Here’s the latest post in…
[headline_arial_small_centered color=”#000000″]There Is No Bad Day[/headline_arial_small_centered]
(For clarity, in case you are just now seeing these posts…this is the middle of my story from 2012 that I’m writing. to start at the beginning, click on the link above and you can scroll through the posts in order with the links at the top and bottom of each page. Enjoy! (Or cringe, whichever feels more natural to you at the time;))
I was in no position to be helping anyone in the state I was in. I could barely talk this morning, let alone relate properly with people. And I was certainly in no position to be effectively and lovingly parenting. But for some reason (the natural fathering instinct I suppose) I felt compelled to step in and help Nan discipline Abe that morning. Rather than helping though, my actions became the final straw to break the camel’s back and initiated a tsunami of intense emotional suffering that assaulted me and most of my family, and felt like it would dash us all to pieces.
I was not my normal, capable self. I was a different person. The drugs, the pain, the starving, everything combined to change me dramatically. And despite the fact that it breaks my heart in half and brings tears to my eyes every time I think of this, I feel I need to share it.
Nan and Abe hadn’t been there long at all when I asked Abe why he refused to go to school. A power struggling debate ensued. Abe defiantly stated that we can’t force him to do anything and refused to go to school anymore. To which I responded that maybe we couldn’t force him, but we certainly could take away all his privileges. With that threat, he made some threats of his own. If we took his things away he would purposefully make our life harder and do nothing we asked. My blood boiled as the tension rose and the struggle mounted. “How could he say such a cruel thing…seeing the condition his parents were both in?” I thought.
But he was obviously fighting for survival himself. This experience of watching his Dad wither away and nearly die, completely change personalities, and virtually vanish as a father figure had highly traumatized him. But in the heat of that moment, I lashed back with something like “if you don’t want to live by the rules of our house, then we’ll just put you up for adoption and you can go live with someone else!”
Immediately he shoved his face into his Mom’s coat and started sobbing.
What did I just do?? Did I actually say that? Nan was visibly shocked and moving quickly toward rage that I had just been so cruel. Trying to help, I hurt the people I loved most. Nan nearly burst into tears and couldn’t stay. She picked up Kelsie, gave me a deserved look of disgust and resentment, and shuffled Abe out the door.
I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
Mortified, I couldn’t believe I had said such a mean thing to my son in that commanding, cruel way. There was no love in my action, only pain, fear and an attempt to somehow force something to change. I had just dropped an atomic bomb on my family that would prove the cause of intense suffering and pain for us all. I sobbed in my bed uncontrollably, every ounce of remaining energy consumed by deep regret.
I had just broken my son’s heart, who I supposedly loved so much, who was so scared and fragile. I had treated him with utter contempt and hatred. And I had broken my angel wife’s heart and let her down in the very moment she needed more support than ever. Now my heart threatened to explode. Come on! I thought we were past the explosions?
[headline_tahoma_small_left color=”#000000″]Extinction Can Be Enticing[/headline_tahoma_small_left]
Within an hour after they left, my abdomen and remaining intestines launched into an intense cramp session. My bowels completely locked down like they were knotting up around themselves in a permanent contraction. Then intense nausea set in and tormented me for the next four to five hours. I begged the nurse for some relief…some drug…something to stop the intense pain. But the pain killers weren’t stopping any of the pain. Sweating and moaning, my heart agonized and despaired over the pain I just caused my family.
Physical torture combined with emotional despair. I had no faith or positive thinking reserves left to pull me through this time. I felt like I was nothing. I thought it might consume me. I wished it would in fact. I wished I could not exist somehow that afternoon.
But I couldn’t cease existing of course, so I suffered. Finally after hours of nauseous cramping pain I started puking. But every convulsion felt like a knife slicing open the eight inch incision in my stomach from surgery. Thankfully the stitches and glue held firm. I vaguely recall 5 or 6 people in my room trying to clean and help me. I was in a daze, moaning in pain, with puke everywhere.
Once the wretching and cleanup had passed they decided I needed a tube in my nose to pump out my stomach and intestines. They tried jamming it in my right nostril, thwarted by my screaming and thrashing. The left nostril brought even more screaming and thrashing and now blood running out my nose. Back to the right nostril demanding that I hold still. Someone please have mercy on me!!
Finally they forced the tube in my right nostril and the agony ended. Within 20 minutes the pain, bloating, and cramping went down dramatically. Thank you. Thank you. A reprieve. I can breathe. But oh wait…now I can think again. I don’t want to think! No!!
That night nothing consoled me. I was not wondering how this might turn out to benefit me, far from it. I had cracked. Reason, logic, and hope had left the building. Enshrouded by a thick blackness of regret and self-loathing, and feeling run over by the physical torture, I hated myself. Something I had not felt for a long, long time. So disappointed in my action, I wished so badly I could take it back it was nearly unbearable.
I wished to be extinct. Being alive was just too painful to fathom anymore.