I don’t care who reads this.
I don’t care what you think.
I don’t care what you do from here.
Today is one of those really weird days.
One of those where I feel like a puppy, helplessly thrown onto it’s back, a stranger wolf called ‘Life’ standing over me, baring it’s teeth, eyes narrowly fixated on me, suggesting the tiniest move will get my throat crushed by teeth of steel.
We all have days like these. Days where we feel useless, unmotivated, defeated.
Days where we feel frozen in place in a very dark place, unable to move. Usually, during days like these, my mind would take off, racing at top speeds running over every topic that may come up as association based on the memorial wiring in my head, eventually starting to operate multi-threadedly on all those topics, it’s subtopics, and so forth. It’s like tree branches with splits – some leaves may touch at their very tips, merging the ends, at which the signal dies, causing a new one to start again at the trunk, following a new path with those many splits until eventually it dies again and the whole process repeats once more. It feels like an unstopable force.
But this time, it’s not as usual. Thanks to my medication, my thoughts are forcefully slowed, making the whole process more of a conscious thing, systematically crushing me under the weight of my own dark side. The one, nobody wishes to meet. The animalistic, dark force living within every human being. The medication I’m taking is called Pregabalin. It is being used against epilepsy as well as neurotic pain. In my case, it is for the pain in my left upper calf. It’s been there for a while, but never caused serious problems until a year ago when I had something like an attack, a weird spasm that brought me to my knees unforseeably in my bathroom, overwhelming my head with a continuous shower of lightning. After a while, it got better, but now it’s back. For the past 6 months I’ve been struggling again with the very same type of pain and this time, it doesn’t seem to be willing to leave me alone.
I can’t work. I can’t walk for long. I can’t do shit. I’m stuck at home for the most part – and if I decide I want to go somewhere, I’m fine until I rest. When my leg starts calming down, the lightning comes back, the root of it being located in my calf, shooting down the entire backside of my leg, causing my brain to go haywire. I can barely take it. It overruns my head, I cry, I can not take another step. Stretching my leg straight is impossible at this point. I am trapped in a hunched over position in an attempt to lessen the pain somehow, my leg at a 90 degree angle or fully bent back so my calf touches my thigh – whatever I feel like may work, but it rarely does.
Can I call this ‘Recovery’?
It takes quite a long time to recover from incidents like this. But I have no choice. My dog needs to be walked, I need to take showers where the hot water and standing there will trigger my pain, groceries need to be bought. It is inevitable to do *something* *some time* and I sometimes catch myself being already scared of the next time I have to push myself. It’s not like I want to keep sitting at home. In the beginning, it wasn’t bad. I felt like I get time to recover.
Now, months into being ‘sick’, I feel sick of being sick. I fucking have enough. What’s this madness anyway? Doctors holding me off, pulling the breaks on me, MRI here, X-Ray there, another MRI with contrast, pumping poison into my veins – fuck you all, you retarded bastards and shut up! Cut my leg off already as I have asked you numerous times! No. If you think you have control over your own body, you are terribly mistaken. Others make choices for you, and if you beg on your knees to get something cut off, you get called psychotic.
My MRI’s revealed a small 2 by 1 cm growth exactly where my pain is. But at this point, I just want my leg gone. I don’t feel like it’s mine anymore. What I once took for granted, what brought me from place to place without mechanical assistance in form of crutches or a wheelchair has now become an unwanted piece of flesh and bones. Someone please rid me of it.
You do not know my pain.
You will never know my pain.
And yet, I get judged and called names, looked at weird.
I don’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t want to be on medication that leaves me laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling for a full hour while my medication is at it’s peak, leaving my breathing depressed, making it hard for me to expand my chest to get air, making me feel like I just had the best weed available on the planet, incapable of moving, weighing my entire body down with led, loosening my muscle tonus. When I’m like this, I feel disgusting. I feel like I was put on a heavy sedative. During that time, I do still feel the pain in my leg, but it’s more dull, I don’t experience it as so penetrant, more as if it’s somewhere on the other side of the room instead of on me directly, dull, flat, far, I don’t care about it anymore, or anything for that matter. This effect lasts for about one hour. I need to take my meds between 2 and 4 times a day. After the horror hour is over, I become more and more conscious again, it’s like you’re taking a ride in a taxi back into reality. It’s far, so it takes long, but the closer you get, the better it gets. However, you’re just a passenger, so you have no say over how fast you go.
Again, no control.
The real suffering
The past six months were an up and down for me. Sometimes, the pain gets better after days of minimizing walking to routes between my bed, computer and bathroom. Once I dare to try a bit more, I get suckerpunched. It’s a constant flip trip. Knowing I have a better phase doesn’t help me, it makes me more consciously watch for when the bad phase will start again. You’d think at some point you get used to the pain. If it was constantly at the same level, maybe. But like this? No. It comes at surprises. Walking with the heel on the ground instead of just my toes – bad idea. Turning around to face someone talking to me – bad idea. Standing up straight for longer than 5 minutes – bad idea. I became conscious about my every move. And if I happen to forget, my leg makes sure I get a very painful reminder of my misdoing.
The other side of this up and down is also my mind. I am, at this point, severely suffering the mental consequences of being stuck at home, feeling useless, trapped, left alone, helpless. The pain controls my moods as much as it controls my logical thinking. I get snappy like a fulltime bitch when I have a bad phase, and incredibly emotional when I have a good phase, feeling bad for my outlashing on either strangers, friends and/or family members. Thank god I find myself being part of a very understanding family. That still doesn’t change the fact that they do not deserve to be treated like that.
I’m not constantly depressed. I make this website, which we needed for our server project anyways. I am active in support for a well known minecraft plugin. I have my painfully expensive drawing tablet for when I feel creative. I have my favorite music, which my neighbors are sometimes forced to listen to. I have a plugin in the making at the moment. I got plenty of stuff I can do to distract myself. But sometimes, just sometimes, like today, the whole thing hits me. The thoughts are just going, I can’t stop it.
To tell you the truth
I am done. I am so done.
I just want all this to be over already. I question if my current doctor really is on my side like he says. I question whether or not he means the things the says. I’m scared. Not of the operation he promised me would have to happen. I’m scared that the operation may fail in some way. We still don’t know if a nerve is incorporated in this tumor. What if, to cut it out, they have to severe my nerve, which causes me to loose feeling in my leg from the knee down? What if something else during the operation goes wrong? This wouldn’t be my first one, I had my tonsils taken out and my finger sliced open longways to drain an abscess before. But no operation can guarantee anything. They can just try. That’s all I can do at this point, too. I can only try, try to get through this. But wishing to escape this without a permanent mark on me is too much. The damage is done already. Not my leg. My head. Since I’m me, I can’t tell if I changed a lot during this tour. But I bet I did. My mother keeps telling me how pale and sick I look whenever she comes to visit. I remember that I used to have very enthusiastic conversations with her a long while ago. Now, it’s dull, I barely react, I can’t express my happiness for her anymore when she tells me about how she renovated her house, or other achievements. I’m not jealous. I just don’t feel as deeply anymore as I used to. My relationship suffers very much under that same symptom.
In short. I’m at my limit. Physically and emotionally. No, don’t interpret into this that I will or think of killing myself. I’m too chicken for anything like that anyway.
I just exist. And that’s it.