So, this week sucked for me. I shouldn’t say this but, fuck it, it’s true. I’ll start off with a simple list of exactly what happened this week, then I’ll explain why this week sucked because of all of that.
1. I woke up Monday morning in fucking AGONY.
2. Found out that I needed to have my gall bladder removed.
3. Spent the better part of two days unable to eat or drink anything.
4. Had my first, and hopefully last, surgery.
5. Found out I could have died.
6. And spent the entire four days I was in the hospital in incredible pain.
7. Spent most of my last day and night in the hospital fighting for a friendship (which I genuinely want) with a woman (who I, sadly still, also genuinely want) who is one of the most important people in the world to me.
And the number one reason this week sucked, before I give a much fuller explaination, is that the entire time I was lonely.
So I woke up Monday morning, around 6:30 in the morning, after only sleeping 3 hours (I miss all the sleep I got living with my ex,) in incredible pain. It was a pain I’ve felt before, a tight pain just below my right ribs in front and in my back, so I figured it would wain over time. As the morning wore on it only increased and my tolerance of it wore down slowly. Eventually my sister showed up, having been called by my mother, and muscled me into her car to take me to the hospital. I was in no position, or physical state, to argue with anyone about anything. I grabbed as much of my shit as I could manage and litterally crawled out to the car. I laid myself down in the back seat and huddled up on the floor with my phone.
As we were pulling away from the apartment my phone vibrated with a flurry of activity. I received several texts from a guy from my church (which I’m growing increasingly tired of) and an email from my ex responding to one I’d sent her. With trembling fingers I typed out a response to both informing them I’d not be able to repond properly because I was headed to the hospital. In response I received a text from my ex telling me she’d he praying and asked to be kept updated.
I’ll cut this short, and boil down four days of my life to their bare essentials. I lay in bed for four days with no one to keep me company. My mother sat with me most of Monday, my sisters came by for ten minutes on Tuesday, and again on Wednsday. I got cut open and had parts of me removed and I had to go through the whole thing alone. Though it was unlikely, it was still possible that something terrible could have happened in that hospital and I would have been alone when it happened. I originally put off this surgery because someone I loved couldn’t be there, because they wanted to be, and because I didn’t want to be alone. Two years later everything was different. Two years later I had no choice, I couldn’t put it off. And I had no one who was asking me to wait until they could be there. That same person for whom I had put off this surgery before wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t allow herself. And the oddest thing about the week is that same woman, that same woman who wouldn’t be there, was the only person to sort of keep me company. Several texts a day were exchanged between the two of us and, while it was good to talk to someone who mattered so much to me, they served to remind me how far I’d come from the last time I should have that surgery. I laid there in that bed as texts came through from her every couple of hours and thought about how differently that experience was from what I thought it would ever be like if I had that surgery before. I got messages from her that expressed concern but not love. Messages that asked about my physical state but not about me. They were nearly as distant in tone as the other people in my life were in proximity and it hurt. It hurt because I wanted her there. I wanted anyone, but especially her, to care enough to really be there for me and I didn’t have that from anyone. I went through all of in alone and she, the one I wanted most to actually be there, was the only one who even tried. And it sucked because I knew even in that attempt that she wasn’t really there. She wouldn’t be there the way I wanted or needed someone to be there for me. And I completely understood why she couldn’t be. I knew the way I was feeling wasn’t her fault in the least, she just caught some of it because she was there. No, she wasn’t physically there the way I would’ve liked, but she was there and her texts kept me company. And because she gave me that, because she was there, she caught the focus of my loneliness and that was wrong. It sad how we as humans tend to lash out, even if in our own heads, at the people who are right in front of us instead of those who deserve it. I know in my life I’ve caught a lot of shit that I had absolutely nothing to do with. But, to be honest, I could blame the drugs too becuse they were AMAZING. And not in a good way (not that there is ever really a good way with drugs.) Any way, I should probably suck it up and stop feeling sorry for myself. Sure, I almost died but it’s not like it was the first time. Hell, by my count, which is fairly accurate, it was the 22nd or 23rd (ok, maybe my count isn’t specifically accurate) so I should be well use to facing my mortality. Life’s a funky thing sometimes and you either roll with the tides or you get crushed by it. I prefer the rolling, myself. It looks way cooler.
(Dammit, none of my posts ever start and end with the same purpose anymore. I need to learn to be more coherant, or at least how to start making some kind of sense one of these days.)