loser…

me. blaine.

 

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Impending loss, and how to fail at coping

Fair warning. There’s some depressing shit in this post.

First off, we can’t go through writing some of this stuff again, so we’re copying the post we had to put up on Fb to let Lex’s friends know what was going on. Real names have been changed to protect privacy.

Hello to all of you who are Lex’s friends. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but some things have happened that have been very difficult to cope with, and updating has been far from my mind.

At the time that Lex made her last posts here, she was suffering from a form of psychosis. It’s not 100% clear what the cause was. It caused her to stop taking all of her medication, including her psych meds, and her kidney medication. The upshot of this resulted in her spending some time in the ICU on a ventilator and having dialysis, as her kidneys were not functioning and the weight of the retained fluids were pressing on her chest.

Unfortunately, the blood poisoning caused by her kidneys not functioning worsened the psychosis, causing her to believe that me and her mother were trying to harm her, and she refused to allow me to visit or call her. It’s taken months of dialysis to reverse the blood poisoning and psychosis, but it has, and she is now psychosis-free, thank the goddess. Unfortunately, the time spent without her kidney medication has caused her kidneys to fail, and she now needs dialysis three times a week.

Lex is now living in a care home, and is having dialysis three times a week. Sadly, the dialysis leaves her feeling quite ill, even though it is keeping her alive. This has been such a struggle for her, and she is very worn out. As she cannot accept a transplant due to personal reasons, she knows that this struggle has no discernible ending.

I find the next parts to be incredibly difficult to write, so please forgive me if I struggle to find the words.

Lex has decided that she cannot go on like this, and has made the decision to stop the dialysis, and let nature take it’s course. She has thought long and hard about this, and has talked with me and her mother about it. As much as it saddens us, and we wish it was otherwise, it is ultimately Lex’s life, and it is hers to live, or to leave. We will support her in every way we can, and stay with her to the end. Once she stops the dialysis, she has less than a month.

Our hearts are broken. I talk to Lex’s mother, every week, and we are supporting each other so that we can be there for Lex without breaking down. It is so very hard. 

Lex is currently putting her legal affairs in order, and is giving me Power of Attorney, so that I can carry out her final wishes, both legal and medical, in the way that she wants. I hope you will support me, as I do what I must.

Thank you all for being her friends. I know she treasures each and every one of you. Please, don’t forget her. She is a very special person, and she should be remembered with love and affection.

I’ll do my best to let you know how things are going, so please check back here from time to time.

With a heavy heart, and many tears shed

Nick

So. Our friend is going to die. Soon. That’s incomprehensible to us. I mean, they’re only 52, we should have years of time yet, right. But, we don’t. That future we all thought we had… wiped out. Gone. How can that be?

13 years of close friendship, more than friendship for some, comes to this. It’s beyond devastating. We’re beyond devastated. Except we’re mostly numb. It’s too big, too much, to feel. We can’t go there. We can feel the cracks, see the fractures, know that we’re slowly, inexorably, shattering, shard by shard. The worst is yet to come.

Lex is also Multiple. Some of us have long-standing relationships with some of them. There are families being torn apart, kids losing parents, partners losing partners. Never to hear their voices again. Numb.

They want us to introject them into us, but we don’t think we can. It’s not the same. They speak with a voice that isn’t ours, think with a brain that isn’t ours, they are not us. Introjected, they would be a shadow of themselves, and that would be like being haunted by the loss of who they really are, never-ending reminders of the pain. Can’t face that. Numb.

This has been an ongoing struggle for over a year now, fighting to get them to accept help, to accept that something was wrong, to make the doctors and hospitals see how serious the situation was. It took them ending up in ICU for the doctors and psych docs to see how badly they needed help, and to finally start taking us seriously. By that time, it was too late. Too damn late. FUCK. We were exhausted a year ago. Now, we’re just flat-out finished off. Our own health has suffered, badly. The sheer emotional stress has physically crippled us. We have nothing left to give.

Yet we have to keep giving. Lex need emotional support. Lex’s mother is 89 and lives alone in the US, and needs us too. We have a Partner and kids who need us. We’re running on empty, we have no reserves left, where is all this strength supposed to come from? We don’t know, but we have no choice but to keep going. We’re very afraid of the price we’re going to pay for all of this, mentally, emotionally, and physically.

We really miss being here, with you, our friends. We miss reading your blogs, hearing your words, sharing life with you all. We want so badly to be able to be there for you, to support you, to be with you. In our hearts, we always will be. For now, all we can do is hope that’s enough.

We love you, our friends. 

Ethan

Dunno where this is going, but…

This might make sense, there’s even a remote chance there’ll be pearls of wisdom in here, but don’t hold your breath. It’s more likely to be stream-of-consciousness crap.

It’s been a while so I doubt there’s anyone left to read this, but that’s ok. We haven’t been here to comment or support anyone, so that’s fair.

Our friend has been in hospital since January. In and out, bouncing between the medical hospital and the psych hospital. They’ve had a total breakdown. They spent a week on a respirator in ICU coz they won’t take their meds coz they think they’re poison. They’re refusing to let us visit, or even talk on the phone. They’re refusing to talk to their mum, and she’s 88 and lives in the US and is worried sick. It hurts to be rejected like this. Some of us have relationships with some of them, but now we don’t know if that’s true anymore. Left hanging. It hurts bad. Saddest of all is the cold, dead spot that’s growing where the love used to be. We can only take so much, and they’ve been pretty terrible to us for years. We feel like we’re losing them, already lost them, and we’re losing the will to care. That should break our heart, but somehow it’s just a hollow ache of no-more.

Life is hell sometimes.

Our shrink changed our psych meds. We’ve come off Zyprexa and changed to Seroquel. The plus side is we’ve lost 21lbs. The downside is that it doesn’t seem to keep us emotionally level like the Z did. We’re having highs and lows again, and we’re struggling to cope. Badly.  But after 4 years of being level, the lows are horrific. We’re a turtle in a shell, able to peek out at the world, but incapable of interacting with it. It’s too much. It feels like crushing pressure, and we hate that. We like interacting with our friends. We miss you, all of you.

Especially Jaime, a faint voice whispers. Soft, broken sobbing is heard, then fades away.

We start psychotherapy soon, and that terrifies us. Telling a stranger how we feel, what we think… Who We Are. That we’re here, we’re real, we exist. No no no, that’s all wrong, oh no. Back in the shell, denial denial.

We’re in constant pain now. We don’t see the colo-rectal surgeon till October. October. In 24/7 pain, can’t sit, even lying down hurts. Let’s not talk about the fear of needing the bathroom. Burning, stabbing pain that never ends. And months to wait for surgery. Don’t think we can cope for that long. Pain makes a person crazy out of their minds. We’re crying a lot.

Everything seems like it’s spiraling out of control, like a plane falling from the sky, trailing plumes of smoke and fire in it’s wake. Will we eject before it hits the ground, or will we be paste on the runway. We can’t find the eject button. Oh gods, where is it. The g-force is crushing our chest, it’s so hard to breathe. Don’t wanna write this, don’t wanna say. Wear the mask and pretend we’re good, like always. Don’t be a burden. Ever.

안녕  annyeong

Here we go again…

Y’know, I’m so tired of being sick, I really am. It’s winter (already!) and the season of the flu bug, and we catch them all. That’s what comes of having a totally shot immune system. P and the kids will get a cold, we’ll get flu. It’s annoying.
Spent last night sleeping in 20 minute stretches, waking up all the time for no reason, so we felt like we’d had no sleep at all. Went back to bed about 11am, and things started to get nasty. Burning up, cold sweats, can’t breathe, everything aches and hurts, nausea, wanting to barf despite taking anti-emetics, so much pain, and the nightmares, oh fuck, the nightmares. Finally crawled out of bed a couple of hours ago, feeling like death, and we still can’t shake the damn nightmares, except I guess they’re daymares now.

Abject misery, blind terror and stuck in flashback hell. Again.We can cope with most triggers, but not this, not feeling this ill.

*closes eyes* This too will pass, this too will pass, this too will pass…

By all the gods, let this get better soon.

-Blaine

OMG. Justice for the 96?

The true reports from Hillsborough have been released! And they prove that it was a cover-up by South Yorkshire Police. Just what we always knew, but to have it proven… I don’t have the words. 23 years.

Fuck you Duckenfield, you murdering scum. So many could have been saved if not for you. You stopped anyone from helping them. You allowed them to be pushed back into the pens to die. You stopped the ambulances from reaching them. You left them to die while you watched. And then you lied and lied and lied. You said they were rioting. You said they were drunk. You said they were stealing from the bodies of the dead. You blamed them for the deaths you caused.

Fuck you, South Yorkshire Police. You fucked up, and murdered 96 innocent people. You herded them to their deaths without a care. You put the blame on the dead, and those who lived with the torment of being there and surviving. You took blood tests for alcohol from the corpses. Some of them were CHILDREN, and you wanted to blame them for their own deaths.

Fuck you, The Sun. Your paper isn’t worth wiping my arse with. So your headlines immediately after were the”truth”? So the fans were pissing on the dead, were they? Stealing from them? Beating up the poor hard-done-by police who were “helping”? You’ve been proven for the fucking liars that you are. You wouldn’t print the truth if you knew it. Kelvin McKenzie, you’re the lowest of the low, pond scum is above you.

Well, I guess I had some words after all. The fury hasn’t abated.

We will never forget. Justice for the 96. YNWA.

Crying

Just had a blow-up with P. We’d left a pair of boots in the living room and he tripped over them. So he threw them across the room and cursed us out. Then, when we went to hug him, he pushed us away and said no hugs for us until we learn to do better and put stuff away.

I had to jump in and get us away before we broke down in sobs. I just said fine, and took us upstairs to bed. It’s only 6pm but who cares. We don’t cry in front of people, even our partner of 17 years. It’s too vulnerable, and we hate feeling vulnerable. Vulnerable always got us punished, or mocked, or told to stop being so silly. Or it was thrown back in our face. Showing weakness wasn’t allowed. It’s a very hard lesson to un-learn.

I can shut down my emotions in situations like this. That’s why it’s me writing. I’m angry, and numb. Others are sobbing their hearts out. Withholding of affection is one of our few remaining triggers, and it’s a big one. Being told we have to be better to be worthy of affection is a fast trip back to childhood. The closed throat, the choking feeling, the place inside where we feel worthless, it’s all there. Again.

I have to write, because the feelings need to be aired. Otherwise, they’ll fester.

I can feel the rising need to cry coming from Inside, so I’ll step back and let it happen now. People need the release of tears.

And yes, we still love him. We just can’t deal with things that most people wouldn’t bat an eyelid at. Thanks trauma for fucking us up.

Matthias