Eight Years

Eight years ago today, my dad had a stroke. This was the beginning of the end of his life. So while Dec 19th 2016 was the day it started, he remained with us until his heart attack on March 21st 2017.

I miss him. The wisdom that he carried that makes mine seem so small in comparison. How much he loved Christmas, so that now in his absence I tolerate it's existance. I -hate- that he didn't get to see his grandson graduate from high school, education was always important to him. I -hate- that he didn't get to see that same grandson get married, and the happiness his wife brings him.

I was at work when it happened. I got a call from my stepmother telling me dad was at the hospital. I am fairly sure I violated all sorts of speed laws getting to said hospital. Apparently there is this medicine that they can give you that prevents several of the nasty side effects of a stroke. If they can give it to you in time. Good news, they were able to administer the medicine in time. Bad news, dad was allergic to it.

A nurse came out and spoke with me. Told me that dad kept trying to scratch, the medicine was making him itchy, and that I needed to come back and find a way to convince him to stop or they would have to strap him down. Dad HATED hospitals and disliked doctors "It's called a medical practice, why should I let them practice on me?" he would say. So I knew if they strapped him down he'd lose it. SO I went back.

My father was the strongest man I knew. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. As I held his arms down, to see my dad writing, crying, begging me to stop the itching broke me. They were coming with medicine to make the itching stop, but we'd have to wait, and then wait for it to kick in. But to see him, laid up in the bed begging for it to stop like he was being tortured. Damn I fucking broke.

He got better, was in the hospital for a few days and able to be home for Christmas. It was the last Christmas I'd have with my dad. It was the last year I have a picture of me, him and my son together. I know it seems odd for a fifty-one year old man to seem this upset by not having his father around any more, but you have to understand something.

During my teens, into my early twenties, my relationship with my dad wasn't the best. Hell it wasn't until after my sone was born that we started really bonding. I'd spent thirty years of my life feeling as if my dad loved my step-brother more than he loved me. And I learned way too late that was not the case. So I had to work through that resentment, towards him, towards the step-brother, and also in small part my step-mother. So I had, what thireteen good years with dad?

Death doesn't take a holiday. It doesn't care. But nor is it evil.

I miss my dad.

Updates

Dear Diary,

Since last we talked I managed to find myself in a relationship

For four months.

It seems when dating someone you have know for 13 years, they reach a point where they can't get past seeing you as more than a friend.

Oddly enough, I was not as upset by this as I normally may have been. More dissapointed really. shrugs

SO for the past few months I've just fallen back into my normal routine. Work, sleep, work. Rinse, recycle, repeat.

I did get a new car, one that is actually younger than my son. So that is progress I guess.

That's about all there is to report, who knows maybe 2025 will be better

someone whispers in my ear

Oh, yeah, the cheeto in chief got reelected, scratch that, reverse it. the next four years are gonna suck.

-END OF LINE-

Hypersomnia

the inability to stay awake and alert during the day despite having more than an adequate amount of nighttime sleep.

Now, let's clarify this by the fact that my work day is 10p-8a Wed-Sat, so I work third shift. I have no issues staying up when I have something to do. Work, taking my mother to doctor's appointments, running errands, etc.

But when there is nothing to do, no 'objective' I want to do nothing other than sleep. Doesn't matter if it is in my bed, or on the couch. If I'm not asleep I'm watching something on TV, or playing Fallout 4.

One would think this would lead to weight gain, yet since Febuary, I've lost 13 lbs. Maybe because I'm to tired or not motivated enough to cook for myself. Things that are easy to cook or eat have become the norm. Did you know that when you become an adult, you can have an ice cream sandwich for breakfast? Easier than cereal, and no dishes to wash.

I would chalk it up to depression, lord knows this year has given me more than enough reason to be. Add to that the one panic attack I think I mentioned previously, and I am fairly sure my mind is, if not broken, fractured. I started this blog because I can't afford therapy, and writing allows me to channel (even if I am rambling) my thoughts in some sort of way other than bottling it all up. I have two more hours of work left before I go home currently, and all I can think about is how good it will be to crawl into bed.

The fact that I am a fully functioning adult amazes me at times. My brother and I a few years ago noticed how our phone conversations had transitioned from talking about geek/nerd stuff to things like bills, and responsibilities. It was jarring how we came to the realization that we had grown up. Don't get me wrong, we were still geeks/nerds, but man....

So even with this overwhelming desire to do nothing but sleep, I still get thigs done. Bills are paid, laundry is done, dishes, Odin is fed. I eat... maybe. So it's not like it is interfering with my ability to function as an adult. But at the same time, it troubles me.

Why do I always want to sleep? Why can't I seem to get out of this funk I'm in? Why can't I stop beating myself up for Sansa's death? Why did I say something that made the woman I went on a date with uncomfortable? That last one may not be on me, as much as it is a result of her past trauma, and she is allowed that.

Hell, I don't even know if anyone is even reading this thing? I mean not that it matters, I started this so that I could juet vent when I felt the need. But at the same time, is there someone reading my blog and saying "man I wish I could help" or "dude, this man is fucked up in the head"? shrugs

At anyrate, time to make the doughnuts (or scones as the case my be)

Mark

I Miss My Lap Cat

Tomorrow, July 20th, would have been Sansa's 6th birthday. Five months later and I am still questioning what I could have done differently.

I've looked up signs of what cats typically do when they are sick. One of those is hiding. She never hid. Any time I sat down she was in my lap purring away.

How did I not notice she was sick? If I had noticed sooner, could it have kept her alive? How could I miss any sign that she was in distress? Was I a bad cat parent for not noticing? Why do I keep blaming myself? What could I have done different?

I am emotionally and mentally exhausted. When I am not at work, all I want to do is sleep. And then I'm reminded of how she always slept with me. Always wanted to be curled up under the blanket with me. So, when I do sleep, I don't sleep well. I go to bed, and I wake up feeling like 6 or 7 hours have passed, and it's only been 2.

And then there is Odin. He has been more affectionate and playful since Sansa left us. At the same time, you can tell he misses her. There are periods of the day where he roams the house looking for something, crying out.

People ask me if I will ever get another kitten. Part of me wants one, and part of me is afraid I will fail a new kitten the same way I failed Sansa.

And that seems to be the core. No matter what any one tells me, I feel as if I completely failed her. I feel as if I should have done/noticed more to help her. I feel as in her last days, weeks she didn't know why I wasn;t helping her.

Yes, I know way too much thought and emotion to attribute to a cat, but then again how do we know? How do I know?

How do I get past this? This is as much grief as it is me tearing myself apart and blaming myself, and I CAN'T.GET.PAST.IT.

Like butter that has been scraped over too much bread

I'm tired.
Not physically, but mentally I am exhausted. Lately, my routine has fallen into a cycle of work, sleep, errands, sleep, work. When I get off work, all I want to do is sleep. When my alarm goes off, all I want to do is hit snooze and sleep. When I'm at work, all I look forward to is going home so I can go to bed.
I've discovered this 'condition' is called hypersomnia. But again, without having seen a doctor, I have no true diagnosis.
I get three days off work a week, but typically I spend them running errands, or other things so it is almost like I am working, even on my off days. Add to that the exsessive heat we have been experiencing, and that leads to all sorts of just tired.
I wish I knew what to do. There are some studies on hypersomnia that say it is tied to depression, and I personally feel that could be the source. After the year I've had. Sure, my son getting married was a good day, but that is one good day compared to Sansa and Gordon's deaths. The anniversary of dad and granny's deaths. Sansa's birthday next week. Gordon's birthday a few weeks after his death. It just seems to be one loss compounded by another and the only outlet I have is this journal.
On the plus side, I've lost twelve pounds, so I guess that's a good thing?

Not against the In-Law

My son got married the other day. It reminded me again of how much I miss my dad, and how much he has missed. He didn't get to see his grandchild graduate, he didn't get to see his wedding.

And before you go into the "Well he was looking down from heaven". To that statement I call Bullshit. Heaven is supposed to be paridise. "there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away" - Rev 21:4. Do you really think someone in heaven could be looking down at all the death, sorrow, tears, and pain we go through on a daily basis? For those who subscribe to the idea of Heaven, I submit to you that those who went before us do not watch over us or look down on us from above, that would defeat the purpose of paradise. Every father wants his child to do better than him, and in that regard, I am a successful father. My son has made more intelligent choices with his life than I ever did at his age. He makes more money than me, he made a better choice in life partner than me. At the end of the day, my son is by an large more successful than I am today, and leaps and bounds ahead of where I was at his age. At the end of it all, I am proud of my son, and I miss my dad.

Just not you

So, my ex (who I am still good friends with) got married today. So why does it bother me.

Since my second divorce, I've not had a desire to ever get married again. But with this particular Ex the thought had crossed my mind, you know before I fucked it up. She and I both came into the relationship with the "never get married" mindset.

And yet today, she got married. The pictures I've seen are amazing, and the man she is with makes her happy, and her happiness is what is important.

But now all my brain can hear is "I do want to get married one day, just not to you."

Anyway, short post, had to get it out, who knows maybe more later.

An Answer!

So, I finally got an answer to why my date was 'no longer interested'. During the course of our evening there were several conversations had.

In one of these I discussed how I am overprotective of women. Don't get me wrong, my mother raised me that "a woman can do anything a man can do, but if a man is available she shouldn't have to" So I don't feel it is my duty to protect women. However I do feel at times there should be an intersession.

One of these times, when I was in my twenties, our gaming group had a member who was abusive to his wife. One day when we were at their house, the mr and mrs got into an argument. Several other friends were attempting to talk him down while he was pushing and shoving her into a wall. Just as I got to the top of the stairs he hit (and or) slapped her. To wit, I grabbed him by his neck and threw/shoved him down the stairs.

This is the story that was told. My date asked if I'd had done the same if she had hit the husband and I said I would have broken it up but no I would not had thrown her down the stairs.

Apparently, this made my date come to the conclusion that I have anger issues. Which I can see her point, when I was a younger man I was very much angry at a lot of things. But since she had dealt with men with anger issues in the past and it always turned out badly for her, she chose to remove herself from the chance of anything happening to her in the future.

THIS is an acceptable answer!!! I can live with this way better than "I don't know what to tell you I'm not interested". So I've been much better since then, other than the guilt of having made her feel uncomfortable or that I would ever hurt her. Which I wouldn't. I've always said that the moment a man raises his hand to a woman in anger, he is no longer a man.

But any rate, I have my answer. I accept it as a "no", and No means no.

As an aside, I will no longer seek to date humans, I will now be attempting to make contact with alien life

-end log-

From frustration

"From frustration first inclination is to become a monk and leave the situation." - Young M.C.

So, can someone explain women to me?

I had my first date in five years a a few weeks ago. Woman that I've known for a while, found out on her birthday that she had been attracted to me for a bit longer than I had been to her. We had a pretty good date, or so I thought.

Fast forward a couple of days and communication from her seemed to have declined. I asked if I had done anything wrong (I'm an overthinker). and was assured that I had not, just that she was "not interested".

So I am confused. How does a person go from being very attracted to another person to "not interested" in the span of a couple of days.Why does it seem, and why is she acting as if I did in fact do something wrong? If I did do something wrong, what the hell was it?

I am past the point of wanting to fix it, which is my go to. But damn it I want to know what the hell I did, or what the frak happened.

2024 can go to HELL

So, this year has been, without a doubt, the worst year I can actually remember. I mean we all thought that 2020 was bad, and after it was over things would get back to normal. Sadly nothing could be further from the truth.

So, where the frak do I even start to begin?

In 2017 I and my girlfriend at the time started fostering kittens. The first set was Odin and Loki. When it came time to take them to be adopted, we specified they were a bonded pair of brothers, and should be adopted togeter. I would stop by on the way home from work every day to check on them to see how they were doing. One morning, I stopped and only Odin was there. He was our first Foster Failure.

Now don't get me wrong, a lost of people hear "Foster Failure" and think that it is a negative thing, however in this instance Foster Failure is defined as "A scenario in which pet parents take in a foster animal, but ultimately adopt them as a permanent family member. "A scenario in which pet parents take in a foster animal, but ultimately adopt them as a permanent family member." So Odin came home and joined our family (Me, My Son, the girlfriend, and Ollie (her Fur Baby dashund).

Fast forward to 2018, we took in a foster who we named Sansa. Needless to say, she didn't even make it to the adoption agency, we failed right out of the gate. Sansa was by every definition a lap cat, any time you were sitting she was in your lap. Eventually, as all good things must do, my girlfriend and my relationship ended (on a good note, we are still friends to this day). Sansa and Odin stayed with me and my son, and of course Ollie went with her (although, I still got visitation with him.... see I told you amicable).

Last year the utter shitstorm of grief and pain started. Ollie (at the age of 14) crossed over the rainbow bridge, surrounded by family and friends. In all my years, I've never really experienced the loss of a pet, and even though Ollie wasn't mine I was still (by his mother's words) his dad. Even as I type this tears are welling up in my eyes just thinking about it. Ollie was pure love, there was no other way to describe him. I think I may dedicate a whole other blog to how I met him, which is a funny story to say the least.

Now, let's talk about the shit storm 2024 has been. Sansa got sick in the first few weeks of Febuary. After a couple of days I took her to the vet (BTW if you live in or around Ooltewah TN, take your pets to Applebrook), it was time for her annual checkup anyway, plus I was worried because she had stopped eating for a couple of days. The first thing that we discovered is that in the past year she had gone from 8lbs to 5lbs. Not a good sign. Tests were done, xrays taken, and the determination was that she had something wrong with her liver. I was given meds and a special formula food to take home to feed her with.

A week of trying to force her to eat, and she ate very little, spit most of what I fed her out. She'd drink water (which I'd mixed with pedialyte) but would not keep much if any food down. After a week I took her back to the vet, and she'd lost a whole other pound. Conversations were had, her liver was failing. There was a discussion of taking her to an emergency surgery vet, but my vet said he didn't think she'd make the trip. While they took her back to see what they could do, I called my ex (still technically Sansa's mom) crying. We had the conversation and made the choice to let Sansa cross the Rainbow Bridge.

I felt like such a failure as a pet owner. How did I miss the fact she'd lost so much weight? How did I not notice how sick she was? How long did she suffer in silence? All the while still crawling in my lap and purring her cute little lungs out. Could I have done something sooner? Should I have done something sooner?

So that was Feb 15th. You'd think that would be enough right? No, the universe wasn't done with me yet. Shortly after midnight on the 17th, my sister-in-law calls me. She never calls me. See, my brother Gordon had been taken to the hospital that Wed (14th). I had planned on going to see him on Sun (18th). So when I picked up the phone the only thing I could say instead of "hello" was "Please don't tell me what you are going to tell me." But of course, the universe seems to hate me this year, and she informed me that Gordon had passed away. So, there was that.

Mind you Gordon was not my "biological" brother. We met in summer school thirthy-four years ago. They say sometimes you get to pick your family, and in this case we soon got to the point where we stopped referring to ourselves as "best Friends" but instead as brothers. In fact, Gordon was fond of reminding me that "I'm not your friend, I'm your brother damn it."

So within two days I'd lost one of my fur babies, and my brother. I think a week later I woke up having a panic attack. No idea what triggered it, all I know is I woke up with my heart pounding and breathing like I'd ran a marathon (like I would ever do that). That is when I decided that maybe I'd start looking for a therapist. Yeah, fuck that noise. the least expensive one I've found was $150/session, and wanted to do three sessions a week. I can afford, comfortably, on my budget one session a month. So that wasn't an option. As an off hand note, if you try to use Betterhelp, hit yourself in the head with a 2x4, it will be more therapudic.

Now we come to March, and April. March 21st was the 7 year anniversary of my dad's death, the 23rd was Gordon's birthday, and April 6th will be the 23rd anniversary of my grandmother's death. I started trying to write a poem, poetry is my escape, but it turned into this.

Needless to say, I have no clue where the hell my head is right now. I just know I had to get this all out, and since journalling is supposed to be therapudic (and apparently cheaper than actual therapy, god I fucking hate the American health care system) here we are.

Be on the lookout for more of these as times go by, because for some reason I think I'm gonna need it.

Thanks for reading
Mark