried doubts.

This time it is no different
you haunt my heart and mind
creeping out of nowhere
you never fail to remind
I need you.

But like every failed union
every one I’ve left behind
like every other reason
and every other time
you do me wrong.

And like every other swindler
every other con
concealed all true intentions
sang a hypnotizing song
and fooled me.

But now I turn my back
I’m finally able to see
the sadomasochistic binding
between you and me
needs breaking.

With every time I burned you
sizzled your fragile skin
with every intimate moment
I took you deep within
you tried to take my life.

~*~

I quit smoking yesterday. It’s almost amazing how much it feels like losing a lover. It’s the first thing I’ve felt passionate enough about to write poetry in years it seems.

Thursday evening I had to leave my office for the pharmacy because I had what I thought was a tooth ache. It was severe, anyone who knows me knows I don't leave work for anything at all. Anyway, I picked up oragel, and a bunch of serious cleaning crap thinking maybe I was getting a gum infection. When I got home I scrubbed the shit out of my mouth. I woke up the next morning (Friday) hurting even worse with a nasty swelling under my tongue. I called a dentist and made an emergency appointment for that day. When I got there, the dentist had a bunch of x-rays done, counted my teeth, and told me I had perfect teeth. The pain he said could be caused by a damaged or ruptured saliva gland. He gave me antibiotics to take 3 times a day said he'd see me again in 8 days, and sent me home, with nothing for the pain. It cost me $200 - and he didn't even clean my teeth.

I woke up Saturday morning (after taking the stupid antibiotics as he'd prescribed) wishing someone would cut my fucking head off the pain was so bad. My sister took me to Emergency in the hospital. I have a stone (like a kidney stone) in my saliva gland. They gave me a shot of Morphine and examined my mouth. They put me on antibiotics by IV, and had me go back each day at 9am and 9pm to get another dose. In between I was given a stronger antibiotic by pill to take every day at 3pm. For the pain, they gave me T3's (which relieved pain for about 20 minutes) and Oxycontin (which relieved pain for about an hour). My chin swelled up so it looked like I had a fucking Adam's Apple in the wrong spot.

On Monday, I went to Vancouver and saw an oral surgeon, who was meant to cut the fucking thing out of my mouth. He couldn't because it was so inflamed. Instead, he upped the dose of Anitibiotics by IV and sent me back home - and to the hospital twice a day. Finally, on Wednesday the swelling stared going down, the pain started to subside, and they were able to take me off IV, and god damn it feels nice to take a shower without a fucking needle stuck in my arm to get stuck in my hair! I'm on oral antibiotics 4 times a day until it's down far enough to operate or the stone passes on it's own. I still have a swelling under my tongue. And I still have all the pain killers in case I need them. I've also been put on some other drug to help with the inflammation.

All I can say is it fucking hurt. But as if all that isn't bad enough, now that I'm better I had to turn into a masochist it seems. This morning, I managed to fall down my wooden steps ripping the shit out of the entire right side of my body. It doesn't end there, either. While leaving my sisters house and getting into my car, I convinced myself for a moment I would be able to multitask... Surely, I should have been able to open the car door and wave at the neighbor simultaneously -- but hell no... I smashed the left side of my face into the car door. I am one big, HUGE walking fucking bruise it seems.

Oh, and we currently have blizzard conditions of wind chills reaching -20, winds expected to be at 90 km/h, and snow bringing visibility to about zero. And I don't have snow tires on my new car.

When it snows, it really fucking dumps.

Karma is a bitch, I wish I knew what I did to deserve this shit storm... He asked me to leave and I did. When someone else he knows shows interest in me, he says he’s fine by it. When I’m seen in public with that someone else, shit hits the fan and my life becomes a soap-opera again. I’m not even on the fucking island and I’m the center of attention.

My father and mother are separating and it’s certain. She’s been in touch with a lawyer who since got in touch with my father’s lawyer. I’ll end up having to testify and that’s fine. The truth will not work in my mother’s favour but the way I see it, she hates me so much without any reason anyway, what more can the truth cause? With any luck, I’ll at least be able to help my father out. Any financial gain she takes away from this separation will be pissed away on alcohol, lawyers’ fees and whatever random crap she decides to pick up from junk shops along the way. She’s already been selling off her gold and pearls to feed her habits. It disgusts me to know what’s she’s done, what she’s attempting to do, and where it’s all going to lead. I wish I knew how my mother became what she is today, and I dread the day I become the same.

I’ve been here just over a week. I haven’t taken a single anti-depressant pill and I feel fantastic – despite the drab things that seem to be happening in my life. I’m well on my way to finding a job and generally, I’m happy. Let’s hope it stays that way.

160 of those pounds are the boy I just walked away from. The rest is all me...

Since the start of this uproar, I haven’t been able to eat. Initially, I tried to force-feed myself only to realize that just made me feel over-bloated and worse than I already felt. Soon, I decided not to fight it. This was the silver lining to my cloud, the good bit that’s coming out of this breakup. I look better, I don’t feel half as fat, and I’m able to fit into a bunch of old clothing that I haven’t worn for months. And it was all in a matter of a few weeks.

I’m starting to worry about it though now. Sometimes, I’ll go for two and a half days without eating a thing. It’s only when I remember that I haven’t eaten in so long that I’m able to force myself to eat half a cup of soup and maybe a piece of bread, or so. And now, when I put anything in my stomach, I automatically want to vomit. I try lying down for a while after I eat. I try drinking lots of water. Nothing takes away the queasiness food seems to give me.

I wonder if this is the start of one of those crappy eating diseases like anorexia or bulimia. No matter how much I feel like I want to throw up right now, I refuse to allow myself to out of fear of becoming bulimic. But forgetting or being unable to eat for days may very well be the start of anorexia. I don’t want or need such an added issue in my life – but I’m willing to bet this is going to end up being my next big challenge. Food feels like an enemy now. It's hard to make yourself do something that feels so shitty.

Always got to be something going on in my life... It’s really starting to suck.